By Michael Morse
I can’t say I didn’t expect it, but it still hurt like hell to see the dark apparatus bay holding an engine, ladder and rescue.
It would have been better if the station was empty; but I knew that it wasn’t. It was full of firefighters.
I had asked if those firefighters might take a moment to honor one of their members who had passed away a few days prior, and was being laid to rest from the church directly across the street. He had spent 18 years at the station, volunteering for his hometown when a full time, paid department was simply not feasible. I don’t really know what I expected from them, maybe pulling the apparatus onto the ramp, leaving the lights on or something. Anything. I even thought the members themselves might line up and salute when the funeral procession passed. I held out hope that their honor guard would assemble, and show the man the respect he deserved.
What I didn’t expect was a moment of silence; and not the planned, peaceful kind that honors the memory of those who have fallen.
I’ll never understand the rift between today’s paid, professional firefighters and volunteer firefighters. We are all firefighters.
It is a person’s individual right to train and respond to emergencies, be it as their full time job or as a volunteer. If somebody wants to volunteer their time helping their neighbors, and has the aptitude to do the job, who are we to criticize? And what’s the matter with today‘s firefighters snubbing a man who volunteered in their town 40 years ago!
I often wondered why the man we laid to rest never talked much about his days as a firefighter. He was awarded a Bronze Star from the president, and wore a uniform full of ribbons after his time in WWII. He didn’t say much about that, either. I figured he was simply content to live his life in the present, and let past achievements speak for themselves when his time was done.
I’m proud to have witnessed his wartime achievements be recognized at the cemetery where he was laid to rest. I’m proud of our armed forces that still take the time to recognize a man for things he did long ago. I listened to the trumpet‘s notes pierce the crisp winter air, as the sounds of a busy city receded and the rifle cracks echoed among the gravestones. As the flag of our country was presented to his widow, it took everything I had to block out the disrespect shown to my Uncle Tony by today’s firefighters.
He was a good man, and a credit to all of us. I am certain that if asked, he would have responded to another person’s request to honor the memory of deeds long forgotten, and stood at attention when their remains passed.
Though I’m tempted to remain bitter and disillusioned with the firefighters that lacked the honor, tradition and decency to show respect for somebody other than themselves, I cannot fully give up on what I once believed to be a calling that somehow, some way made us better people.
Maybe there is hope for the people who chose to hide in their station rather than stand up for something bigger than themselves.
Maybe the best way to bring that decency and honor back is to live it, and be present during this lifetime, and make sure that those who came before us are given the respect they have earned.
