By Alexandra Duggan
The Spokesman-Review
COEUR D’ALENE, Idaho — When two North Idaho firefighters were shot to death as they responded to an intentionally set blaze on Canfield Mountain, it wouldn’t be that tragic day that would define how they would be remembered.
It would be the impact they left behind.
Coeur d’Alene Fire Department Battalion Chief John Morrison, 52, and Kootenai County Fire & Rescue Battalion Chief Frank Harwood, 42, were both honored by firefighters, family, friends and the public during a memorial ceremony at McEuen Park in Coeur d’Alene Monday.
“I go on and on about how things have changed,” Kootenai County Fire & Rescue Chief Pete Holley told reporters. “I feel like that day changed the trajectory of our organizations. It has brought us closer together. It has changed my life. It has changed the families’ (lives).”
Monday marked one year since the two men received a call about a brush fire on Canfield Mountain. They headed up the popular recreation area with some of their crew like they had done so many times before.
But this time, the crews radioed in a brazen panic just 40 minutes later that they were somehow — somewhere — being shot at.
Three to four hours after gunshots rang through the trees and the suspect was dead, the men were retrieved off the mountain. Coeur d’Alene Firefighter Engineer Dave Tysdal was also shot, but he survived. The fallen firefighters’ bodies were later transported across the border to Washington for an autopsy. As the trucks began the near 40-mile drive, thousands of people and firefighters lined the interstate, saluting, holding flags and crying.
The shooting shook the North Idaho community and left two families without devoted fathers.
“This day will never define Frank for our family,” Harwood’s widow, Meghan, told a crowd of hundreds of people. “What defines Frank is the way he lives, the way he serves and the way he loves.”
Their two young daughters quietly listened from the front row.
“Frank was the kind of man who understood time as the most valuable gift. He never wasted it. He was present ... as a husband and as a father. He knew exactly what mattered most,” she said. “He showed up for us every single day. That is who we lost, and that is who we carry with us.”
Joe Morrison, John Morrison’s son, told the crowd his father was more than a dad, but a best friend. He asked the people in the audience to now begin to focus on a path forward — one he believes everyone has the power to change — because his father was a victim of gun violence.
“A lot of people view the events of last year as a sad story, and it was a tragic and awful thing. It’s a sad story if you close the book too early. I believe that we can write a future where we make this a less sad event,” Morrison said.
Idaho ranks above the national average for firearm deaths, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. It also ranks above the national average for suicide rates.
“Gun violence is not a partisan issue. Bullets do not care who they hit — Republicans, Democrats, it does not matter,” Morrison said, adding that his father also had his fair share of guns in the home growing up. “My dad had a quote that always told me, ‘Complacency kills.’ And that’s true. If we are complacent (and) say, ‘That tragedy was a one-off,’ I hate to say it, but there’ll be many more ... So, please, in your community, look around and see those who are struggling. I guarantee you it’ll make a difference.”
Harwood and Morrison were dedicated firefighters. Harwood, a 17-year member of the department, was also a former combat engineer with the Army National Guard. Morrison had been a member of the Coeur d’Alene Fire Department since 1996, rising through the ranks as firefighter engineer, captain, paramedic and battalion chief.
Morrison loved to golf, fish, drive and engage in debates. He never lost a debate, his coworkers told The Spokesman-Review last year. He brought a sense of calm about his crews and a humbleness that spread among others.
“John was infectious to be around, and he had a way of creating an atmosphere of positivity, regardless of what we were doing,” said Coeur d’Alene Deputy Fire Chief Luke Pichette. “John listened. Nobody saw what John did behind the scenes. He was so thoughtful.”
Harwood, too, loved fishing. He also loved playing hockey and spending time with his daughters. He knew everybody’s name and strove to be a mentor for younger firefighters.
“He was a fantastic friend, a great mentor. He brought others up, he set a standard. He did everything he could to help other people, help other people rise to the challenge. He trained them, he educated them, he helped them person by person,” Holley said Monday. “He was a fantastic father, wonderful husband, a great friend, and we miss him dearly.”
After their deaths, the community and fire departments banded together in a way that Meghan Harwood is “not fully able to put into words.”
Children sold lemonade to donate proceeds to the families. Businesses had fundraisers. People cooked meals for the families and the firefighters who continued to work. Many sent letters and dropped cards offering condolences at the fire stations. Firefighters from across the country, as far as New York City , made the trip to honor the men at their funerals. Local firefighters also baked a birthday cake for Joe Morrison, he said. Everyone went above and beyond, and for that, he is grateful.
“This community wrapped around us in a way that I genuinely believe saved us,” Meghan Harwood said. “You carried us when we could not carry ourselves.”
Looking forward
Northern Lakes Fire District Capt. Fritz Wiedenhoff attended the fire that day, filling in for a battalion chief at the time. Gunfire rang out from the surrounding trees.
“SEND LAW ENFORCEMENT RIGHT NOW. THERE’S AN ACTIVE SHOOTER ZONE,” the captain screamed into his mic. “EVERYBODY’S SHOT UP HERE.”
The bottom of Canfield Mountain was swarmed by 300 members of law enforcement coming from every direction. Helicopters and drones whirred overhead in a desperate attempt to locate the crews.
Wiedenhoff continued to tell the dispatcher what he was seeing. He relayed critical information on where to go so nobody else would face the danger he was facing. He was pinned down behind a battalion vehicle, directing people on where to go through his radio. Tysdal was wounded and bleeding. He told dispatch someone in green, military-like clothing was the person who shot him.
The gunman was later identified as 20-year-old Wess Roley, who police say set the fire to lure the firefighters there, shot Harwood and Morrison while inside their vehicles and then shot himself before he could be apprehended.
“We need law enforcement up here ... to get the two wounded out ... It’s clear to me that this fire was set intentionally to draw us in,” Wiedenhoff told dispatch. "... We really need to get the Coeur d’Alene guys. There is one confirmed wounded and he’s about 40 feet from me. If we can get a unit up there, we can block and at least drag him down to an ambulance.”
Widenhoff’s presence of mind saved lives, his former boss said. It’s why he was awarded the Idaho Medal of Honor in February. The Northern Lakes Fire union called his actions “heroic” and ones that “directly saved the lives of firefighters and law enforcement.”
But that’s not a day Wiedenhoff wants to talk about, he said Monday.
Rather, his focus is on what he can do for others, and especially first responders’ mental health. Wiedenhoff had his first therapy session the day after the shooting, he said, and he’s gone once a week since.
He’s not ashamed of it, he said. Shame surrounding seeking mental health help is a particular problem he wants to fix.
“Quicker access, better access, and really particularly destigmatizing it. ... I think, unfortunately, when people hear the word ‘mental health’ sometimes or therapy, or anything like that, counseling, sometimes it gets a negative connotation, and I think there’s nothing to be farther from the truth,” he said. “I want to see everyone at every stage in their career have access to it.”
About 30% of first responders develop a mental health condition such as post-traumatic stress disorder or depression, according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, a branch of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.
That is 10% higher than the general population.
First responders also have a higher rate of suicide ideation, according to the administration’s 2018 study. The explanation is responding to dangerous, intense and traumatic situations, according to the study.
“We box these things up. All these things that happen throughout your career. They don’t come out well when you don’t ever deal with it,” Wiedenhoff said. “When something big like this happens, you don’t know how to deal with it. And I didn’t know how to deal with it, but I’m getting the tools, and I’m learning.”
A year later, Wiedenhoff has opened up more with his boss about mental health.
The two chat about it frequently, he said. He’s also become very good friends with the Morrison family.
“It’s neat the community was invited and involved and allowed to participate (in the memorial), because I think that really helps the community start to move forward. We’re not going to forget about this, but what we can do is put up maybe a sort of remembrance on it that they deserve,” Wiedenhoff said. "(This) is a credence and a real testament to the kind of individuals they were, the kind of human beings they were.”
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