In a Heartbeat...... (eBook)

Early Years

When I was five (back in the early 60s), I wanted to be a fireman (today termed firefighter). When I was eight, I wanted to be an Everett fireman. When “Emergency” aired in the early 70s, I wanted to be a fireman/paramedic. This ambition was clinched when I read the book Report From Engine Company 82 (my all-time favorite book). The book was written by the great author Dennis Smith, a New York fireman who chronicled his life and career in the New York Fire Department. Sadly, Mr. Smith recently passed away.

I was like most other kids in my early years, building forts, playing with the neighbors, and playing in the mud. One strange thing that set me apart was I chased ambulances and fire trucks. I lived in Everett, Washington (located approximately 30 miles north of Seattle). In Everett, there was only one ambulance company, named “Barker’s Ambulance,” and they responded all over Snohomish County. In the old days, “Barker’s Ambulance” looked just like a hearse but was painted differently and with a lot of red lights. They had electronic sirens but also a windup siren “growler” (also known as a Q2, used by many fire departments today). They would push a button until the siren would wind up from a low growl until it maxed out with a high shrill. These sirens had what was called a “siren brake” so the ambulance crew could slow down and then stop the siren as they approached the scene. If not used, the siren would wind down over several minutes. This siren could be heard from miles around so every time I heard it, I would jump on my bike and peddle as fast as I could to the end of the road to watch them go by. My friends just shook their heads.

Back in the 60s, 70s, and early 80s, 90 percent of rural/county fire departments were made up of volunteer firefighters. Most departments didn’t have the luxury of pagers, so they were issued plectrons. Plectrons were medium-sized radios that the volunteers plugged into the wall (they also contained a chargeable battery so they could be portable) and this was how they were notified of a call. Before the advent of 9-1-1, people would have to dial a seven-digit number for emergencies. As a backup, fire stations would have large civil defense sirens attached to the roof of their station that would go off simultaneously with the plectron to notify volunteers who were outside working in the garden, shopping, or when they weren’t in hearing range of their plectron that a call was being dispatched. These dedicated, non-paid people would drop what they were doing and make a mad dash for the fire station to work the apparatus required and respond to the call. Late-arriving volunteers would either respond with requested equipment or “standby” in the event another call came in. If the call was between the volunteer’s house and the fire station, they would just drive to the scene. In today’s world, volunteer fire departments are being shut down and being replaced with paid, professional fire departments from neighboring towns because they cannot recruit new volunteers, (referred to as part-paid firefighters). I remember at an early age, a real estate office at the end of our road caught fire. A volunteer fire department (Silver Lake Fire Dist. #11) showed up and put it out. Unfortunately, the building rekindled and this time the Everett Fire Department responded, all that was left was a large burn pile.

I remember when I was six and in the first grade, my mom took me up the road to Lowell Elementary School, where they were having a combination cub scout and boy scout (I joined both) jamboree. There were all types of demonstrations, ranging from building a fire, putting up a tent (there were probably 50 tents up as they were spending the whole weekend there), and how to make a rope bridge, but my favorite was a staged car accident with victims. I remember victims on the ground with moulage props for broken bones, cuts, burns, and an avulsed eye sticking out of one of the victims’ heads.

One victim that particularly caught my eye was a person that had been thrown through the windshield and had a wound on her neck that spurted blood every couple of seconds (controlled by a bulb in her hand that you couldn’t see). It was gory and scary at the same time, but it didn’t affect me. Apparently, it was all I could talk about, and I couldn’t wait until Monday morning to tell my teacher and all of my classmates. On Monday morning I ran into the classroom and told my teacher how “cool” the demonstration was. She grabbed me by the arms and got about two inches from my face and started shaking me and screaming, “That is not cool, and I don’t ever want to hear you speak of this again.” She went on to lecture me about not telling any of my classmates and that if she heard that I did, I would be in “big trouble.”

Naturally, on the way home, I told everyone. I couldn’t believe the scolding that I got, after all, I didn’t know what all this meant. To me, it all seemed like a cool Halloween costume. I didn’t know what injury or death was. I was only six years old. I had two classmates the same year that had been killed after each being hit by a car four months apart. We were told by the same teacher that they wouldn’t be coming to school anymore. Again, death did not register with me. I just thought they moved away without saying goodbye.

When I was eight, I played little league baseball at the old Roosevelt Elementary School (now the 4 Square Church) up the street from Everett Fire Station 5. My mom worked at the local K-mart and started work at 4 p.m., but my practice didn’t start until 5 p.m., so three times a week I would walk down to the fire station and visit the firemen. I remember them being so nice and showing me around and letting me sit at the table while they smoked, read the paper, or ate dinner. I’m sure those firemen have long passed but if they are still with us, “Thank you” for making a huge impact on my life. You were why I wanted to become an Everett fireman.

I remember starting school at Mariner High School in September 1972. On our first day, the big event was the Olympic hostage situation that led to the killing of several Olympic athletes. I turned out for the freshman football program and had the pleasure of meeting Coach Tag Christianson, Coach Bill Hill (who became a mentor), Coach Ken Sather, and Coach Reg Nelson. My dad had just died six months earlier and I had no structured male adult interaction in my life and these gentlemen stepped up nicely.

After the first airing of “Emergency,” that I started concentrating on subjects that could prepare me for that type of profession. I excelled in science, anatomy, and physiology. During one of the classes, we had to go to the commons area and learn how to do CPR. Everyone in the class was moaning and groaning about having to learn this technique and how they would never use it (except me). Pat Lorbiecki (ironically, I would work with Pat 20 years later), was an Everett fireman who taught our class. I listened intently to his every word and aced the written test and got my first American Heart Association CPR card.

As I mentioned earlier, my father died six months before I started high school. He went into the hospital on my 13th birthday and died the next day. He died of complications from alcoholism. It wasn’t pretty. In 1973, mom met a man at an event, and they started dating and they eventually married. I despised this man (for lack of a better term) more than anyone I’ve ever known. We relocated to Edmonds, Washington, and I left all my friends behind. Living with my mom and this guy was a living hell. He verbally and physically abused me, and I just took it. It all came to a head one day when I hadn’t emptied the garbage in a timely matter, and I came home and found it in my bed. Coffee grounds, potato peels, stale beer…you name it, it was probably in my bed. I ran away from home.

At this point, I had just enrolled at Meadowdale High School (my junior year) in Lynnwood and didn’t know anyone. I remember my first day was during football homecoming week and I was watching people walk by. The hallways were all decked out in paper banners, crepe paper, confetti, etc. After the hallway cleared, I noticed one of the students close his locker and pull out a lighter. He ignited some of the crepe paper and the flames started traveling down the hallway. The fire alarm went off and everyone started running. Teachers came out of classrooms and when they saw flames, they grabbed fire extinguishers. The fire was out by the time Lynnwood Fire Department arrived, but the hallways were still full of smoke, so everyone had to wait outside until they were given the clear. At that point I thought, This school is going to be interesting, and I made friends easily. As it turned out, transferring to Meadowdale High School was a blessing. Heck, I even met my future wife there. Also, to this day, there are only two people who know who lit that fire. Him and me. I haven’t told anyone, Ray.

After running away from home, I came back several days later and found all my belongings in the backyard. “Dickhead” had kicked me out of the house, and they arranged for me to “live” with a woman who was renting out a room in Lynnwood, but I wouldn’t be able to attend Meadowdale. I would have to attend Lynnwood High School. It was the summer of 1975, and the beginning of my senior year, and I was expected to start as...