I was recently digging through the supply closet at the firehouse when I came across this withered citation in a battered frame. I had seen similar items littering the walls of other firehouses, but I had never paid much attention to them—nearby, the proudly-snapped photos of big fires and grinning, smoke-stained crews always proved to be more visually appealing.

However, as I held the wooden frame and blew the dust off the smudged glass, I was curious about the wording of the citation itself. Issued from the District of Columbia Associate of Insurance Agents on October 8th, 1958, the citation offers high praise for Engine 15 as the "Company of the Year."

In recognition of devotion to duty, great firemanship, courage, initiative and teamwork in the highest tradition of the Department, this Citation is presented.

Courage, teamwork… anyone who's received so much as a Most-Improved Player trophy from Little League has heard these buzzwords countless times.

But firemanship? What the hell is that?

I had never heard anyone use the term around the firehouse, but I suspected it was the origin of the wistful conversations the older guys have about my younger generation. It's not uncommon to hear cries of "they don't make 'em like they used to," or declarations of a historic pride and dedication that we'll never understand. The "new" Department, they claim, doesn't go to fires, and seems to be solely a miserable medical department with some really big, really red ambulances that can't transport patients.

Now just waitaminnit, you old bastard. My generation's level of dedication to the job—no matter what our call volume consists of—can be addressed later; but maybe we could cross a little bit of this gap if we understood this "firemanship" you speak of.

The Googles did not fail me; interestingly enough, the top hit for "firemanship" was a three-year-old blog called biglinefire, written by the mysterious figure of Jason B.

I was unable to reach him via his blog; as I cannot find any other contact information for him, I was unable to ask for permission to reproduce the excellent post entitled "The Lost Art of Firemanship."

It's absolutely worth a full read. I simply cannot leave this post with a link, but instead must offer some of my favorite excerpts; I can only hope that the gods of copyright will look favorably upon my actions, as I seek no profit from Jason's writing.

—————

Speaking of the most basic tenets of the science behind firefighting, Jason opens the generation gap early:

We learned hot air rises and fire always looks for the path of least resistance. I learned these things when I was 12 years old. Why is it that this basic information seems to be foreign to most people entering the fire service today? Yes that was many years ago… but the kids these days have grown-up in a much different time and culture than I did.

Although, he would posit, the blame for my generation's problems rests on more shoulders than our own:

…Many of the “kids” appear to lack basic life skills: how to clean a toilet; how to press a shirt; how to cook a basic meal or how to follow simple instructions. It is not all their fault. We as a society must take our share of the blame.

We again fail them in the academy… I have seen as little as four hours of the fire academy dedicated to SCBA… The instructors have spent much more time on topics such as Hazmat, confined space and terrorism. 

The writer fully admits that problems without solutions are useless; he offers a bit of advice from his point of view, regarding moving forward and keeping the problem from growing any worse:

…we cannot change how the next generation is raised. But we can encourage vocational education. It should be ok to take a shop class.* People should know how things work and how to fix things and I don’t mean debugging a computer program or how to hard reboot a CPU.

…we must not forsake our traditions. Fire has been fought by men and women, crawling down hot, smokey hallways taking a beating to put the fire out. It was dangerous then and remains dangerous now. Let’s not let forget the lessons learned by our predecessors; take the time to teach the New Kid what firemanship is about, what the job is about.

* (Just a side note: I graduated from college in 2008, and was never offered anything even close to a shop class during my seventeen years of formal education; in fact, the majority of the people I knew in high school or college couldn't work with tools if their life depended on it. Thanks for looking out for me, Dad!)

His parting sentiment is a nice recap; again, the entire post is a great read when taken together, but the wrap-up is a good reminder to us young 'uns… anyone who truly cares will take it to heart:

As a profession we must return to the basics of our trade: Hot, dirty, hard work that every generation has done before us. Keep yourself educated, in shape and be true to the job. Remember we are the fire service and it is only as good as we make. Do not forget Firemanship, because without it public works could do our job.

—————

So what happened? Why is my generation so different from the previous two? Have entire similarly-aged recruit classes been genetically predisposed to have an "I don't give a shit" attitude? Or is it that if we were working our asses off and going to fires as often as our predecessors, we'd be better firemen over all?

Ah, the nature v. nurture debate rages on. Maybe firemanship died with all the fires. But methinks that lazy firemen have existed since the profession started, and good, dedicated firemen will continue to prosper in any Department. It's really just up to the individual.

But on firemanship: it's nice to finally have a term that represents that… thing. That idea that you can't quite put your finger on, but the guys you really respect seem to have it mastered. It almost feels like a spiritual concept, something many of us strive for but few will ever really embody.

I certainly don't have it yet; but figuring out what the hell it is sounds like a good first step.

Smash cut: about two hours, three pieces of cake, four episodes of South Park, and five glasses of sweet tea later: it’s almost 2am, and I want nothing more than to wake up the next watchman. My focus at that point lies solely with entering hibernation mode: stealthily entering the bunkroom and quietly crawling into bed, in the hopes that I won’t make enough noise to anger whatever temperamental deity controls the bells. Staring in the flickering candlelight at that round metal bastard mounted oh-so-innocently on the wall, I drift off with one eye firmly planted on it as if to bully it into staying silent all night.

“Where the hell did the time go?!” I always ask. Well, I think it disappears because I’m far too torn on what to write about, and procrastination is always the easier option. On days off, it’s far too easy to go out and rack up miles on my bike than stay shut inside. There’s always a better option, it seems.

But not today, dammit! I shall turn my procrastination from the ugly obstacle that it is into the subject, nay, the very inspiration of this writing. I shall tackle it head on, killing it with explanations of creativity and process. My hope is that by delineating these (more for my benefit than yours), I can find my way back onto the track that led me to where RaisingLadders is today.

—————

The first thought is always: who or what can I write about? (Actually, the first real, visceral reaction is “Aw come on, what the f#@%. You lazy hump, you haven’t written a damned thing in forever!” After that subsides, however, my inner monologue becomes less crass and more rational.)

I could certainly report on firefighter-related news, but I feel I’m vastly out-classed by several of the veteran news behemoths on fireemsblogs.com. I’m just not a newshound, and I find it hard enough to browse the steady stream of information from various sources without having to compile it and write it up—it’s a hell of a task, and I give a lot of credit to those who do it with ease.

I could write about firefighting tips, techniques, drills & skills… but alas, with barely two years on the job, I haven’t amassed anywhere near enough knowledge to presume to pass it along. At this point in time, I’m better served absorbing the teachings of those around me to improve my own abilities. I learn a new way to do something almost every shift, but I’m in no position to be educating others, as I still have much to learn myself.

Ooh, I could tell great stories! I’ve a bit of a knack for making that which is benign or routine somewhat interesting, but the difficulty inherent in telling stories from work (be they happy, sad, confusing, disturbing, or any combination thereof) brings me to my next point: when.

The ebb and flow of interesting (or at least post-worthy) occurrences at work never fails to give me at least a little chuckle. Ever since I began writing down some of my more interesting incidents from my days as an EMT in high school, I’ve always marveled at how the universe seems to know when you’re just about to give up.

Case in point: I was working in an Emergency Room in college as a Tech (read: gopher). It was a lot of stocking, cleaning, and dealing with nasty staff and patients; but it never failed that just when the job was getting on my last nerve and I was ready to storm into the boss’s office to throw my stupid purple scrubs at him and strut out defiantly in my underwear, something awesome would happen. An attending would let me hold a squirming, fibrillating heart, between the ribs splayed wide open from a last-ditch attempt to save a gunshot wound victim. STATMedEvac would bring in patients all day long, but the one flight medic who I always talked to brought me on a ride-along with him. A woman would stun me speechless by abandoning her baby in my (not-so-capable at eighteen) hands out of the blue, a story I related long ago on this very blog.

It’s a strange pattern, the irregular irregularity of things my brain deems worthy of writing about. Day in and day out, the BS calls and the minor car accidents with no injuries; the food on the stove; the 2am alarm bells that we reset and go home. Many shifts are like that: reset, go home. Repeat. It’s all too easy to find yourself two or three weeks later, realizing that you haven’t written a single word from the past hundred-and-forty-four hours of one of the most exciting and satisfying jobs in the world.Am I slacking? Perhaps. Is it bred from laziness? Sometimes, sure.

As a writer, are these moments upsetting? Definitely.

The where is pretty easy. I long ago gave up on seriously writing posts at work; while I’d love the “as-it-happens” feel, I prefer to sit at home in front of a nice spacious monitor and craft a post several times over. Besides, there’s just too many distractions, and entries completed in pieces end up sounding very schizophrenic. Photos are another issue; I love photo editing, and that takes another good chunk of time. I’ll keep it at home, thanks. (I also suck miserably at putting out Twitter updates while at work; I’m trying to fix that, but it’s a topic for another post.)

Why is simultaneously easy and complex. The simple answer is because I love it. A more in-depth approach uncovers the subtle, nuanced thing that writing is; it’s like black and white putty, just waiting to be turned into exactly what I want. It might take forever, but getting there is half the fun, like a jigsaw puzzle into which you keep swapping pieces until one fits just right. And writing about something I hold a dear passion for is beautiful; with the right combination of flowing prose, the experience becomes almost ethereal (when it all turns out right). It’s what kept this blog going when I was absolutely certain nobody was reading it (yes, Google confirmed this several times)—and that thought stays with me every time I click “Add New Post.”

—————

The Five W’s were taught to me long ago by a wonderful teacher, writing partner, and friend. Much of my early inspiration comes from constantly asking these questions, day in and day out. It’s surprising I don’t have either more blog posts, or more black eyes from annoyed coworkers—luckily, most of ‘em are more than happy to talk endlessly about the job. Another bit of wisdom from the aforementioned source: do what you love, and the money will come later.

Well, I grew up to be a firefighter after many Halloweens spent playing in a plastic costume. I live in a vibrant, exciting city, and I work in one of the most interesting parts of it. I have complete creative control over a writing endeavor that I basically fell ass-backwards into after a bit of good fortune. I’m in a perfect spot, and I couldn’t love it more.

There’s plenty of exciting stuff coming up after a much-too-long hiatus, so I look forward to sharing it and photographing it and presenting it to you with a big RaisingLadders bow on it. No matter what, a writer writes. And write I shall, good readers.

So when’s all this damn money supposed to start showing up??

/RL

I know the weather’s been turning a bit colder lately, and not many people are thinking about climbing onto their bikes and riding in a D.C. winter (it’s possible, but given our last snowy encounter, you’d best be outfitted with these). However, it’s the perfect time to start planning for upcoming rides—once the weather evens out, the crisp spring air is a great environment to raise money for an awesome cause.

Photo © Jeff Gritchen, InsideSoCal / Long Beach Seen blog.

A simple Google search reveals several firefighter-centric charity bicycle rides, benefiting everything from multiple sclerosis to the families of those who died on September 11th.

The Chicago Fire Department’s fundraising organization, Ignite The Spirit, completed a 950-mile ride from Chicago around Lake Michigan in May of this year to benefit pediatric cancer research (WGN Radio article here).

The Fire Fighters Charity, a UK-based organization, is currently in the midst of an almost-300-mile, London-to-Paris ride that will finish on November 12th. They’ve already raised the equivalent of $16,413 USD.

Finally, the Tour de Force NY is a ride that started in 2002. Two hundred participants (both American and European, I noted) departed from the Pentagon in Arlington, VA on September 11th.

After riding through D.C., Maryland, Delware, and New Jersey, the riders arrived at Ground Zero on September 14th—a total of just over 200 miles. The route changes every year, too; in 2007, the riders cycled from Yankee Stadium to Fenway Park (flickr user moknits captured them as they were arriving in Boston).

Now, I’d love to attend one of these rides myself next year. However, I think the DC area has enough charity-conscious individuals that we could really get something going for the DC Firefighters’ Burn Foundation—I asked a few questions of the right people, and it seems that nobody’s ever done a charity bicycle ride for the organization. I think this could be a great opportunity to get a few fellow cyclists together and raise some serious money next year!

Uh, guys? I don’t think we have to actually be working while we’re riding. But I suppose it never hurts to be prepared… (Image source unknown.)

If there’s any interest/ideas that you’d like to throw my way, either email me or drop a comment below.

Besides, we could certainly make our presence known with a few custom cycling jerseys…

This was just me spitballing some ideas quickly… I’d imagine any actual jerseys might not be this diverse in the color department… we’d look like Skittles riding down the road.

My tags: significantly more beat-up since the last time we saw them.

Yes, that’s right. The title says it all; not only have I completed my probation, but I’m willing to share all the stupid stuff I did while I was in that period. Some things are more serious than others, depending on where you’re assigned. Take each for what it’s worth to you.

While I was a Probationer/Rook/Sh*tbag/Stupid-ass Rookie/Probie/Hey-what’s-your-name/Dumbass-F*ckin’-Rookie-Paramedic, I have done all of the following:

• Fallen asleep at the watch desk, several times. These were all accidents, as I often tried to take multiple watches at night to help out the guys. Oops.
• Napped at work (yes, during the daytime. Sometimes I was sneaky when I was really exhausted.)
• Watched all sorts of TV before 8pm; when you’re deprived of it, it’s hard not to glance at it quickly while mopping the floor.
• Sat on the bench in front of the firehouse, usually a privilege reserved for those who have completed probation.
• Screwed around on YouTube, Facebook, Hulu, etc.—admittedly, it was often at the behest of coworkers, but sometimes it wasn’t.
• Washed my car in the middle of the day, ignoring the phone and everything else I was supposed to be doing. That was a total goof, as I guess I didn’t make the connection that I wasn’t allowed to do that yet. I figured it was okay if I did it quickly! Sorry ’bout that one.
• Removed, for whatever reason, my god-awful polyester shirt and red-tag combination that is the signature garb of a rookie. That particular article of clothing really, really sucks. Everyone finds their ways around it, no?

I’m sure there’s more; certainly that can’t be everything that happened between Academy graduation in early ’09 and now. However, I suppose it will suffice to bolster my list of pleasant memories from probation, of which there are (surprisingly) quite a few—once you figure it out, it’s actually not so bad.

But now that it’s over, I can’t help but think that it’s kind of like having a birthday: people ask you: “So, do you feel any different?”

The answer’s always the same: ehh, not really.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it’s over, but as far as anything drastically changing? I’ll still study, and mop, and do dishes. I’m okay with that. It’s part of this job. I just have a few more freedoms now.

It’s been a good ride thus far, and I only see it getting better. Just another milestone…

—————

Edit: Since nobody reads the comments anyways, I’d like to bring an exchange between a commenter and myself into the body of the post. For anyone who seems to read this and think that I’m simply bragging about how little work I can get away with, you’re an idiot. I love my job and I’m proud to do it; the fact remains that everyone gets lazy about stuff, and when you condense almost two years of hard work into three hundred words, it’s going to sound worse than it really is. Come work in my firehouse with me, then you can run your mouth if you still want to.

Commenter:

“I don’t think i have ever heard of someone being so proud of not doing thier job. It is an unfortunate and more common thing these days form the “new guys”. You can never know enough about a job that will kill you. Keep your head in the game and stop feeling this sense of entitlement.”

(In case you were curious, all these spelling and grammar errors are verbatim.)

My reply:

“[name], I’m not proud of any of it. If you re-read the post closely, I’m neither praising nor feeling entitled about any of my actions; I believe you may have misinterpreted my writing. It’s simply a fact of human nature that throughout a year of walking inside the lines of my probationary rules, occasionally my foot will stumble outside the boundaries. It happens to everyone, but I’m willing to admit my faults and slip-ups because I’m not hiding the fact that I’m human and have the capacity to err. Your intentions in giving me advice sound pure, however, and for that I’m appreciative.

The “new guys” should never turn down sage advice form [sic] thier [sic] more senior members.”

The gallery collection is organized alphabetically by team, and can be reached by clicking here or on any of the photos below. Enjoy, and thanks to all the participants for some great hockey!

/RL

]]> http://raisingladders.com/2010/05/hockey-tournament-pictures-still-up/feed/ 0 http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/obstacles-and-farewells/ http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/obstacles-and-farewells/#comments Thu, 25 Mar 2010 18:27:45 +0000 raisingladders http://raisingladders.com/?p=472
“Shit. Uh, Sarge? There’s no stairs back here.”

We were second due on a reported basement fire, and we had seen smoke as we pulled up. The wagon had come through one of the legs in an H-shaped alley, and the house was dead smack in the middle of the crossbar. We grabbed the 400′ and took off, Sgt. McAllister yelling his unique brand of high-volume inspirational messages behind me.

With a hundred feet of hose on our shoulders, we stopped dead as we turned to look towards the house. In front of us stood a seven-foot cinderblock wall, blocking the backyard. The officer reached for his radio and snapped off a quick transmission:

“Truck, we need some ground ladders back here to gain access to the rear.”

We could see Truck 11 already starting towards us with ladders from the other end of the alley; the few moments it took them to throw it felt like forever, especially when silhouetted by the smoke we could see emptying into the sky.

Still trying to keep the hose piled on my shoulder in a reasonably-organized bundle, I climbed up the ladder and side-stepped onto the top of the wall.

“There’s a bit of a drop here…”

The jump to reach the grass on the other side didn’t look like much; however, I’m not much of an Olympian in shorts and track shoes, much less with all my gear and a hoseline. I didn’t have much time to think about the whole process… better to throw myself into oblivion than have my officer pissed at me for holding up progress.

Whump!

One muffled thud and a sharply-uttered curse later, I found myself on the ground. The scramble up the grass was slow going (it was steep as hell; how do you even get a lawnmower on an angle like that?) but we would have had a bear of a time gaining access to the basement regardless of our situation; every window and door was barred, and there wasn’t a saw in sight. The truck was laddering and ventilating upper-level, non-barred windows, and we heard another company getting a knock on the fire. Less than a minute later, the tillerman came around and cut the bars for us, but it was too late.

As it turned out, the building layout was such that the “basement” was just slightly lower than the two stories visible in the front, and the first-due company was able to make their way to the fire without much difficulty. We, however, simply had to pick up and go home.

(I almost took a spill going back over the wall to bring the hose back. Note to self: if a ladder is bridging a gap between elevated ground and the top of a wall, don’t step on the side of the ladder that’s past the wall—yes, I’m a dumbass. I think the officer on E22 was a little disappointed that he didn’t get to see the rookie do something hilariously stupid…)

—————

It appears that my time in the 1st Battalion has come to an end. Last week, I was transferred to E15 in Anacostia (where I did my mentoring several months ago), and my first shift is on Sunday.

Through good times and bad, I learned a lot from the guys at Engine 26 and Truck 15; I wish you all the best and I’m certain I’ll see many of you again. Take care, and be safe.

/RL

P.S. – I still owe you all a probation dinner—you didn’t think I was just gonna skip out on that, did ya?

]]> http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/obstacles-and-farewells/feed/ 4 http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/dfb_update/ http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/dfb_update/#comments Tue, 09 Mar 2010 19:31:49 +0000 raisingladders http://raisingladders.com/?p=407

A voice rang out from down the hallway, with it’s owner appearing around a corner seconds later.

“Hey! We’ve got a call near the Liffey!

Glenn turned his head from us and cursed quietly.

“Are we goin’ swimming?” he asked, tentatively.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Glenn’s head lolled back towards us with a sheepish grin.

“Oh, thank God for that. I’m on the back step tonight, and that river’s dirty as hell.”

Glenn Delves is 29 years old and has been with the Dublin Fire Brigade for seven years. Currently assigned to the Tara Street station (which also serves as Brigade headquarters during the the day), his role as a firefighter, paramedic, and swiftwater rescue technician is nothing unique to the 40-some other firefighters in the house with him.

“Oh yeah, we’re all paramedics… and it just makes sense for most of us to be SRTs, since the river is right nearby and we go in there pretty frequently for all sorts of stuff.”

Waitaminute, back up. Forty firefighters?

“It’s the biggest house in Dublin. Even after HQ shuts down for the day, we still have a lot of people here.”

Almost as if he anticipated the question (probably by the incredulous look on my face), he added:

“Oh, and kitchen duty is horrible.”

The tour of the firehouse was brief but fascinating. The station opened at the intersection of Tara and Pearse Streets was opened as DFB headquarters in April of 1908—the old brick watchtower still stands, and is a historically protected structure by the city of Dublin. Today, it exists as an open-air station with canopy covers for the apparatus and multiple floors for bunkrooms, the mess hall, administrative offices, and “Control Room” (the call-taking center for the entire city as well as many surrounding counties, staffed 24 hours a day by full-time Brigade personnel).

Unfortunately, our trip was cut short by Glenn and the rest of his crew headed out on calls—with approximately 133,000 calls annually, the Dublin Fire Brigade must balance the average 364 daily calls amongst twelve full-time (and three on-call or “retained”) stations. However, with locations like Tara Street staffing two engines, two ladder trucks, one tower ladder, two ambulances, a Haz-Mat Unit, and a District Officer, the workload seems pretty well spread-out.

It was a wonderful trip, and I can’t express my gratitude to the DFB enough. If there’s any Dublin Fire personnel reading this, I sincerely appreciate your hospitality and wish you all the best in your careers—take care and stay safe, brothers.

Oh, and if you ever need a place to crash in D.C., drop me a line and I’d be more than happy to help out.

/RL

Glenn Delves, a seven-year veteran of the Dublin Fire Brigade, opens compartments on the fire engine and describes the equipment contained within.

As Swiftwater Rescue Technicians (SRTs), the crews of the Tara Street station keep their river rescue gear ready on the apparatus at all times.

The Dublin Fire Brigade utilizes Dräger breathing apparatus; three SCBA packs line the rear wall of the bench seat for the firefighters “on the back step” for that shift.

I think it’s universal: DFB personnel dislike their ambulance rotations just as much as their American counterparts do, it seems.

(I can just hear Dave Dennis now: “That suck-ass rookie paramedic would go to an Irish firehouse and take pitchurrs of a ambalance!” Yep—go ahead, Dave, have your fun.)

This button from the DCFD Emerald Society is older than I am. There’s quite an impressive wall of patches just inside the entrance to the station—incidentally, one of Glenn’s coworkers is now the proud owner of a classic E26/T15 “Foghorn Leghorn” patch.

(I bet they hate the sound of their printer winding up, too.)

After Firefighter Delves (unfortunately) stated that he disliked his appointed nickname of “Glennsy,” the jokes compounded until his gear was permanently branded with “Glennsy Delvesy” in permanent marker. Much to his chagrin, he discovered it just as he was escorting these visitors through the facilities.

The distinctive markings on this helmet indicate the rank of “sub-officer;” personnel advance from Firefighter to Sub-Officer to Station Officer to District Officer and beyond, receiving increasing responsibilities with each promotion.

We arrived just in time for evening shift change, so we were witness to the daily equipment checks; it would appear that DFB ladder technicians get to ride in comfortable style while operating the turntable.

(I would be remiss if I didn’t include something about “raising” a “ladder”, no? Terrible joke, I’m sorry.) Both DFB aerial ladders within the Tara Street Station reach 100′ in the air when fully extended. “There aren’t too many high-rises throughout the city,” say Firefighter Delves, “but we’re downtown. The business district around us has the highest buildings you’ll see in Dublin.”

All hose carried on the apparatus is kept rolled. At a fire, the equivalent of the American lineman’s position would get off the piece, unroll a section of hose, connect a nozzle, and then advance to the structure; the Dublin Fire Brigade does not utilize pre-connected lines.

The DFB operates on a 39-hour work week, across four shifts (designated A through D). The spacious accommodations of Tara Street are more than enough to feed and house approximately forty personnel per shift, from firefighter through the on-duty District Officer.

—————

On a non-fire department note: a little bit later, I’ll add some pictures from the highlights of the remainder of my vacation. I know it’s not particularly relevant to RL as a whole, but it’s a beautiful country, and I would highly recommend Ireland for anyone who enjoys traveling.

Be forewarned: I have absolutely no Irish blood in me. However, given the great and long-standing tradition that those with Irish heritage hold within fire departments throughout the nation (as well as my upcoming trip to Ireland, which I’ll talk about later), I felt it only proper to craft something today about the Dublin Fire Brigade.

Although officially founded in 1862 by the Dublin Corporation Fire Brigade Act, the country of Ireland has written records and legislation pertaining to firefighting operations dating back to the 12th century A.D. According to the Irish Fire Services website, such archaically written gems include provisions for “forty buckets of  leather for carrying of water  to fight fires and twelve graps (sic) of iron for pulling houses that chance to be afire” (1546 A.D.), and the more absurdly graphic “…any person answerable for the burning of a street shall be arrested, cast into the middle of the fire, or pay a fine of 100 shillings” (1305 A.D.) As we would later see in the American history of volunteerism, Irish insurance companies would place “fire marks” on buildings to state which company protected the structure; for example, Sun Alliance placed a large metal sun with rays emanating outwards from it. (As a sidenote, Sun Alliance is still in business to this day—the original fire mark is visible at the bottom of their History page.)

The original superintendent—also known as the Chief Fire Officer—was a man by the name of J.R. Ingram, a native Dubliner who was a volunteer firefighter in both London and New York prior to his appointment. His initial brigade consisted of twenty-four men in a house off of Winetavern Street in Dublin, right near the famous Christchurch Cathedral.

Today, the Dublin Fire Brigade comprises almost 900 members with 14 stations, 22 fire engines, 12 ambulances, and a response area containing over 1 million citizens. The Fire Brigade runs the Emergency Ambulance Service (all the firefighters are paramedics, too) as well as staffing the call-taking center with actual firefighters.  Their apparatus is currently manufactured by UK-based John Dennis Coachbuilders, and the training regimen runs about 16 weeks for basic firefighting. As stated before, much of this information is available through their well-stocked website or this nice little find, The Irish Fire Service’s Firefighter Handbook (it’s 277 pp. and 2.71MB, so be careful opening it. You’d be better off right-clicking and downloading it if you want to read it).

So anyways, let’s get down to business. In the end of February, I’ll be traveling to Dublin for almost a week of sightseeing, vacation, and (hopefully) a good bit of photography (both fire department and otherwise)—I’ve already piqued my interest with a Flickr search!

I’ve got some t-shirts and patches that I’m hoping to do a little trading with; what would really be great is if any readers/fellow bloggers know anyone who could get in touch with a DFB member I could meet up with. Medic 999, I’m looking at you! I know you’re in the UK, but just like us DCFD guys know some people in FDNY, I would hope you might have a few buddies in Ireland.

Any help?

Images courtesy of DCFD Emerald Society, Irish Fire Services, JSTOR.org, and Flickr users hwatterworth, bsii, and super tourist.

I do, damnit. Hands covered in newsprint are an archaic badge of honor… so I’m still going for the print edition someday.

Screenshots below lead to full-size images. The first is from Inauguration Day, and the second is from the weekend blizzard the east coast had in the middle of December.

However, enough interest was generated by an earlier post that I've been working a lot to finalize my business ideas, and I know that if I don't post this today, I'll never get past the constant "maybe I can tweak one more thing…" voice that lurks in my head. Check it out, think about it, and let's talk.