 | | because of the heat and smoke. Advancing the hose line with 60 pounds of pressure per square inch at the nozzle, trying to make it to that apartment or rear bedroom where someone may be trapped, knowing that seconds and minutes count. |
| Racing up six or seven flights of stairs to the fire floor, wearing bunker gear and carrying 50 or 60 pounds of equipment, facing exhaustion, heat strokeeven death. |
| I have given you reasons not to become a firefighter. Now let me tell you why you should! |
| First of all, it's one of the best jobs in the world. I have over 33 years of experience as a firefighter. I've responded to almost 27,000 alarmsall of them on the line with the men and women of one of the greatest fire departments in the world. There is no doubt they are the most intelligent, kind, honest, caring, generous, talented, and physically fit people ever. |
| When I was a young man, I was working for the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, decoding foreign cablegrams. It was a job I hated. My father thought a civil service job would offer decent wages, good working conditions, health benefits, and the chance to retire while still fairly young. I passed both the police and firefighter tests, and was called at almost the same time as a candidate for both jobs. I chose, after careful consideration, to listen to my father's advice and accept the position of probationary firefighter. I have never looked back. |
| While waiting for my appointment, I was told to report to a local firehouse in my neighborhood: Engine Company 239 in South Brooklyn. The then-Fire Commissioner thought it was a good idea for us first to become an auxiliary firefighter so we could learn something about fire prevention before being appointed. Along with about 10 other candidates, I reported for a lecture about fire prevention, signing in on the company journal at the firehouse watch desk. |
| About 15 minutes into the lecture, loud bells began to sound, the lights became much brighter, the huge firehouse doors opened to the outside world, and men began sliding down shining brass poles. Like the snap of a finger, the pumper engine roared to life, moving quickly forward to the street, as the firefighters, dressed in their firefighting gear, jumped on board. The huge red machine accelerated quickly, its siren and bell echoing off the brownstones and tenements of South Brooklyn on the way to its coded destination. The enormous doors on the apparatus floor closed with a boom, but I could still hear all the sounds slowly disap- |
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