Take A Picture

 I've been waiting for 48 years to learn this lesson! It finally came to me, and I have to share!

 My entire childhood was a struggle for me with my father. Not in a bad way at all. But he was always on my ass to do things better, and bitching that the lines in the yard weren't straight when I cut the grass.

  My father busted his ass for his family, and we all knew that and respected him for it. He was a heavy equipment mechanic by trade, and took care of his wife and 3 children when he got home. He was short, wide, and ox strong. He's a lot older now, still short. But still strong. Not muscle like he was, his strength has turned to wisdom. He knew exactly what he was doing this entire time, it just took my dumb ass this long to figure it out.

  Back in the day when my father was shaping who I would become, unbeknownst to me at the time, he was a pain in my ass. I was his flashlight holder, his hired help, his test pilot, and I recently learned his student. But NOTHING I did for this man was good enough. Nothing. I was always doing it wrong.  A few years later when we moved closer to his father, I also became my Grandfather's helper and flashlight holder.  You read the story about Grandpa's hammers. But it seemed now that I was hired help for Grandpa, I wasn't "good enough" for not only my father, but my grandfather as well. I could do nothing right. Ever. At least that's what my 8 year old brain thought. I just wasn't good enough.

  Even though I wasn't doing things right, I felt the love. I grew close with my Dad and fell in love with Grandpa. He thought outside the box, and could fix ANYTHING. I got to see Dad when he backed his work truck into the driveway, I'd be standing there waiting for him. I cherished the weekend projects with my Grandpa.  I knew I wasn't going to do anything right, and I'd be corrected for it, but the love I felt for these 2 men.....  When I say men, I mean MEN. Diesel powered, turbo charged, grab life by the throat MEN,

  Fast forward to my teenage years. I had more important things to do. Girls and cars. Dad made sure I knew about his influence for these years too. Unfortunately my Grandpa had passed a few years prior. "If it ain't right, leave it in the pits." Dad was an old school race car driver. More lessons.  He and I years down the road developed "If it ain't right, it's wrong" but the lesson was always the same.

  I got hired as a paid professional firefighter in 1990. My father was there, of course. My Uncle John was too. Both of them with advice. Good advice. I didn't hear the advice correctly, what I heard was I once again was doing it wrong. But Dad and "UJ" were my two biggest fans.

 9 years into my career, I was setting the world on fire. Teaching rope rescue to General Motors plants in Dearborn and Pontiac Michigan. Trying my best at my fire department job. Frustrated at all the dead ends. PISSED OFF about the dead ends at the fire department. My Dad kept pushing. "Son, if you want it bad enough..." Dad, I cant!

   In 1999 a band called Filter came out with a song called "Take a Picture" I was 9 years into my career as a professional firefighter. I was teaching rope rescue at General Motors plants across 3 states. I was writing SOP's for my fire department. I was teaching others, and motivating those younger than me, My Dad wasn't happy. He still kept correcting me. Kept pushing. Towards the end of the song are the lyrics "Hey Dad, What do you think about your son now?" I was struggling with what the hell does my Dad want me to do??? Damn dude! I can't win with you!

Take A Picture

  A few years down the road, and my world falls into place. All of that "not good enough" was bullshit. My father and my grandfather believed enough in me to push me harder. The lessons learned made me who I am today, and those lessons made me responsible enough to accept the position I am in.  It's taken me approximately 30 years to learn the lessons I needed to be a Fire Chief.

  It's taken me 30 years to learn my Dad was pushing me to be better. To be the best. He saw something in me, and did his best to make me better.

 I'm the Fire Chief Pop.
"What do you think about your son now?"

I KNOW what you think. I know what this whole city thinks.

This is YOUR legacy. Thanks for pushing me, I'll make you proud.

Hammers

  "That's not a god damn hammer at the end of your arm! It's a tool, but it's not a hammer. You know where they are. Go get the right one."  Of course I did, Grandpa had them all in a row on his tool cart, arranged smallest to biggest. Each one for a specific purpose, each one clean and ready for the next job.

  I honestly don't remember what I was beating on with my fist, but I do remember the lesson. I can tell you exactly where it was. I can tell you I was wearing jeans with red stains from the last weekend, I was helping Grandpa stain the split rail fence. I still had stains on my hands. I can see "my hammer" hitting whatever we were working on, red stained fingers and a few streaks running towards the elbow. I can see Grandma's gold "Scamp" in the next garage.  I can picture the hammers. Vividly. All in a row on his tool cart. He was right, I knew exactly where they were, and thanks to previous lessons I knew which one I needed. Then, I have no memory so I'm assuming I did the right thing.

 Today I decided to tackle a project that I've been putting off. I found myself in need of a particular type/style/length of a pry bar. Not necessarily about the "project" in and of itself, just enjoying a much needed day off, and working on some things I need to catch up on. Mechanical things. Travel to all the local chain parts stores, no dice. Younger guys don't even know what I'm talking about, but the older ones do. The true "car guys" know what I'm after, but unfortunately the response is always "they don' make them anymore." Local non-chain store guy suggests a store about 20 miles away. Hell, I'm killing time, up for a ride.....

 Fast forward to me wandering around a sheep store looking for a goat. One of the workers asks me, can I help you find anything? Pry bars.

 "Oh! They're over by the hammers, follow me!" So of course I follow, somehow doubting that they won't have what I'm looking for. Well, hello! There's the 24 inch pry bar I need, in a kit with smaller ones, for 20 bucks! My eyes drift to the set of ball peen hammers sitting right beside what I need. 5 hammers that I do not need.

 I check out, do my thing, and overcome a few minor obstacles on my project. Some things I wasn't planning on encountering, but those are for future Billy. It's all good. Project is done, with a few more trips to auto parts store. Then I open the package containing my new hammers.

 My new hammers are just that. New. As I'm putting them on the peg board, I find myself thinking of Grandpa's hammers.

 Each one has a story to tell. Hickory handles stained with experience. Red paint faded away with every hit, on every project, they left a little of themselves on what they were working on. My handles are made of yellow fiberglass. Not the wood like Grandpa had.

 Not greasy black handles, stained handles. The kind of stain that only comes from years of calloused greasy hands carefully cleaning each tool as it's put away. Dark stains in the recesses of grandpa's fingerprints, dark stains in the recesses of the hickory hammer handles. A mutual respect between a man and his tools. You have callouses because you've used me correctly. The surface grime gets washed away. The soul of the tool stains it for life, Not a stain that comes in a can. A stain that can only come from a man and his tools.

 I was unfortunate that my Grandpa died when I was young. I find myself thinking about him a lot. I was fortunate that I got to spend so much time with him, I didn't think so at the time. But, I remind myself that there is a guy in between. A guy that has taught me things without even realizing he was teaching. Hell, he thinks so much of me that he even kind of wrote a book with me as the main character.

I'm gonna leave you with this.
Traveling Wilbury's

 I know what the tools on the end of my arms are for now.

 Hammer down Francis!

The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald VI

 Yeah, I  completely dropped the ball on this story. It was so bad, that I didn't want to relive it in my mind to type the story. But, that being said, I've been asked by many to finish this story. I actually had to read my own writings up until this point to remind myself.

 So at this point in the trip, I have already broken down, and pretty much all of us are fighting heat. Ironic at best, fighting heat on snowmobiles, but as said before SNOWmobiles need snow, and we didn't have any. Saw more than any 12 guys should in a lifetime on the trip up, but now when we need it, slush and blacktop.

Coming through the woods like a lighthouse for a sinking ship, we hear this:

The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald

Tired of hearing that song? Yeah, we were too. But it was Danny's personal theme song when he walked in. So, Danny walking through the woods, music playing and I don't remember exactly what he said, but I'm sure it was something lighthearted and whimsical like "That FU@K|NG RXL quit again! She's a god damn whore! But she's also a classic!"

Unlike the rest of us, Danny wasn't overheating, he was fighting electrical gremlins. Quick "fix" with some medical tape from my first aid kit, and we were good to go. At this point there was a "stench" of something not being right, but again we didn't listen. 10 of 12 sleds have already had issues, and we were only 4 miles from the cabin. 3 miles of sparks from steel on blacktop, and 1 mile of slush, and 2 more miles to good snow.

The only sleds that were happy at this point were the "little air cooled 340s". Now keep in mind, the mentality of this group. If 500cc is good, 600 is better, and 700 or 800 is a quicker way to death in a snow pile. So, we're all riding "hot rods" except those 340s that we all kind of made fun of, but in the dark recesses of our 2-stroke fueled madness still respected. The were small engines, true. But they were also reliable. Not only the "little" engines, but the entire sled. They didn't have 100+ HP of terror under the hood trying to destroy the sled and rip aluminum apart on the way to they're own self destruction. They were just good reliable slow sleds.

At this point, us on the hot rods were thankful for a little down time to cool off the monsters. Those on the 340s were thankful to catch up. Wolfpack mentality, we kept the 340s in the middle of the group to keep them in the group. All back together, all running and ready to ride. Where's Sally?

Being the lead dog isn't a responsibility I take lightly. As we ride the trails, our group stretches out a bit, much like the cheese on a hot piece of pizza pulled from the box. At the intersections of trails, I wait and make sure the wolfpack is still intact, so everyone knows which directions we're heading, then off we go. So we come to the first intersection on the way to Newberry. Remember Newberry? That's all we wanted to accomplish today, Newberry for the shake down cruise and back. So we come to the first intersection, and I stop and wait for the rest of the pizza cheese to join into the pack. Much like the lead dog, the guys in back are just as important. They need to keep an eye ahead, and make sure those in front of them are OK. If someone breaks down, they stop to help.

So here I sit at the first intersection on the way to Newberry with 9 sleds behind me, I'm expecting 11. Eddie and Pat are AWOL. Normally I leave the sled running, and helmet and gear on up to a certain time. Waiting..... sled gets shut off, off comes the helmet. All the others felt the same. Helmets off, sleds off. Believe it or not, this is one of my favorite parts about snowmobiling. Being out in the woods, quiet. You can literally hear the snow falling. Although this time we were standing in slush, and listening to what we thought was rain. So, no bad things expected but I can't get away from the "stench" of something bad. I smell like 2-Stroke and woods, and we're all perfectly OK with that. A distant sound of a few thousand CC's of Polaris in the distance, Pat and Eddie will be here soon. All is right with the world. 1 mile to good snow, 22 miles to Newberry. It's all coming together, Struggled to get ready, struggled to get here, struggled for the first 3 miles of the trip. But I hear Pat and Eddie coming, it's all good.

There's Eddie on the 800! Pat? Paaaaat......

Pat comes ripping up the trail like his throttle is stuck wide open. The sled dies while it's still moving, and before it stops moving Pat is off of it with the hood open. Evidently there was a pile of snow alongside the trail that REALLY wanted to be steam. Remember, newer sleds have radiators that are under the seat. At this point Pat is shoveling snow onto his screaming hot engine. Seriously? It's 22 miles to Newberry. We're not launching a rocket, just trying to ride 22 more miles.

"This thing is hotter than a $10 pistol!" Well, shit. Then I notice it. Instead of all the beauty of the wilderness, I notice all the steam coming off of 9 of the 11 sleds behind me. The 340s were "cool." Well......

well shit.

22 miles to Newberry on the shake down cruise. Long haul to Whitefish Point planned in 2 days.

I hear Danny. "Hey, Grandpa! What are we gonna do here?" And of course he has his theme music playing as he walks up.

"...coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.."

Gimme a minute Danny Boy. We got this. I'm hot, Chop is "ok" but hot. Eddie walks up and says "Not as hot as Pat, but the 800 isn't happy."

"...Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings in the ruins of her ice water mansions..." at this point on Danny's theme music.

At that exact moment, we should have turned away and gone home. Fought the entire way to get 3 miles from camp. Broken almost everything we own. No snow. Call it a day gang, go home.

We didn't listen.

At that moment, I thought to myself....

"Fu@k off Edmund. I'll see you at Whitefish Point in 2 days."

I had planned the rest of our trip in my mind, without asking the others. I made it personal with the Edmund Fitzgerald. I was going to see it through.

Best of Both Worlds

  I have to apologize to BOTH of my fans!  I've been slacking on my blog.  Hell, I didn't even finish the Edmund Fitzgerald story.

Best of Both Worlds

  Since I was last here, there's been a LOT of things going on in my life.  Some bad and heartbreaking, some not so bad with an inkling of light in the tunnel, some FANTASTIC.  Sometimes the light in the tunnel was a train.  But for the most part, the light has gotten me back on track.  To who I think I am, to who I want to be. To where I think Karma wants me to be.

  I've learned a lot the past few years.  I completely fell off of the "positive" mountain and fell into the trap.  It's so damn hard to start climbing from the bottom.  Trust me, the further you climb, the easier it gets!  I've seen the top and I'm determined to get back up there.

  A single year into my Paramedic career. Oh boy. What an INCREDIBLE ride!  Most of the "scared" is gone, I'm settling in to who I think a good medic should be. Eric and Paul told me from day 1 that they wanted to see what "Billy Medic" was like.  It's starting to bubble to the top through the hate and discontent we see on a daily basis.  I keep a little of the "scared" around on purpose.  Outside the comfort zone is the only place to learn to be better.  This blog itself scares me.  I share my thoughts with complete strangers. Scary shit. I want to be the calm, the voice of reason, the answer to your worst day. But I'm scared too. That's my motivation to learn more, just in case you need something I don't know.

 I actually have Paramedic students hanging around and specifically requesting ME.  I have co-workers wanting and waiting to work with me.  I'm being recruited by area EMS providers, no questions asked, come work with us.  Recently I met a new "partner" for the first time at 0800.  by 0900 I heard the gears click. No, they went CLUNK!  We're trying to work together as much as possible, because it works.  Absolutely not tooting my own horn here.  I just surrounded myself with the best people I could find, yet again.  It's OK to be a little selfish on this thought.  Surround yourself with the best you can find in any situation.  When you be comfortable with that situation, and people, it's time to move on and learn something. Something new, a different way of doing things.

  Retiring from FD. Oh wow.  I don't even know how to think about this.  I've been super excited to retire and move on.  Again, outside the comfort zone, surround yourself with the best.  I've found myself as "The OLD guy" at the fire department.  It seems like yesterday when I walked into that fire house full of the unknown and visions of grandeur and heroism. Years, many years down the road. When I look in the mirror, I do not see grandeur or a hero.  I just do my job.  Just like every other guy at MY FD.  The guys at MY fire department are real heroes. They're my heroes. Just like every other guy/gal at any FD across the country.  It's just what we do. Many things learned. I find myself in the position of those I held so high in esteem back then.  I'm not ready to be THAT guy. I don't know all of it yet, I'm still learning. I'm always learning. I'll never stop.

 I've met so many wonderful people. I've met so many people without a soul. I've surrounded myself with the best. I've tried to be better each day. Most importantly, I've learned so much. The TALENT of the people I've met I cannot describe. Instructors, co-workers, nurses, doctors, and even patients.

 So, here we are.
Point #1: I want to continue my blog, express my thoughts, learn and grow.
Point #2: "Learn" is a consistent word in my blogs. My Fire Chief pointed this out.
Point #3: Be The One!

  As payment to those that came before us. As payment to the people that have taught me so much. It'd be incredibly selfish to keep it to myself.  I'm not going anywhere.  I'm going to school. Instructor school. I'm keeping all the current certifications.

If you're willing to learn, in Andrew Carnegie style, It's my obligation to show you how.

The Highwaymen

 

  This is the follow up to the Edmund Fitzgerald story, even though I never actually finished February's story.  Partly because life got in the way, and I haven't had time, partly because it was such a horrible trip that my mind is pushing those memories away to the point that I've forgotten some of the details.  It's the details that put you the reader, almost on a snowmobile going along with us on the trip.
 
  It was just a bad bad trip from the word go.  Broken trucks, broken sleds, broken trailers, EVERYTHING was broken, thankfully no bones were.  It's our annual end of season four day trip.  Riding 100+ miles per day is not out of the ordinary.  In February 2016, we rode 17. Total. In four days. SEVENTEEN.
 
  It was so bad that when the entire Frankenfast crew was fixing trailers and sleds at 11:00 PM so we could get home in the morning, that Eddie, Danny and myself jumped in a truck and drove to Whitefish Point and apologized to the crew of The Edmund Fitzgerald. It was necessary, and had to be done.  They had the last laugh in the form of a few more broken parts on the ride home, but we eventually made it.

  Lessons learned, life goes on.  But we now have a deep respect for lost souls that obviously haunt Ichigan's Upper Peninsula.  And we will no longer be using Gordon Lightfoot's song as we have in the past.  We all know the song word for word, and stop what we're doing when it comes on the radio.  Text messages go out to the group, "Tune to (insert radio station) and we all do.  Before we left The "U.P." we all decided we'd be back.  Tails tucked between our legs, battered, beaten, bruised. Defeated. We headed home.

 

  Trying to be positive, I remembered one of my sayings. The problem isn't the problem, your attitude about the problem is the problem.  So over the next few months, we fixed broken sleds, fixed broken trucks, trailers, and attitudes.  Not exactly sure when it happened, but "The Highwaymen" became a song that kept inserting itself in our lives, almost like it wanted to be our new inspiration.  The lyrics are on point with our "we'll be back again" attitude, and it's found a place among the Frankenfast crew.

clicky ---- > The Highwaymen

  With the necessary repairs in place, we put together an impromptu ride yesterday.  Just 3 of the crew on what we refer to as a "shakedown cruise."  Not riding hard, or far. Not riding to a particular destination.  Just riding for the sake of riding, to expose any potential problems with equipment in hopes of time to repair, yet again, before our big trip in 2 months.  So off we went, to a somewhat "local" location, not even knowing where we'd end up when we left.  No maps, no idea where to unload, no idea what we were getting into.

  Found a local "tour guide" who up to that point was just a nice guy in a bar, who had no idea who we were.  "Tom" not only pointed us in the right direction, he took time out of his day, jumped in our truck and actually drove around with us showing us where to ride and park.  Tom even took us to a spot to unload the trailer, and had his wife pick him up there.  All this from a complete and total stranger.

  We ended up unloading at a boat launch near a rather large lake.  Not Gitche Gumee large, but large enough.  I saw all three sleds sitting on the ground, getting warmed up near the lake and found myself thinking about the men from The Edmund.  Thought to myself, "Hey guys. I apologized in person.  We good?"  

  And off we rode.  Unfamiliar trails, unfamiliar area, no maps. Not sure about the repairs we've made, fully expecting at least a few minor problems.  We rode for a few hours, some really nice trails, some long clear straightaways, didn't beat on the sleds, but didn't baby them either.  Just kinda bombing around on some new trails.

  What happened next was NOT expected. At all!  We rode, and played in the snow. That's it!  Not even a fouled spark plug.  Zero issues, zero problems, just ride ride ride.  We actually rode further yesterday than we did in four days in February.  We had a blast! That's how its supposed to be.  Riding back to the trailer on my Indy Storm, we cruise past the actual boat launch with the sun hanging low, and I thought of the following pic as a thank you to the crew of The Edmund Fitzgerald.  I honestly believe after some hard fought lessons, and Highwaymen attitude adjustments, The Edmund crew has switched from making us miserable, to watching over and taking care of us.

  Thanks guys!!!

The Wreck of The Edmundfitzgerald V

 

If you ever see guys on older sleds with snow piled up on the running boards, that's where the radiators are.  We're trying to cool off the hell that comes from under the hood.  Newer sleds have a "better" idea, and moved the radiators.  They can't put snow where we do to cool things off.  If you're running hot, the best way to cool off is to throw some snow under the sled by "turning" into a snowbank.  It's a gamble at best, but if you find yourself at this point in your life, it's pretty much your only option.

  I had snow piled high on the running boards when we left Curtis.  I knew it only bought me some time.  I knew Pat and Eddie behind me on the newer sleds were gonna be hurting.  I hoped the other 8 behind me were smart enough. 2 miles, lets do this.  I was trying my best to peel snow off of the bank, but I knew it was futile.  It hadn't snowed in days, I was riding on hot blacktop and trying to stuff a ski into ice.  I didn't "need" it but I knew the more snow I could throw into the street, the better the guys behind me would be.  The slush the other riders were talking about would be a relief right now, at least it's colder than the sparks coming off my skis.  I can see the trail head in front of me on the left, check my mirror, 1,2,3,4,5,6... Look behind me, no cars, no cars in front.  Grab a ski full of ice on the right, LEFT TURN!  Ya need snow for these things to turn. I used the ice bank on the right, to make a left turn possible.  There was literally that little snow.

  By the grace of god, my sled turned.  I saw the slush.  I saw a snowbank and hoped it wasn't ice.  I needed to cool this thing off, and in a hurry.  They aren't made for sunshine and blacktop.  Made the trail head, got a little selfish, got a little slushish and grabbed some throttle that was  pointed at that snow bank.  It was SNOW, not ice! Thank you!  Quick puff of steam.... OH SHIT.  Steam from a liquid cooled machine, not cool!

  Its all aluminum, physics, and gasoline.  Cooling aluminum too fast, although your aluminum is currently too hot, is ALWAYS bad.  I pulled out of that snow bank like a porn star, the next thing I saw was open land with some actual snow.  Handful of throttle to get air/snow moving to get the temperature down seemed like the best thing to do.  So that's what I did.  Quick glance in my mirror and everyone had the same idea.

  That "little" XCR went skis up, ass down and showed me what that little bump is on the back of the seat, to keep me from falling off!!!

  We all circled around the trail head for a few to cool off the engines, thumbs up from the whole crew even though we didn't have to talk, we were all overheating to a certain extent.  We were all enjoying this slush to a certain extent.  Let's dive into the trail once I got them all back into line...

Last year up to this point I legally passed cars on the 3 mile road trip to get to the trail head. Because I was faster in the snow.  This year we had none.  And now we were playing in slush like we just found the holy grail.

Up to this point we had sleds already falling off due to heat.  But now that we're all cooled off, we had a new plan. As always, Newberry or bust. I see the trail off to our right...


Let The Bodies Hit The Floor
Let the bodies hit the floor...

Can't take much more...

HERE WE GO, HERE WE GO, HERE WE GO!

Look behind me with a thumbs up..

"Nothing wrong with me!"
"Nothing wrong with me!"
"Nothing wrong with me!"
"Nothing wrong with me!"

"Something's got to give" and we should have stopped.

But we didn't.  I blame myself.  I hit that trail at 45 MPH KNOWING there was a hard right turn coming up.

  That right turn, and "Edmund Fitzgerald" playing in Danny's pocket......


We had a good time.  For about two miles.  Long straight aways are always our favorite, but we utilize the slow parts of the trails to regroup.

We made that right turn off the trail head, and I swear to god I was wide open throttle already. Ready to ride.  The XCR showed me what I was missing, but we came to an understanding on that straight away.

  2 stroke smoke smell inside the helmet mixed with wild Michigan air. I'm in!

  First pull off comes up, so I pull over to make sure our group is all together.  Everyone show up except Danny.  Where the hell is Danny?

  Then we all hear "The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald" playing from the woods, and it seems to be getting louder....

That Damn Siren...

  Today while on the ambulance responding to a call, I actually shut the siren off because I was tired of hearing it.  We've all done it.  "Tired of hearing the sirens Brian!"  Then I remembered something I learned a long time ago about the sirens.  I'd like to share, if you'd like to learn please read on.

  The Federal Q.  That fire truck sound.  It all started with a vacuum cleaner believe it or not.  A young inventor saw the design and heard the noise, and with some tweaking came up with an "electro-mechanical" sound that has become iconic and directly married to fire trucks.  There is only one place that sound comes from. Fire trucks.

  Long before my recent days on the ambulance, I was strictly a fire fighter.  A firefighter's firefighter as I've been called.  I'm soul deep into this.  Always have been, always will be.  Until they put me in the ground, I'll always be a firefighter.  And even on that day, I won't know, but if you're there you will see and feel what "this" means to all of us.

  "Lights and Sirens"..... Very early in my career I learned how this was supposed to work, and what Light & Sirens were supposed to do.  This is also the title of a book a friend of mine, Kevin Grange has written, a VERY good read!  Shortly after, I was finding my own firefighter within.  I was figuring out "who" Billy was.  I learned from some so many others, that I cannot even begin to list them here.  But taking a little from all of them, I was slowly but surely figuring out where I fit into all of this brotherhood, and was in all accounts becoming a respected young firefighter willing to learn and carry on the traditions of those that came before me.  One of those traditions was, and still is, that Federal Q siren.  As my first few years progressed, I became fascinated with the fire truck sound.  Every time I left the station was an actual tribute to those before me.  My contribution to the brotherhood.  Air horns and "Q" coming out of the station.  Count on it.  It progressed to the point where citizens would comment on how they knew I was on duty because of how that rig sounded coming down the street.

  I did it mostly for myself.  I was obnoxious about it. But I loved it.  I was falling in love with being accepted as a brother.  I was learning.  I began teaching some of what I had learned.  It took some 20 years and another book to actually describe what I was feeling back then.  This is from a book written by Kevin Hazzard titled "A Thousand Naked Strangers"

"Loud and terrible, ten thousand pounds of speeding menace with the lunatic wail of a screaming banshee … a street bound locomotive that can't stop, so get the hell out of the way."

    That's the way I left my fire station. EVERY time.  But then the tradition of my noise making ways of clearing traffic started to teach me something.  It became apparent that I could clear traffic not just in front of me, not just the approaching intersection, but I was clearing traffic two, sometimes three intersections in front of me.  I didn't know it at the time, but I was loud.  I was terrible.  I was an obnoxious asshole.  I was coming though that intersection.  How you wanted your car to look afterwards was up to you, but I was coming through.  I was Moses parting the red sea.

  I'm sure I heard it way before I realized the lesson here.  I just wasn't paying attention.  I started to listen to the people that needed our help.

"I was so frantic, I didn't know what to do!!!  But I heard your siren...."
"I didn't think you would make it in time, but then I heard your siren...."
"I was so scared, but I heard your siren..."
"I didn't know what to do, but I knew you'd be here soon, I heard you coming.."

  That siren we all love isn't just to clear traffic.  I'm tired of hearing it at this point in my career honestly.  It's caused permanent damage and deafness.  "Tinnitus" the call it.  I can't sleep at night without a TV on because without it all I hear is a ringing annoying "meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,"

  Just like everything else we do.  That siren isn't about "us."  It's about THEM.  Don't ever shut it off.  As annoying as it may seem to you, me and all of us.

  It's the "bat signal" in the city.  It tells those in need that help is on the way.  It's the storm and chaos in our world, but it represents the calm after the storm coming to them.


  It's a sound of comfort, caring, and reassurance that professionals are on the way.

  Don't shut it off.