Went to the Officers’ Union Christmas party on Tuesday. Saw so many guys I hadn’t seen in a few years. Kevin Killeen and I set up at a two-seat table right in the middle of the passage way between the two rooms we occupied. It was the perfect place to appreciate the history that was walking around that restaurant. Saw the young & old captains and chiefs mingling. So many memories, so much courage (I’m using the polite word) wandering around with cups of beer,  wine, & the occasional shot in hand. It was an honor to be with these “quintessential” (my daughter’s word, not mine) American males.

 After I got up and started walking around, one of the guys approached me to ask if I had seen the jacket someone was wearing. Embroidered on it was a company he had not been assigned to. I had seen it at Arnold Almaguer’s service the day before and questioned it. He told me the jacket had been given to him and he hadn’t gotten around to changing the number. A lame excuse, but an explanation. Still it irked some people (including me). Thinking about it, what bothered me the most was he had not been part of the “sub-culture” of that company.

 What do I mean by sub-culture? Anyone who has roved knows that not all firehouses are the same.  When I was in the field there were “project companies” (Engines 4, 6, 10, 12, 13, 19) that some people avoided like the plague. There were companies with chiefs in the house that others wouldn’t go near. There were companies that were laid back and companies that were running constantly. Guys got a feel for where they wanted to go and put in papers for that company. Sounds normal doesn’t it?

 Fast forward a few decades and the guys who ran constantly and watched the sun rise too often get annoyed when someone who wasn’t there gives the impression they were. But more than that, each house becomes a proud family. Rivalries between companies abound. No one company puts out a fire; all are dependent on others, but that doesn’t stop the snide remarks and offhanded comments, usually said with humor. I would never think of claiming to be part of 32 Engine. I did not experience what it was like to sit on Port and Doremus waiting for the place to blow up. To do so would make me an interloper. An interloper who is not welcomed.

 How does the sub-culture feeling weather the years? The picture with this post are from a Six Engine party we had back in 1982. There was a similar one held last year that I unfortunately missed. I picked out some shots to show no matter what happens, you still belong to the family formed in the companies you were part of. 

Who can identify the old timers? The one shot with Scott Gerow and Reggie “Frenchie” Fredette shows the youngest and oldest guys at the party.