The Firefighter
I want to tell you a story about a firefighter.
I met Dave in college. I was going to school in Alabama and he was in Maryland. Turned out, Dave was majoring in fire science and living at an actual fire station, pulling full shifts as an EMT and firefighter while hitting the books.
He asked if I wanted to come visit the fire house, crash there for a few days, see what he does, and go on some emergency calls. I couldn’t say yes fast enough.
I’m sure at some point in my childhood I wanted to be a firefighter, seeing those heroes ride shiny firetrucks in picture books and on Sesame Street. That dream faded as I got older and was exposed to other career options, but my sense of wonder reared its head and we made plans for my visit.
I arrived on a snowy January day and found my bunk. Dave gave me a full tour (no fire pole, alas) of the station and trucks. He sized me up for a pair of fireman’s pants and a heavy, fire retardant jacket. He tossed me a helmet.
I was ready.
I soon learned that a lot of a firefighter’s work is to wait. Some career guys were catching catnaps in the middle of their 24-hour shifts. Others were doing side work: mopping floors, washing trucks, testing gear. I wasn’t sure what to do so I found the couch and the remote.
A few minutes later, I looked up and the fire hall was empty. All the firemen were gone, including Dave. This would be a VERY bad time for this place to catch fire.
After about a half hour, Dave and the crew returned.
“Where did you all go?” I asked.
“On a call,” said Dave. “Didn’t you hear the dispatcher?”
Of course I didn’t hear the dispatcher. I was expecting a giant alarm bell. Instead, modern technology meant that firefighters turn their ears for a succession of three beeps. After that, a voice at central command calls a series of numbers. These numbers represent stations that need to respond, along with which apparatuses to take (ladder truck, ambulance, etc.).
Now that I knew the code, the radio was infinitely more interesting the TV. I sat near it, waiting or three beeps and the number 24.
A bit later a call came in. Go time.
I threw on my gear and hopped in the truck. Off we raced to reports of smoke at an apartment complex.
We arrived and filed out. Everyone had their job. Some firefighters ran toward the complex, others pulled hoses and began loosening hydrants.
“Watch out!” I hear as a hose nearly chop-blocked me to the ground. I found another place to stand.
Turns out it was all a false alarm. Just someone smoking where they shouldn’t have been. Everyone packed up and we drove back to the station.
As we were hanging up our gear, I placed my helmet down and noticed something. On the back of the helmet, a bright reflective sticker read “OBSERVER.”
That sticker set my limit. No matter how many calls I went on or how comfortable I felt at the station with the guys, I wasn’t in deep like they were. It didn’t matter that I knew the dispatch code or dressed the part. My knowledge and talent stopped there. I wasn’t a real firefighter even though nearly all outward appearances said otherwise.
I didn’t have the drive to pass the training and exams required. I didn’t have the experience of actually racing toward flames and saving lives. I was just an observer.
Be careful not to be a mere observer at work or in your community. Being all in - as an owner, citizen, or leader - requires deep commitment. But that commitment is the only thing that can actually make you all in.
Otherwise, you’re just standing on the sidelines. But we need you in the game.
