A Salute to Firefighters

Saturday March 12, 2005

[This presentation was addressed to the firefighters of Morristown, Morris Township, Morris Plains and New Vernon at their annual Communion Breakfast at Xavier Center on the Capus of the College of St. Elizabeth following the 8:30 AM liturgy at Assumption Church, Morristown.]

At this time of the year many of us turn to our Irish heritage. Whether or not we were born in Ireland or whether or not we have roots in the old sod, we look to good Irish humor to lift our drooping spirits. It’s not unusual for a rare Irish man to turn to another kind of spirits for the honor of good ole’ Patrick whose original name as you know was Patricius from the hills of northern Italy. It was he who brought wine from the vineyards of Tuscany and only later was it converted into Guinness and good old Irish whiskey.

Well, anyway, it seems there was this Irish fireman who was on his way home from the pub at 2:00 AM on March 18th following a late night “prayer service” and a bit of fun in honor of Patrick on the 17th.

He came to one of those cattle bridges that he had to cross ‘to get to the other side’ and he looked up at the sign to the side of the bridge which read: “Dogs must be carried over the bridge.”

My God, says he, where will I find a dog at this hour of the morning!”

“Ah yes,” says comedian, Hal Roach, “it’s a good one; write it down!”

Speaking of which, there were two other firemen – one a young apprentice, the other a veteran—who were out to the parade on Patrick’s day. They stopped in to the pub for bit of spirits. The young fellow ordered a Guinness, the elder a bit of Irish whiskey with three drops of water.

They were there for a time and when the waitress came to inquire about their needs, they ordered a second. The elder fireman said, “The same but this time, two drops of water.”
Then a while later, they ordered a third. But this time the elder told her, “One drop of water.” When she brought the drinks back to the table, her curiosity got the best of her. “I’m curious about the drops of water. Why three, then two and then one?” she asked.

He said, “Young lady, I know I can hold my drink but at my age, I’m not sure about my water!”

One more.

The life of a firefighter is not fee of stress, God knows. Well there was this firefighter who was really uptight. Every time he fell asleep even just for a nap, he dreamed that he was a lean-to and a teepee. He mentioned it to his wife who insisted that he make an appointment with the psychiatrist to find out why he was having this persistent dream.

So he went to the psychiatrist and explained his dilemma. Every time I fall asleep, I dream that I have become a lean-to and a teepee.

“Oh,” she said, “you’re just two tents.”

That’s a sleeper, if ever I heard one.

Okay, just one more and this is the last.

Two firemen really got religion and decided to get on the road with their mission of salvation, particularly on dangerous roads, to alert drivers to the importance of God in their lives.

So they picked a particularly dangerous section of a local highway and stood near a barricade with the sign, “Repent, the end is near!”

Two wild ones came tearing down the road in their Corvette, looked at the sign, laughed and drove around the barricade without a second thought.

Within seconds, the two evangelizers heard a crash.

One fireman says to the other, “Do you think we should have told them the bridge was out instead?”

In my day, every young boy wanted to be a fireman.

Among my first of my toys was a fire truck and a fire station and of course, the ‘hook and ladder’ with moveable ladders was chief among the toy gear. Incidentally, Santa Claus arrived in Morristown by sled on the top of the Park Square building on the green. He descended from the roof, bell in hand, with the help of the Morristown firemen and the hook and ladder, of course. With great excitement, we would shout, “Here comes the ‘hook-in-ladder’ with two drivers – one at the front wheels, the other steering the back wheels.

My first ‘kiddy car’ was a used fire truck build of steel like a Mac truck. I had foot pedals. I could get it go backward but for some reason couldn’t get it to go forward. There’s a special knack to peddling that I was slow to learn.

We lived on Chestnut Street, which was on the border between the municipality of Morristown and the Township of Morris. I can still recall the unique sounds of both the town and township fire whistles.

Fire alarms originated at call boxes strategically located through the fire district, each having a unique number. The alarm sounded the number of the call box, which is how volunteers would be able to identify the location or at least vicinity of the fire.

Charts were distributed to both volunteers and ordinary citizens with the list of numbers and corresponding neighborhoods. When the whistle blew, we went to the chart to locate the district from which the alarm originated.

We always had a sense of how large the fire might be by the number of fire vehicles dispatched and the sound of the sirens.

Even when we did not go to the chart, as in the middle of the night, I could usually tell the direction the fire engine’s were traveling and at least know that it was in the neighborhood, over the hill or off in the opposite direction.

There were one, two and three alarms fires and with a rare five alarmer. Three alarmers got our attention and sometimes resulted in our pursuit, though we never tailgated fire trucks.

After dark at the sound of a three or a five alarmer, we would look toward the open sky for the smoky orange reflection, which meant that it was a big fire. If the wind were blowing in our direction, we could smell the scent of burning timber mixed with whatever flammable substance was burning.

Although we can never make light of a fire, there was one in particular which I will never forget for its humor or rather for the amusement, which took place in our family as a result of my grandmother’s response.

It was two o’clock in the morning. We lived on Chestnut Street, just over the hill from the apartment complex in which my mother’s parents resided. My grandfather was the superintendent.

In any event, my grandmother who, incidentally, was prone to exaggeration, placed a frantic phone call to our home to report a fire in at the apartment complex. She shouted, “They’re throwing them out the windows! All I have is what’s left on my back! Come quickly.” When we all arrived, the fire equipment had already dispersed. As it turned out, it was nothing more than a smoky furnace in the basement of the apartment next store! This anecdote will be stored forever in our album of family stories.

Morristown had some major fires. On Labor Day weekend in 1947 or 48 a fire consumed the entire corner across from the Speedwell firehouse at Speedwell and Park Place – the existing location of Century 21 Department Store. An explosion at about 2:00 AM in the basement of the National Shoe Store blew the plate glass windows across the street striking the doors of the firehouse. In as much as there were no occupants except for the bakers in the National Biscuit Company, which occupied the second floor above Shulte’s Department Store, there were no other occupants at that hour of the morning and there was no loss of life.

Never do I pass the Bagel Factory at 16 South Street without remembering the fire in the Hotel Elbin, which occupied that site in the fifties.

Lumber yards provided not a few occasions for a three alarmer.

There were some large church fires too: at the First Calvary Baptist Church on the corner of Spring Street and Evergreen Avenue; the United Methodist on the Green, Assumption Church on April 10th, 1989 and most recently the First Baptist across from the Court House – all of them major fires but, thanks to the efforts of fire fighters, no loss of life and enough of the buildings ‘redeemed’ for reconstruction.

It was not unusual for a ‘wake’ to follow a major fire. For days, people viewed the remains of all of the above fires. The scent of burnt debris dampened by millions of gallons of water remains in my nostrils to this day. I think it’s accurate to say that fires always leave us with the need to grieve our loss.

It was amazing how fast these fires took over the buildings and equally amazing, thanks to the efforts of dedicated firefighters, how few lost their lives – one life taken is one too many.

Whatever the size of the fire, the arrival of firefighters was always a blessing. As kids and adults, we knew that everything would be okay no matter what the loss. Moreover, heroism among fire fighters goes with the territory. I never met a firefighter who thought of himself before the safety of others. Even when they pushed the crowds away, they did it not to protect themselves but us from danger.

In our Catholic tradition, we believe that God was fully incarnated in Christ. Jesus became God with skin, a God whom we can touch and taste. We refer to this as ‘incarnational theology’ i.e., the enfleshment of God in human form.

But we go beyond that to the notion of God becoming incarnate in all of us. It is our call and career, as it were, to put skin on God, to become the heart and hands of the living God as we reach out to others in harms ways.

When those heroic firefighters entered the burning towers on 9/11, they were the heart and hands of God not only to those who were trapped in the towers but also to the onlookers who joined them in spirit and to those who kept vigil at home awaiting word about their loved ones.

Whatever their human fault or failure, whatever their faith tradition, whatever their aspiration in life, they were the God connection for believer and non believer alike. Where was God on 9/11? He was there in the faces and hands and hands of firefighters. They were and remain our heroes.

We Catholics also place a strong emphasis on sacramental rituals, which, we believe, make present the power of God in ordinary human situations and circumstances. Fire is a rich symbol of the power of the Holy Spirit and though fire can destroy, it can also produce energy and light. Water is a symbol of cleansing and new life. Out of the ashes of the forest come fresh blades of new life. Firefighters make certain that both are used according to the purpose for which God created them.

When we gather at our Eucharist table as we did this morning, we tell God’s story and Jesus’ story. When we gather here at this breakfast table, we share our human stories and then we connect these stories with the God story and the Jesus story and God becomes incarnate in our midst again and again in the breaking of the bread of our lives.

As a ‘man of the cloth’ as we are sometimes called, I salute you as co-workers who join forces in the protection of human life, who make present God’s saving hands. We have been put on this earth to work together for the good of others. We are in this together, each of us doing all we can to make our world a safer place.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for answering the call at any hour of the day or night, risking your life for the safety of any and all who are in danger.

Thank you and bless you.

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