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By Kris Kazian
For many of us, the thought of putting on our Class A uniform is not something we always look forward to. It is either polyester or wool, there are a lot of buttons, and the shirt is typically starched to an uncomfortable level. If all of that doesn’t bother you, it may be the anxiety of wondering if it still fits.
The Class A uniform is a symbol of our history and should be worn with a sense of pride. Wearing our Class As is typically done for two reasons – as part of a happy occasion, like a recruit graduation, a badge-pinning for a new hire or a promotion ceremony, or during a challenging time, like a funeral.
In December 2019, I found myself having to wear my Class A uniform a few times.
Early in the month, we had 28 recruits graduating from our regional career academy. Our organization had five graduating recruits, all of whom I was extremely proud. I was also quite proud of the fact that of the 28 graduating recruits, 13 of them had once worked for our agency.
The next week, I donned my Class A again. This time, it was for our community college graduation with 31 recruits graduating. I was asked to be the keynote speaker. As a chance to make a favorable impression on the minds and thoughts of the new recruits and their parents and significant others, I had to look the part and impress them all with more than just my words.
Both of these were great occasions to sport the Class A; however, the following week presented the other reason to don the uniform – a funeral for a colleague who had succumbed to job-related cancer that he battled for over six years.
I do not know about you, but every time I put on my Class A uniform, I feel different. I feel a strong sense of history, pride and honor. I button up the jacket, make sure my patent leather shoes are shiny, and attend the event with a much different sense of duty and expectation of myself than when I am wearing my duty uniform. Do not get me wrong, I have strong feelings of excellence and pride when I wear my Class B uniform, but it is different when I wear my Class A.
While waiting for the funeral to start, I was talking to a good friend from another state. We did not know the fallen brother personally, but as we do, we support our fallen with honor and dignity.
My friend and I got to talking about funerals and how they impact us, and I shared with him that I keep all of the memorial or funeral cards in the inside pocket of my Class A. Looking back, I am not certain how I started this tradition.
My first funeral card is from 1999 for Wayne Luecht, who was killed in the line of duty at an electrical explosion at a commercial building in Northbrook, Illinois. His death was the first local LODD and had a deep impact on me. I put his card in my pocket, and that was the start of my homage to those who have made the ultimate sacrifice. And now, every time I wear my Class A uniform, I am carrying on a legacy of those who have passed before me, some whom I have known and others I have not. In any case, those memory cards sit right under my badge and in front of my heart, allowing me to honor their legacy and truly work to never forget.
I have nearly two dozen funeral cards that I carry with me, and each has impacted me in different ways.
There was my first chief who told my training officer before I even had a year on as part-time firefighter, “That kid will be a chief some day!” There was one of my former firefighters from Illinois who had a heart attack in his mid-40s. At his funeral, I watched his two young children receive his helmet, and I remember the raw emotion I experienced. His son was recently hired as a career firefighter, and I could not be prouder of his legacy continuing.
There are the three firefighter funeral cards that I gained when I went to New York after 9/11. Five firefighters from a neighboring agency and I drove the 13 hours to New York City from the suburbs of Illinois. We literally drove through the night, arrived at a church in New York two minutes before the service started, and changed into our Class A uniforms on the middle of the street. We attended two other funerals that day and spent the rest of night with firefighters from around the world and the people of New York, trying to heal from the event we have sworn to Never Forget. It was a 36-hour roundtrip experience to honor three of the 343.
I also attended Chief Alan Brunacini’s funeral, a funeral card for a friend and amazing person whose impact was profound to everyone’s fire service career. Like many others, I had the opportunity to learn from Bruno throughout my career and was lucky enough to get to know him as part of the Arizona fire service and, ultimately, to call him a friend.
I then pulled out my Granite Mountain 19 Prescott Hotshots coin – a coin that was given to limited people close to the incident. My friend and I talked about the incident, the challenges of the events that preceded that tragic event, and the fallout that followed. At the time, I was working in Arizona about an hour from where the event occurred. I was planning on attending the funeral, but was asked to operate essentially as the chief of Prescott that day. I was happy to do whatever they felt was necessary for them, and I spent the 24 hours the day of the funeral managing the entire city of Prescott and all the mutual-aid companies that were there doing the same. We had no Prescott units or personnel, and like the fire service does, we came together in a time of need and supported our brothers and sisters.
These cards and coin remain in my coat at all times as a solemn reminder of the dangers of our profession and as a way to honor the fallen. Every time I put on my coat, I think about those who have gone before us, and I want to keep their legacy going. I want their contribution to continue to live on. I want the lessons they taught me to stay with me. I want their impact on my life, whether I knew them or not, to make a dent in my universe. I want to share their legacy with others when I can.
While many are impressed when they see the shiny badge, stripes on the coat, fancy shoes or the cool cap, it is the challenges, honor, sacrifice and dignity on the inside that really matters. Truly never forgetting and living the legacy of those who have gone before us is part of our tradition and commitment to our profession.
About the author
Kris Kazian serves as the fire chief of Windsor Severance Fire Rescue in Windsor, Colorado. He began his fire service career as a paid on-call firefighter in the northern suburbs of Illinois in 1990. He was hired full time in August 1991 at Countryside Fire Protection District, retiring in 2012 as deputy chief of operations. Kazian previously served as the fire chief in Sedona, Arizona, from 2012 to 2019. A credentialed chief fire officer, Kazian holds an associate degree in fire science technology, a bachelor’s degree in fire science management and a master’s degree in organizational leadership.