Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

I love old movies. I’ve likely said this before, but it’s OK. It’s my blog. So, if I so choose, I can say it again. I so choose. Movies from the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s. Movies in which the men were gentle and the women carried themselves with grace. Movies in which love had to do with romance and not sex. Movies where men “wooed” women with chivalry and respect. Movies where the women wouldn’t give a man a second thought if he did any less.

All of the guys wanted to dance like Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. They wanted to sing like Frank Sinatra or Bing Crosby. They wanted to be like Cary Grant or James Stewart. The women wanted to dance like Ginger Rogers or Cyd Charisse. They wanted to sing like Judy Garland or Kathryn Grayson. They wanted to be like Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly.

One of my favourite scenes from a movie is from Singin’ In The Rain. It is, of course, Gene Kelly’s routine for the title song. Perhaps more so than any other scene in any other movie, it captures a feeling of pure joy. You can’t watch that routine and not smile. He is man who has been captivated by a woman, and his heart, in that moment, is clearly on his sleeve for all to see.

December the 3rd was a brutal day for me. Not because of any event or circumstance per se. It was just “one of those days.” I hadn’t had a day like it in quite a while. My attitude was just junk that day. I’d like to say that it wasn’t about a self pity party, but I suppose, maybe on some level, it really was.

I was having an email conversation with a friend. In essence, I was spilling my guts about the prospects of facing my 3rd Christmas alone. She knows how much I love Christmas, and I was telling her that I just didn’t want it this year. I had kind of given up. I really was starting to let myself believe that hope was gone. It sounds dramatic, of this I am aware. But it’s also true that, unless you’ve lived through even some of what I’ve gone though, it’s hard to truly understand all I was feeling.

My friend, bless her heart, tried to encourage me, but I wasn’t interested in hearing it. I was miserable, and, frankly, I wanted to continue to be miserable. Christians don’t like to let Christians be miserable. So Christians are always trying to fix problems. But you know what… I wanted no part of it. God loves us, even when we’re ticked. I believe He understands. So on December the 3rd, I was in a bad mood all day long.

On December 5th, two days after the worst day I had had in a very long time, two days after I had quit women, given up hope, and was settling in for another holiday season alone, something unexpected happened. Something amazing happened. Two days later, my hope had been restored when – following a series of coincidental events – a young lady “Facebooked” her way into my life.

When I reflect on the story – which I’m not allowed to tell – I smile. Maybe coincidence wasn’t coincidence at all. Maybe it was all part of something greater than me and my bad attitude from December 3rd. I don’t want to overthink it. Not yet, anyway. So instead, I’ve just chosen to bask in it. And like Debbie Reynolds did to Gene Kelly, this young lady has captivated me. She did it with her quick wit, her blue eyes, and a smile that could brighten the rainiest day!

On my way to church this morning, as the skies opened up and the rains came down, I found Gene Kelly on my iPod. I played it once. Then I played it again. Then again. I ended up listening to it on repeat all the way to church. And the more I listened, the more I sang, and the more I pictured those blues eyes and that smile in mind, the more I finally understood what it was like to be “Singin’ In The Rain.”

A friend of mine, and fellow firefighter, posted this video on his Facebook page.  As I watched it tonight I knew I had to share it.

I share it as a firefighter.  One who has seen the carnage caused by a motor vehicle collision.  One who has cut casualties from the mangled wreckage.  One who has seen life ended too soon.  There are images that are forever burned into my mind.  Images that nobody should have to see.  My hands have been covered in the blood.  My eyes have seen the terror on the faces of those involved, and the loved ones who are left behind.

I share it as a son, brother, grandson and nephew.  One who never wants his family to get “that call.”  I was hit head on in a vehicle once.  If I close my eyes I can replay the entire experience in my head.  It may have only taken seconds to unfold from impact to stop, but it plays out in slow motion in my mind.  It was one of the most frightening moments of my life.  I was lucky.  That time, I walked away.

I share it as a friend.  As someone who cares about you.  As someone who never wants you to know the pain.  Experience the loss.  See the devastation.  Get the call.  Or make the call.

This particular video is centered around texting and driving.  Its applications go far beyond.  Consider it while talking on your cell without a hands free device.  Remember it the next time you’ve been out and had a couple drinks.  Think about it when you’re looking in your rearview mirror the check or touch up your makeup.  Replay it in your mind while you’re rooting through your purse, book bag or trying to reach for something in the back seat.  We’re all guilty in some capacity or another.  We’ve all taken chances.  We’ve all said it will never happen to me.

I will warn you, the video is quite graphic.  However, I can also say, from experience, that it’s quite real!  Watch it.  Think about it.  Share this post with people you care about.  Get home safe.

A Facebook friend posted this on her status on Thursday,

(name removed) is pondering life… 6 years ago tomorrow at noonish (name removed) and I were in an major car accident and shockingly lived through it. It all happened because some young gals were excited about the first day of summer break and hurrying to get to the beach and missed a stop sign. It always makes me see how easy it all could be gone! Life is short.

Reading that one simple post brought back a rush of emotion for me.  In that moment, I relived every detail of Thursday June 26, 2003.  That day remains my toughest day as a firefighter.  A day that I suspect I will never remove from my memory.

It started with a call for a 24 year old male possible VSA (vital signs absent).  I was 24.  When we arrived on scene we found a young man, lifeless, the result of a freak accident.  While placing a ladder to the side of his barn, a strong gust of wind caught it and carried it into high voltage lines.  We began CPR immediately, though we knew there was nothing we could do to bring this young man back.  “He’s too young.  This could be me!”  As I switched off between compressions and respiration’s, those were the only two thoughts in my mind.  I tried to distract myself by counting off my motions out loud.  It wasn’t working.

I was doing OK until his parents showed up.  That is when my heart broke, not once, but twice.  Once at the mothers realization that her son was gone, and again when when the father looked head on into the same tragic reality.

As we turned the scene over to Police and EMS something happened that almost never happened at my old station.  We got a second call.  Without time to process what just unfolded.  Without a moment to catch my breath from experience I just had, we were racing back into action.

This time the call was a 2 vehicle MVC just up the road from where we were.  We arrived on scene to find one car on it’s roof in the field, against a large steel culvert that ran under the road.  The second vehicle was a good distance away in the field and it was mangled quite severely.  It was evident that extrication was going to be required.

I was assigned to medical on the vehicle in the field.  It was filled with girls who were on their way to the beach.  Certainly this is not how they expected to spend their day.  I didn’t know it at the time, but the other vehicle was driven by a girl I had gone all through school with.

I remember every detail.  From the moment we arrived on scene until the moment I assisted with loading one of the girls into the air ambulance, and we cleared the scene when both vehicles had been removed and the hydro pole that had snapped like a toothpick had been replaced.

The next night I was scheduled to speak at a youth event at my church.  I was a Youth Pastor at the time.  The idea of standing up in front of a hundred plus people was agonizing enough, withouth having to do it while still processing everything I had done the day before.  One of the things I always did was write a handout that I would give to all my kids.  I was a teen once… I know teens are easily distracted and have short attention spans.  I also know they never have a good answer when their parents ask them what the message was on.  So I figured a handout was something tangible.  They could take it, read it, or just toss it on the kitchen table when they got home.  This is the handout I wrote 6 years ago.  Thanks to my grandma and my mom, I was able to get a copy of it.

Thursday June 26th was a tough day for me and for many others.

My day started by responding to a medical call for a 24 year old unconscious male.

When I arrived on scene I found a young man, the same age as me, laying on the ground dead as a result of electrocution.  We started CPR immediately, and I managed to keep myself composed through the entire ordeal.  God has blessed me with the ability to be calm in intense situations like that.

After the paramedics arrived I had an opportunity to step back and what I saw next broke my heart.  I saw the young man’s mothers standing in the yard staring at her son whom she’d never have the opportunity to talk to again.  I kept my composure though.

Then something else happened.  The unsuspecting Father pulled into the driveway.  As the mother, his wife ran across the driveway towards his vehicle my heart broke again.  This mother was running to her husband to tell him that he too would never have the opportunity to talk to his son again.

I’ve been on the Fire Department for nearly 3 years, and death is something that I’ve had to deal with many times.  But on this particular day, it hit a little closer to home for me because this man I was doing CPR on was the same age as me.

So why am I telling you?  I’m telling you this because when that young man’s parents got out of bed in the morning, I’m confident that the thought of losing their son was nowhere in their mind.  But just a few short hours later it was a reality they were being forced to deal with.

We have no idea when God is going to call us home.  For some it could be 5, 10, 20 or 50 years.  For others, it could be a matter of days, weeks or months.

All I know for sure is that, that young man’s parents will never have a chance to tell their son they love him again.  You have a gift that they no longer do.  As soon was you’re done reading this, go hug your teen(s) and tell them you love them!

Ever since I was a little kid, I can remember wanting to grow up and be a fireman.  Then again, is there any little boy that hasn’t dreamed the same dream at least once?  Probably not.  Big, bright red trucks, hoses spraying water, a cool costume, shiny toys, lots of noise.  It seems to consist of all the necessary elements for a boys ideal situation.

I was lucky growing up because dad was on the fire department.  That meant I got to hang out there lots.  It meant rides in the truck, it meant playing in his old gear, it meant hanging out at the hall sometimes.  I remember getting so excited before our town parade every year.  That was a guaranteed trip to the fall hall.  I knew I’d go once to wash the trucks, and then I knew on parade day I’d get it ride in one.

It was inevitable, I suppose, that I’d end up on the fire department.  Actually, I don’t think not ending up on the fire department was ever an option for me.  I remember riding the trucks, but I knew one day I’d want to drive them.  I remember watching the hoses spray water, but I knew one day I’d want to be the one holding it.  All shiny toys carefully stored in the compartments of the fire trucks that were “lookie no touchie” were crying out for me to be old enough to finally play with them!

I’ve been doing it going on 10 years now.  I’ve seen a lot, I’ve done a lot.  Every time I climb into that truck, I still feel those butterflies of excitement like I did when I was a kid.  That feeling of jumping into your gear, sitting down in the jump seat, and pulling out of the hall with lights flashing and sirens wailing, I don’t think will ever grow old for me.  Actually, since I transferred to my new station a year and a half ago, it’s only got better for me because they do three to four times the amount of calls as my old station did.

Today I did a fire prevention event for a group of small children.  They are something I’ve always enjoyed, because it takes me back to my childhood.  I’m a little afraid of kids.  They’re pretty small, you know.  I’m always afraid of breaking one.  Especially around the fire trucks and all that equipment.  At the same time though, nothing melts my heart like seeing the joy in a little kids eyes while they’re bouncing around inside the truck or waiting for their turn to hold the hose.

Twenty five years ago, I was that kid.  I was fascinated beyond the capacity of my vocabulary.  What I couldn’t express in words, I communicated through pure joy.  All I could do was stand there with my eyes as big as saucers, and my smile as wide as my mouth would let me.  I ran, and bounced and skipped and crawled and explored everything with wonder.  I wanted to sit in the drivers seat and put my hands on a wheel that was bigger around than I was tall.  I wanted to wear the coat that swallowed me whole, leaving my head to pop out like a turtle.  I wanted to pull the handle back and watch the water shoot from the hose like a cannon.  I wanted to splash in the puddles that came after.

I smiled for 2 hours today.  It made my face hurt.  I’m sure a lack of sleep, and the hot sun may have been a factor, but mostly, it was the kids.  All of them.  The boys and the girls and watching them take in the wonder of it all.  Each time I lifted one of them into the truck, my heart melted a little bit.  Each time one of them reached out for me to bring them back down, my heart melted a little.  Each time they touched my hand and pulled the lever on the nozzle with me, my heart melted a little.

The only thing better than doing what I did today, will be the day when I am “Firefighter Marc” and the parent too.  That is the day it will have come full circle.  The day it’s my little boy, or my little girl.  Just thinking about that day makes me smile.  And maybe my little boy or little girl will grow up and become a firefighter just like me, and maybe they won’t.  Either way, I can’t wait for the chance to share it all with them like my dad did with me.

There are a lot of things about being a Firefighter that are tough.  Without much thought or imagination I’m sure you could come up with a list as long as your arm.  You don’t need to do the job to understand the pressure, the danger, the challenges.

Physical, mental, emotional.  They are all there.  Walk around with an SCBA on for an hour or two, and your shoulders start to tense up and your back begins to ache, I don’t care how fit you are.  Stand in front of a roaring fire for 20 minutes and you feel like your body is burning inside a swimming pool.  It’s an odd sensation.  You’re soaked to the bone inside your gear from sweat, but at the same time you feel like you’re on fire yourself.

From time to time on the Fire Department, you’re going to see things that nobody should ever have to see.  It will often come in the form a motor vehicle collision, but not always.  Images that burn into your head like a photograph taken with the camera of your mind.  They never really go away.  One night you close your eyes, and the images will just appear, like they’ve been recorded on the backs of your eyelids.

Death is part of the job.  You don’t really realize how much until you’ve done it for a while.  That brings with it a whole different dynamic of stress.  You’ll be questioning if there is more you could have done, or something you could have done differently.  At the same time, you can find yourself trying to comfort a family member who is now in an emotional spiral set into motion by their loss.

I can’t stand sleeping with my socks on.  If my feet are too warm, I simply don’t sleep.  I like to sleep with my socks off, and my feet outside the covers to stay cool.  If my feet are cool, my sleep is sound.  If my feet are warm, there is either no sleep or restless sleep.

When I get woke up in the middle of the night to the pager, I’m completely incoherent for at least a minute or so.  I sometimes don’t know who I am, where I am, and what that infernal beeping is that’s waking me up.  Yet, instinctively, I always find myself getting dressed.  Usually about the time I’m pulling my t-shirt over my head, I have figured out what’s going on.

No matter how hard I try, there is one thing I struggle with more than anything during middle of the night fire calls.  My socks!  I can never seem to put my socks on when I’m woke from a deep sleep.  Pants are easy.  The holes are bigger.  Shirts, same deal, though I’ve stuck my head through a sleeve a time or two.  Socks though, I just can’t get.

Believe it or not, there was an incident once that involved a rather painful tumble down the stairs because of my socks.  I don’t know exactly what I was doing, but apparently I was trying to put my socks on while heading down the stairs.  It didn’t work out so well for me.  I told you… it takes me a bit to wake up!

One of the toughest things for me since then, is adapting to a life that involves sleeping with my socks on.  It just seems to be a safer alternative.  It also makes me appreciate nights out of town that much more because they are the only nights I can sleep sock free!

I don’t have children, though, I’ve had limited experience with them.  Mostly, it’s been through the fire department.  At my old station, I used to love doing fire prevention events with the kids.  It reminded me of what I was like when I was a kid, always wanting to be on the fire truck or wearing the equipment.

During these various functions I learned that for kids, there are no answers, there are only questions.  “What’s this?” “It’s a fire hose.”  “What does it do?”  “It sprays the water.”  “Where does the water come from?”  “It comes from the fire truck.”  “How does it come from the fire truck?”

No matter the number of answers you would give, a child always seems to have an uncanny ability to find, yet another question!  They just don’t seem to be content with an answer.  They always need, and want, to know more.

I find myself at an interesting point in my life.  At 30, I have acheived both personal and professional dreams, and, sadly, I’ve seen them both fade away.  Often, I have to stop and remind myself that I am only 30 and it’s OK.  I sometimes forget that I started my career at 17.  Having not achieved everything by 30 doesn’t mean I’m a failure, as many people are only getting started at 30.  It comes as little consolation to me at times, but I remind myself of it nevertheless.

I haven’t blogged much this week, perhaps you’ve noticed.  I hadn’t hardly missed a day since I started this back in January, but this week I’ve definitely been slacking.  The reason for that is because I’ve been spending a lot of time looking for answers.

I don’t mean to sound like I’m at some major crossroads, though, I’m not ruling that out.  I would like to believe that I am still too young to be experiencing a mid-life crisis, though, I’d certainly see a sports car as a solution to at least one or two of my problems.  But I’ve definitely been taking some time to look for answers.

The harder I looked for answers this week, the more I kept remembering those fire prevention experiences.  I’d get an image in my mind of a child, standing tip-toed to cross the three foot mark.  He was standing in my bunker pants, my boots nearly as long as his legs.  The bright red suspenders are pulled up over his shoulders, though even they can’t keep the pants hiked up on his tiny little frame.  He throws my coat on and can’t even get his hands to come out the ends of the sleeves.  When he places my helmet on his head, it swallows him.  Somewhere, inside the yellow dome is the face of a child.  He attempts to walk, but with each step the weight of the gear nearly sends him toppling to the ground.  He pays it no mind.  He’s a firefighter, if only in make believe.  As he tries to wade around the sea of grass and snaking lines of fire hose, he asks questions.  With each answer comes a new question.  There is no end until time dictates that we pack the trucks and head for home.

This week one question has come into my head more than any other.  Are there answers?  That’s what I’ve been reflecting on, tossing it back and forth in my mind over and over.  Is life about answers, or is it just about a journey filled with questions?  Are we on a quest to a destination of absolute?  Or are we moving through a sea of questions, the complexity of which are like the waves.  Some bigger.  Some stronger.  Some smaller.  Some easier.

A child is seldom content to rest when an aswer has been offered.  They keep pressing, searching, wondering.  Could this be what Jesus was referring to when he spoke of child-like faith?  Perhaps the point is not to find or know the answers.  Maybe I’m supposed to just have faith in the journey, with each question being another dot on my map.

It’s not normal what we do.  Firefighting I mean.  Well, it’s not normal to most.  It’s normal to me.  Maybe not at first, but after a while it became normal, or, at least as normal as such a thing can be.  You train.  You experience.  You do.  Eventually, you don’t really think about certain parts of the job.  It’s easier not to think about them.  Your training becomes as natural as tying your shoelaces.  You don’t need to think about it.  You just do it.

When people find out I’m a firefighter that’s usually what they want to talk about.  They expect that I will tell them brave and heroic tales of all the lives I’ve saved, all the dangers I’ve survived, all the glory I bask in daily.  I wish I could tell stories like that.  It sure would make what I do easier some days.  I don’t have very many tales like those though.  Mostly, I just have stories of tragedy, pain and loss.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a firefighter because all little boys want to be firefighters.  Having my dad on the fire department made it seem only more inevitable that I would join.  I remember going to the fire hall with dad.  Riding in the trucks whenever I could was always a highlight.  I used to put on old bunker gear that he had at the house and run around it.  When you’re a kid, that is all there is to it really.  It’s about cool gear and big red fire trucks with flashing lights and sirens.

They don’t really tell you too much about what firefighting can do to you when you first join.  I mean, they asked me questions like “How will you react to blood?”, “Would you be able to go into a burning building?”, “Can you handle what you might see at a car wreck?”  I answered the questions as honestly as I could.  “I don’t know.”  Truth was, I didn’t.  Dad had been a firefighter my whole life.  So that gave me insight into things I’d see and do too.  But even that can only prepare you to a certain extent.

Something else they don’t tell you is that, contrary to popular belief, you don’t very often save people.  In 10 years, I don’t know that I’ve ever saved anybody.  I had no idea that on the majority of the calls I’d be fighting a battle that was lost before I even made it through the door.  There is no worse a feeling, that I can imagine anyway, than walking into a situation where people are looking to you to help, and you know that you’re too late.  Do that enough, and no matter how tough you are, it will wear on you.

I’ve watched a police officer tell parents their son is dead while I was still doing CPR on him in the distance.  As I counted off chest compressions, knowing my efforts were in vain, I did not feel heroic.  I’ve held a charged attack line on a house burning out of control, well aware that I can’t stop the fire fast enough.  The family members watched their memories go up in a ball of fire.  While the flames licked out the window at my helmet, I did not feel brave.  I’ve held the jaws of life in my hands, using them to cut out a someone whom life had left.  I couldn’t save that one.

Firefighters don’t talk much about the dark side of the job.  Nobody would really want to hear it anyway.  I’m sure it’s a defense mechanism, keeping the stories amongst ourselves.  I’m not sure who we are trying to protect more.  Is it ourselves, from becoming vulnerable, out of fear that we’ll lose the tough layer that permits us to do the job day in and day out?  Or is it our family and friends we are trying to protect, from the pain and suffering that we have become all to familiar with?

On my journey as a firefighter, I have plotted points on a map.  I cannot tell you the house number.  I may not even be able to tell you the street name.  As I drive past certain places, I remember.  Sights, smells, sounds.  Each mark on the map inside my head comes with memories I’d prefer to forget, but can’t.  There is the barn where the electrocution took place.  There is the house where I almost got caught in my first flashover.  There is the corner where the woman was ejected from her vehicle and, almost as if controlled by the flick of a switch, her life stopped.  There is the field where the Air Ambulance landed the first time I ever loaded somebody into it.  There is the garage that was the first structure fire I ever entered, and after seeing what was inside when the fire was out, I am thankful I exited with my life!

I don’t regret what I do.  Not for a minute.  I’m 10 years in, and if I can stretch it out another 30, I’d be grateful for every moment.  And not all the stories are bad.  In fact, as I was writing this very blog I got called away to a fire.  A couple, enjoying a quiet evening on the banks of the river.  Lines in the water, hoping to catch some fish, they had started a small little campfire to cook some hot dogs on.  A passerby saw it, and called 911.  Those are the funny stories.  Those are the stories that bring, if only for a moment, the balance back inside my head between the good and bad.  When the dark memories creep into my dreams, the funny stories are the ones I recall to try and push them back.  Those are the stories I tell people about when they ask what it’s like to be a firefighter.

I wasn’t hardly home for more than 10 minutes last night.  I got in the door, took off my shoes, changed my clothes, and had just started to cook supper.  I had a pork chop marinating all day and I was looking forward to eating a nice meal.  I should have known better!

I had just started working on the pork chop and was preparing the vegetables when my pager went off.  A corn field on fire.  Really?  The first thing I thought to myself was, who the heck even has a corn field in April?  The second thing I thought was, what the crap are they doing burning it on a Friday night?  Regardless… so much for my nice meal!

As we pulled up on the scene, sure enough, there was a corn field and it was most certainly on fire!  In fact, it was a pretty large corn field and, courtesy of a gusty evening breeze, it was burning pretty good.

There was no way we were going to get our trucks to it.  We also determined that if we all lined up (all guys) and simultaneously, well, use your imagination… that wasn’t going to work either.  So that left us to fight it the old fashioned way… with brooms.  We all grabbed our brooms and started trekking out into the field.

The fire was hot, and the smoke was thick.  A wind blowing from the northwest wasn’t helping.  It was fanning the flames, pushing the fire, and blowing the smoke.  It tasted awful!

We were working hard to try and contain the fire, but it was spreading on us fast because of the wind.  In a matter of just a few minutes, the fire line moved a good 20ft further south.  The fact that it was burning so hot didn’t help.  You could only stand the heat for a minute or two before you had to step out.

As I was standing there, soaked to the core from sweat, my eyes stinging from the smoke, I couldn’t help but reflect back on the some of the events that have taken place in my life in the last little while.  Certain areas of my life felt a lot like this fire.  Out of my control.

If it weren’t for the wind, we could’ve contained that fire and got it out a lot faster.  But it made me think about how sometimes things are just beyond our control.  Circumstances we have no say in.  Events we can do nothing about.  Sometimes, whether we like it or not, we really are just along for the ride.

Then Jesus got into the boat and started across the lake with his disciples. Suddenly, a fierce storm struck the lake, with waves breaking into the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him up, shouting, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”

Jesus responded, “Why are you afraid? You have so little faith!” Then he got up and rebuked the wind and waves, and suddenly there was a great calm.

The disciples were amazed. “Who is this man?” they asked. “Even the winds and waves obey him!” Matthew 8:23-27

Whether it’s a boat at sea being tossed by a storm, a corn field burning out of control because of the wind, or circumstances in our life that maybe didn’t play out quite like we thought, it all comes back to one simple thing.  We’ve got to have faith.

I love the movie Field Of Dreams.  It’s the perfect blend of drama, suspense, mystery, and baseball!  Ray Kinsella (played by Kevin Costner) finds his father in a corn field.  As I stood in that field last night, I found my Father too.  He reminded me that I just needed to have faith, and trust that He’s got things under control.

When I am called to duty, God,
wherever flames may rage.
Give me  strength to save some life
whatever be it’s age.
Help me to embrace a child
before it is too late,
or save an older person
from  the horror of that fate.
Enable me to be alert and hear the weakest shout
And quickly and efficiently to
put the fire out.
I want to fill my calling and
to give the best in me.
To guard my every neighbor and
protect his property.
And if according to my fate,
I am to lose my life,
Please bless with your protecting hand
my children and wife.

A. W. ‘Smokey’ Linn

The first time that I was nearly injured on a fire scene came not too long after I joined the Fire Department.  I’d like to tell you that it was a brave and heroic event filled with tales of great danger and a blazing inferno, sadly, I cannot.

In the midst of a thunderstorm we were called to respond to a transformer on fire on the edge of town.  It’s not an uncommon occurrence.  Lightning seems to like striking transformers, or so I’ve come to learn over the years.

At such a fire there really isn’t too much we can do.  After all, it doesn’t take a trained Firefighter to know that spraying charged power lines with a hose is not exactly the way to a healthy, prosperous and long life.  On the other hand, if you’re interested in discovering just what it would feel like to experience the electric chair, or live out your remaining days as a charcoal briquette, by all means… spray away!

On this particular scene I was on traffic control.  We blocked off a single lane of traffic with our trucks, and wanted to keep the area closest to the hydro pole secure, in the event the wires would let go or the lines would arc.  As I stood on the side of the road in my gear with reflective stripes and a large flashlight for extra visibility, I guided vehicles through the scene.

Everything was going rather smoothly until one individual, whom was more fascinated, I can only assume, with the flashing lights and fire trucks than they were with me and my traffic signals, decided to blow through the scene.  In order to prevent myself from being hit, I quite literally had to dive into the ditch.  To say I was annoyed, would be somewhat of an understatement.

Today I was in the Post Office in town and a group of people were gathered, because in a small town apparently this is where people hang out, discussing a recent blitz by the O.P.P.  For this particular blitz, they were parking their cruisers on the side of the road with their emergency lights activated.  In Ontario, the Highway Traffic act states, quite clearly I might add, that when you approach a scene with an emergency vehicle on the side of the road with it’s lights on, you are to move over one lane.  It’s all in the name of safety, and, it should be common sense!  If you fail to yield the lane, you can be fined.  I believe the fine is $490 and you can lose 3 demerit points.

On this blitz, the O.P.P. charged nearly 80 people for failing to yield the lane.  I don’t believe it an exaggeration to say that drivers failing to do so are putting lives at danger!  The group of people gathered at the Post Office, however, felt differently.  They were entirely disgusted with the O.P.P. and their “money grabbing tactics.”

As a Firefighter, and as one who has had to jump out of the way of a vehicle not paying attention driving through a scene, I commend the O.P.P. for running this blitz, charging that many people, and hopefully, driving home a point about safety!

When faced with an emergency vehicle, it’s quite simple.  Get out of the way!  If they are coming up behind you, pull over!  If they are coming towards you, pull over!  If they’re on the side of the road, give them a lane of space… pull over!  Help us do our job, and help us do it safely!  It could be you we’re helping one day!