What is a Firefighter?

HE'S the guy next door,a mans man with the
memory of a little boy. He's never gotten
over the excitemnt of the engines and sirens 
and danger.He's the guy like you and me 
with warts and worries and unfulled dreams.
Yet he stands taller then most of us. He's a fireman.

He put's it on the line when the bell rings. 
A fireman at once the most fortunate and the least 
fortuate of men. He's a man who saves lives, because 
he's seen too much death.He's a gentle man because he 
has seen the awesome power of violence out of control.

He's responsive to a childs laughter,because his arms 
held too many small bodies that will never laugh again.
He's a simple man who enjoys the simple pleasure's in 
life hot coffee held in numb,unbending fingers a warm 
bed for bone and muscle compelled beyond feeling. The 
camaraderie of brave men and the devine peace and 
selfless service,of a job well done.

He doesn't wear buttons or wave flags or shout 
obsenities.When he marches its to honor a fallen comrade.
He doesnt preach the brotherhood of man He lives it.

Author Unknown

Brother When You Weep...

Brother when you weep for me
Remember that it was meant to be
Lay me down and when you leave
Remember I'll be at your sleeve
In every dark and choking hall
I'll be there as you slowly crawl
On every roof in driving snow
I'll hold your coat and you will know
In cellars hot with searing heat
At windows where a gate you meet
In closets where young children hide
You know I'll be there at your side
The house from which I now respond
Is overstaffed with heroes gone
Men who answered one last bell
Did the job and did it well
As firemen we understand
That death's a card dealt in our hand
A card we hope we never play
But one we hold there anyway
That card is something we ignore
As we crawl across a weakened floor
For we know that we're the only prayer
For anyone that might be there
So remember as you wipe your tears
The joy I knew throughout the years
As I did the job I loved to do
I pray that thought will see you through 

This poem appeared in Firehouse Magazine, February 1997 edition

I Wish You Could

I wish you could see the sadness of a business 
man as hislivelihood goes up in flames or that 
family returning home, only to find their house 
and belongings damaged or destroyed.

I wish you could know what it is to search a 
burning bedroom for trapped children, flames 
rolling above your head, your palms and knees 
burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under 
your weight as the kitchen beneath you burns.

I wish you could comprehend a wife’s horror 
at 3 a.m. as I check her husband of forty years 
for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, 
hoping against hope to bring him back, knowing 
intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife 
and family to know everything possible was done.

I wish you could know the unique smell of burning 
insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus, the 
feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, 
the sound of flames crackling, the eeriness of being 
able to see absolutely nothing in dense smoke - 
sensations that I have become too familiar with.

I wish you could understand how it feels to go to 
school in the morning after having spent most of 
the night hot and soaking wet at a multiple alarm 
fire.

I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a 
building fire, "Is this a false alarm or a working, 
breathing fire? How is the building constructed? 
What hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to an 
EMS call, "What is wrong with the patient? Is it 
minor or life-threatening? Is the caller really in 
distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?"

I wish you could be in the emergency room as the 
doctor pronounces dead the beautiful little five-year 
old girl that I have been trying to save during the 
past twenty-five minutes, who will never go on her 
first date or say the words, "I love you, Mommy" again.

I wish you could know the frustration I feel in 
the cab of the engine, the driver with his foot 
pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm tugging 
again and again at the air horn chain, as you 
fail to yield right-of-way at an intersection or 
in traffic. When you need us, however, your first 
comment upon our arrival will be, "It took you 
forever to get here!"

I wish you could read my thoughts as I help 
extricate a girl of teenage years from the 
mangled remains of her automobile, "What if 
this were my sister, my girlfriend, or a friend? 
What were her parents’ reactions going to be as 
they opened the door to find a police officer, 
hat in hand?"

I wish you could know how it feels to walk in 
the back door and greet my parents and family, 
not having the heart to tell them that I nearly 
did not come back from this last call.

I wish you could feel my hurt as people verbally, 
and sometimes physically, abuse us or belittle what 
I do, or as they express their attitudes of, "It 
will never happen to me."

I wish you could realize the physical, emotional 
and mental drain of missed meals, lost sleep and 
forgone social activities, in addition to all the 
tragedy my eyes have viewed.

I wish you could know the brotherhood and 
self-satisfaction of helping save a life or 
preserving someone’s property, of being there 
in times of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.

I wish you cold understand what it feels like 
to have a little boy tugging at your arm and 
asking, "Is my Mommy okay?" Not even being able 
to look in his eyes without tears falling from 
your own and not knowing what to say. Or to have 
to hold back a long-time friend who watches his 
buddy having rescue breathing done on him as they 
take him away in the ambulance. You know all along 
he did not have his seat belt on - sensations that 
I have become too familiar with.

Unless you have lived this kind of life, you will 
never truly understand or appreciate who I am, what 
we are, or what our job really means to us.

I wish you could.

Author Unknown

The Last Alarm

My father was a fireman
He drove a big red truck
And when he'd go to work each day
He'd say, "Mother, wish me luck."
Then Dad would not come home again
Til sometime the next day
But the thing that bothered me the most
Was the things some folks would say
"A fireman's life is easy,
He eats and sleeps and plays,
And sometimes he won't fight a fire
For days and days."
When I first heard these words
I was too young to understand
But I knew when people had trouble
Dad was there too lend a hand
Then my father went to work one day
And he kissed us all goodbye
But little did we realize
That night we all would cry
My father lost his life that night
When the floor gave way below
And I'd wondered why he'd risked his life
For someone he did not know
But now I truly realize
The greatest gift a man can give
Is to lay his life upon the line
So that someone else might live
So as we go from day to day
And we pray to God above
Say a prayer for your local fireman
He may save the one's you love

Jim Martinez