Just a thought to consider:

“Back in the day” at the change of tours from the third tour to the first tour, Chief Dunn would sometimes “throw a pebble in the pond” before he left. Just say something to start a conversation that could get a little testy and then leave. He wasn’t the only one who did it, it’s his large, mischievous grin as he walked out the door that comes to mind.

I’m going to do something like that now by commenting on the obvious. There is one divide on the fire department that will never go away. You have your truck men and you have your engine men. All of us know we need both at any fire. Each has an essential task to perform so we “all go home.” But that doesn’t stop the ball busting. (Do you know what they call truckmen in Boston? Firemen’s helpers. vs. A real firemen goes into a burning building with just a steel tool and brass balls.)

            My opinion? You can’t appreciate the job until you are on the tip of the first line into a working fire and taking a beating working that line to knock the fire down. I will admit there is no sweeter sound than a saw cutting the roof when you’re pushing down a hot, dark hallway on the top floor of a fire building. (But you can never trust a truck man on the tip.)

             Here’s a personal story to illustrate this phenomenon. We had a job up around 12^th Street off 14^th Avenue. The place was going good. I stretched a line in and fought my way up to just below the third-floor landing. Frank Bellina was pushing the line up to me, but when we got to the second floor a line of truck men deposited themselves on the stairs between Frank and me. They stayed there crouched down waiting for me to push into the third floor. I got the fire knocked down on the stairs and shouted through my mask “Give me more line.” Frank couldn’t hear me because all the truckmen were blocking him from getting within “shouting through a mask” distance. I shout for more line. The truckmen wait. I pull on the line. The fire is blowing out of the third-floor apartment doorway and the truckmen wait. None move to lighten up the line. That’s an engine man’s job. Finally, Jimmy Smith, by then captain at Five Truck,  comes up the stairs and says, “Neal, the chief wants to know if you can make the third-floor.” My response: “If you give me some line, I’ll put the fire out.” Jimmy doesn’t say a word, goes back down and line starts coming up to me.  I quickly knocked down the fire. This all took about a minute, maybe two, but the memory of patient truckmen has lasted decades.

             So, what are your thoughts? Just a pebble in a pond. Let’s see if it creates any ripples.