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SHartland Winters

From Wayne

What is a fireman?

He is the guy next door - a man's man with the memory of a little boy. He has never gotten over the excitement of engines and sirens and danger.

He is a guy like you and me with wants and worries and unfulfilled dreams.

Yet he stands taller than most of us.

He is a fireman.

He puts it all on the line when the bell rings.

A fireman is at once the most fortunate and the least fortunate of men.

He is a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.

He is a gentle man because he has seen the awesome power of violence out of control.

He is responsive to a child's laughter because his arms have held too many small bodies that will never laugh again.

He is a man who appreciates the simple pleasures of life - hot coffee held in numb, unbending fingers - a warm bed for bone and muscle compelled beyond feeling - the camaraderie of brave men - the divine peace and selfless service of a job well done in the name of all men.

He doesn't wear buttons or wave flags or shout obscenities.

When he marches, it is to honor a fallen comrade.

He doesn't preach the brotherhood of man.

He lives it.

Author unknown

The Firefighter's Prayer

This prayer is dedicated to all those who have gone before me and who will follow me in the line

When I am called to duty, God, wherever flames may rage,
Give me the strength to save some life whatever be its age.
Help me embrace a little 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 this day,
Please bless with your protecting hand my family this I pray.

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 some time the next day.
But the thing that bothered me the most
was the thingÕs some folks would say,
"A fireman's life is easy,
he eats and sleeps and plays,
and sometime's he won't fight a fire
for days and days and day's".
When I first heard these words
I was to young to understand
but I knew when people had trouble
Dad was there to 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 didn't 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 Firemen.
He may save the one's you love.

Carved in stone at the National Monument for
Fallen Firefighters Colorado Springs, Co.

A firefighter poem

HE STARES IN THE FACE OF DEATH
WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT
TO SAVE THAT ONE SPECIAL LIFE
THAT HE SO BRAVELY SOUGHT
HE HAS WALKED AS CLOSE TO
"HELL ON EARTH"
AS ANY MAN COULD DO
AND HE'S SO PROUD OF THE JOB HE DID
FOR PEOPLE HE NEVER KNEW
HE PUTS HIS LIFE ON THE LINE
EVERYTIME DUTY CALLS
ALWAYS DOING WHAT NEEDS TO DONE
WITHOUT EVEN A PAUSE
HE IS A FIREMAN
WITH OVERWHELMING PRIDE
NEVER AFRAID TO TAKE A CHANCE
WHEN SAVING SOMEONES LIFE
OFTEN HE SAYS
"IT'S MY JOB"
BUT WE REALLY KNOW
THAT HE IS VERY SPECIAL
AND ALWAYS READY TO GO
SO WHEN YOU HEAR THE SIRENS WAIL
OR SEE THE FLASHING LIGHTS
STAND ASIDE AND LOOK WITH PRIDE
HE'S GOING TO SAVE A LIFE

C A L L W A I T I N G

I'm laying in the darkness, I cannot fall asleep.
I wonder where my husband is, I wish he'd call or beep.
I saw him leave this morning, the black boots on his feet.
He said he had to run now, and I know he's on the street.
You'll know him when You see him, his truck is very loud.
He has no time to stop now, he doesn't want a crowd.
A caller said "Please hurry!" Come quickly if you will.
A young man with a motorbike is laying very still.
A mother calls in anguish, her child limp and blue.
HURRY! Come, I need you! I don't know what to do.
I hear his key turning, he's coming in the door.
I hear him drop his boots, then footsteps on the floor.
I hear him in the kitchen, I can tell from his walk,
He'll soon come and wake me, and ask if we can talk.
We'll sit out in the moonlight, and listen to the night.
He talks about a shooting, a streetgang in a fight.
A car crash, a drowning, a small child hurt at play.
The things he needs to talk about, the things he did today.
The old, the sick, the injured, some so very small.
He did all he could to help them, he answered every call.
Every day he has a mission, he knows it in his heart.
He does everything he can and always does his part.
If you are sick or injured and you need to reach my Hon,
I can tell you how to reach him, his number is ......911.
 

A Firefighter's Wife

"I Wish You Could Know"
I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning bedroom for
trapped children at 3AM, flames rolling above your head, your palms and
knees burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the
kitchen below you burns.

I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 6 in the morning as I check
her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway,
hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting
his wife and family to know everything possible was done to try to save his life.

I wish you knew 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've become too familiar with.

I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a building fire "Is this A
false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What hazards
await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to 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 a doctor pronounces dead the
beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past
25 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, squad,
or my personal vehicle, 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 the 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 know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years
from the remains of her automobile. "What if this was my daughter, sister, my
girlfriend or a friend? What were her parents reaction going to be when they
opened the door to find a police officer with 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 the last call.

I wish you could know how it feels dispatching officers, firefighters and
EMT's out and when we call for them and our heart drops because no one answers
back or to here a bone chilling 911 call of a child or wife needing assistance.

I wish you could feel the 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 or missed
meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the
tragedy my eyes have seen.

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

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

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

I wish you could though.

* author unknown *

"Hey mom!" He yelled from the attic door,

"What's these old heavy boots and hard hat for?"

With a lump in her throat and a tear stained cheek

His mother swallowed and started to speak.

"Come here my son," his mother said,

"There's things to tell when I clear my head."

The past races madly through her mind.

She searched her heart for the words to find.

At last she sighed and rubbed his hair

And the words that followed I'd like to share.

"Those boots & hat," She said with pride,

"Were worn by a man with grit inside.

He wore them to help people in need.

Though facing danger would never concede.

Many a time in the dead of night

He jumped in those boots and flashed out of sight

To answer a call, not knowing for sure

What danger or heartache he may have to endure.

Your father, my son, was not like most dads,

It was mainly because of the job he had.

His life was devoted to all of mankind,

Just why he chose it's not clear in my mind.

I've often regretted the life that we led,

When every third night I was alone in our bed.

But your mother is proud to say she was part

Of a man who possessed such a courageous heart.

So the memories I've kept & the love I will save

Are small consolations for the life that he gave.

Yet, for all his discomfort & all of his pain

The time that he spent here was never in vain."

I know full well these words to be true,

And not one word did she misconstrue.

But from all my mother shared that day

It's these last few words I'd like to convey.

My mother, with tears, save a long loving sigh,

And I knew what would follow was not meant to die.

With a smile so warm & a voice very weak,

She kissed my young brow & started to speak.

"Your father's days here made others seem brighter.

For your father, my son, was a firefighter."

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

Author Unknown

Firefighters Gloves
 

A Firefighters Gloves hold many things
From elderly arms to a kids broken swing
From the hands they shake and the backs they pat
To the tiny claw marks of another treed cat
At 2 am they are filled with chrome
From the DWI who was on her way home
And the equipment they use to roll back the dash
From the family of 6 she involved in the crash

The brush rakes in spring, wear the palms out
When the wind does a “90” to fill them with doubt
The thumb of the glove wipes the sweat from the brow
Of the face of a firefighter who mutters “What now?”

They hold inch and three quarters flowing one twenty five
So the ones going in, come back out alive
When the regulator goes; then there isn’t too much,
But the bypass valve the eagerly clutch

The rescue equipment, the ropes, the C-collars;
The lives they saved never measured in dollars
Are the obvious things firefighters gloves hold
Or, so that is what I’ve been always told

But there are other things Firefighters Gloves touch
Those are the things we all need so much

The hold back the rage on that 3 am call
They hold in the fear when you’re lost in a hall
They hold back the pity, agony, sorrow
They hold in the desire to “Do it tomorrow”

A gloves just a glove till it’s on firefighters
Who work all day long just to pull an all-nighter
And into the fray they charge without fear
At the sound of a “Help” they think that they hear

When firefighter’s hands go into the glove
It’s a firefighter who always fills it with love
Sometimes the sorrow is too much to bear
And it seeps the glove and burns deep “in there”

Off come the gloves when the call is done
And into the pocket until the next call
The hands become lonely and cold for a bit
And shake just thinking of it

And they sit there so red eyed with their gloves in their coats
The tears come so fast that the furniture floats
They’re not so brave now; their hands they cant hide
I guess it just means they are human inside

And though some are paid are others are not
The gloves feel the same when it’s cold or it’s hot
To someone you’re helping to just get along
When you fill them with love, you always feel strong

And so when I go on my final big ride
I hope to have my gloves by my side
To show to St. Peter at the heavenly gate
Cause as everyone knows, firefighters don’t wait.

Thank God