Showing posts with label fire book. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fire book. Show all posts

Fish and Tenderloin and Firefighting

If it seems like I'm just copying and pasting last year's blog about the AFD fish fry, it's because a book deadline has me in its clutches, and I am. The info is updated, though.

 

If you should be near Albion during the Chain O’ Lakes Festival, don’t forget to drop in on the fish and tenderloin fry at the fire station Wednesday, June 5th. This has been an annual tradition for many decades, with proceeds going to equipment and training for the Albion Fire Department. (Indiana, for those of you near other Albions.)

It’s from 4:30-7:00 p.m., with a price of $14 for adults and $10 for children 8 and under, and it’s darned good food for a good cause. I should know, having eaten it almost every year for ... a long time. The AFD is at 210 Fire Station Drive, on the east end of town.  (It's traditional, when a town has a Fire Station Drive, to build the fire station there.)

Donations to the department get us all sorts of stuff, much of which helps keep us alive.   



Meanwhile, don't forget to pick up a copy of Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights, the Albion Fire Department's history book, which goes for just $9.95. Come on, you know you want to donate that extra nickle. It took me 25 years to write!

Okay, so I wasn't writing the entire 25 years.



 

Remember: Every time you buy a history book, a dusty old professor gets his wings.

Old Firefighters Never Die: They Just Smolder

 So, I'm retiring. Not from my full time job of dispatching to become a Gentleman Author, as I wanted. (It's like a Gentleman Farmer, a rich person who just farms as a hobby. No real farmer is a Gentleman Farmer, especially considering their ungentlemanly language while going through bills.)

At my full time job we got an email pointing out, now that one of the Sheriff Department detectives has retired, I have the most seniority of anyone there or in dispatch. By six years. Maybe in the entire Noble County Government, although I'm not motivated to find out.

Nor will I retire from writing, until they pry my fingers from the keyboard. Maybe not even then, if I can manage text to speech. No, I'm retiring from what I've done longest (other than biological functions) in my adult life: firefighting.

 That's Phil Jacob standing beside me, holding his pin for being a firefighter for 55 (!) years. I remain unconvinced Phil will ever retire. In fact, I should put off working on my Haunted Noble County book, because fifty years from now he'll be haunting the Albion firehouse. When I look at him (or Tom Lock, who joined up six months before I did), I realize I'd never have the most seniority on the Albion Fire Department.

I don't know how they do it. I beat my body down too badly. After working a fire, I'd be in so much pain I couldn't function for days. My back pain goes all the way back to back to back fires way back in the 80s, where I wore a steel air tank for longer than even a young pup should. It got progressively worse, and I slowly realized over the last few years that I was threatening to become another victim to treat at an emergency scene, instead of contributing.

The tanks are a lot lighter now, but I'm a lot heavier. And I have less hair.

 

In the last year I developed shoulder problems. Recently my knees started acting up, in a temper tantrum kind of way. (And they make strange noises.) I've got arthritis in my big toe, for crying out loud. Ever since Covid, it's been all I can do to get through a day without falling asleep on the couch. Okay, maybe six decades of living has more to do with that than Covid.

I'm not complaining so much as explaining. I loved firefighting. The guys and gals who volunteer at the AFD, and our neighboring departments, are my brothers and sisters--they're family. But I couldn't even go to the station much, especially between those murderous 12-hour night shifts in dispatch that wouldn't happen if I was a gentleman author.


But I put it off. I didn't want to admit I can't do something I used to be able to do. When I finally told my wife I was pulling the plug, she wasn't a bit surprised. Most likely no one was.

So I wrote the membership a letter, and a few weeks later, when we walked into the annual AFD Appreciation Dinner, I saw my name tag and a helmet with my number on it. It was real. I had by then reached the depression stage of grief. I'll let you know when the acceptance stage arrives.

Here's Brian Tigner, a hard worker for the AFD, giving me my stuff and telling me they'd just as soon I left through the back door. Kidding! The reconditioned barn where we had dinner was awesome.

Wow, this turned out to be more of a downer than I'd planned. It's not all bad: I'll stay on as an honorary member, doing the Facebook page, taking pictures, doing public information stuff, and so on. I'm also halfway done with that new AFD book, which keeps getting put on the back burner for one reason after another. But I'm thinking of going to this year's Fish Fry as a diner instead of a server ... that concrete floor is hell on my back.

I look good in red flannel. I do, TOO.

 

To this day, I don't know how I worked up the courage to walk into that firehouse door on my eighteenth birthday. Me, the shy, antisocial introvert with no interest in being on a team--except this one. Every time I headed up to the station, I stepped outside my comfort zone. If I hadn't I'd have missed most of the events of my life, and I wonder then if I would have ever had anything to write about.

And for every bad thing I experienced, there were a dozen great things.

Forty-three years. I'll carry them forever ... in a good way.

 

 

Remember: If you send a book to every retired person you know, they might not complain that you never come to see them.

Cooking Fire Safety Starts With Me Not Cooking

            It goes without saying that the best way to maintain safety in a kitchen is to keep me out.

            But I said it anyway, and as it happens, the theme of this year’s Fire Prevention Week is "Cooking Safety Starts With YOU". Even a group of Congressmen couldn’t argue over whether that’s a good idea. Could they?

            “My esteemed colleague doesn’t seem to understand that if all fires were prevented, it would mean unemployment for untold numbers of construction crews and emergency room workers!”

            Yeah, I guess they could.
 

            The National Fire Protection Association decides themes for this important week, and they chose wisely. If only they chose wisely in naming their mascot, a huge and overly caffeinated-looking dog named Sparky.

            We don’t want sparks. Sparks are bad, except when lighting campfires, or igniting homemade cannons to flatten aliens. (It worked for James T. Kirk.)
 
 
Shouldn’t the NFPA’s mascot be named Soggy? Or is that for nightmare scenarios involving puppy training?

            In our house the kitchen is safe as long as I don't cook; when I do, food poisoning takes the number one danger spot. Instead, my wife cooks while I do the dishes, which seems fair. No one has ever started a fire while doing dishes, although I did electrocute myself that way, once. Okay, twice.

            Long story.

            Kitchen fires are common because that’s where the fire is. Whether you use electric or gas, stuff gets hot, and hot is dangerous. When fires start people panic, doing such things as pouring water on grease fires—because it’s the kitchen, and there’s water right there, after all.

            Here are other things people do wrong, when it comes to cooking:

            They leave.

            Leaving is bad. Unattended fires rarely have anyone attending them. Most stove fires I responded to as a firefighter were unattended, and even if the flames don’t spread beyond the pan, let me assure you: The smell is horrible.

            They fall asleep.

            Dude, if you’re that tired, sleep now—have breakfast later.
 
Or better yet, stop out at the Albion Fire Station this coming Saturday and have someone else cook your breakfast.

 

            They drink.

            Cooking sherry is for cooking. If you’re consuming alcoholic beverages, you should do pretty much nothing else, except maybe watch football or take a nap. Or take a nap while watching football—set an alarm for the halftime show.

            They put flammable stuff on the stove.

            I have a big plastic bowl with a very odd design on the bottom. Kind of dents, in a circular pattern. In fact, it’s the exact same pattern you’ll find on the top of my gas stove if, say, you turned off the flames but didn’t wait for the stove to cool down before you set a big plastic bowl on it.

            On any given day, somebody’s stove will have on it an oven mitt, wooden spoon, cardboard food box, or towel. Last year, 172,100 structure fires started with cooking. Total fire damage in the USA was 15.9 billion dollars. And you know what the worst part of a kitchen fire is? When it’s over …

            You’ll still be hungry.

            Two thirds of cooking fires start when food itself ignites, which kinda makes sense, and see above about how horrible it smells. Scorched beans and corn especially stink, for some reason. More than half of the injuries come when people try to fight the fires.




            Can you fight kitchen fires? Sure, after you call 911 (they’ll wisely tell you to leave), but you’re taking your chances. If you happen to be right there when something in a pan catches, just turn off the heat and drop a lid on it, suffocating the fire.

            But a lot of people don’t do that. In a panic, they’ll splash water on the fire, which will cause grease and oil to splatter and spread the fire further. Don’t do that.

            Better idea: Have a fire extinguisher and know how to use it. In my novel Radio Red, a panicked character tries to read the directions on an extinguisher after a fire breaks out. That’s a poor time to take a class, people. (And why haven’t you read that book?)

            Read the directions and take a class, so if the fire’s small you can stand with your back to an exit, discharge the extinguisher at the base of the fire, then get the heck outside, all after you dialed 911. Do I sound too cautious? Well, the National Safety Council says 3,800 American civilians died in fires last year, with 14,700 more injured. Do I still sound too cautious?

            That’s just a quick overview of the dangers, and what you can do about them. Oh, and one more thing: Thanksgiving is the number one day for home cooking fires, so have your relatives bring food.

            Then you can stay out of the kitchen, and enjoy your nap during the football game.