Firehouse Famine - Part 1

Feasting at the firehouse has meant so many different things throughout my career in the fire service.  In the next few installments of “Hittin’ the Hot Spot”, I will recall some of my favorite stories about fighting firehouse famine.  Before you get too excited, these stories are not going to provide you with any new recipes, rather the manner in which the food was acquired and devoured.  I am sure there are more unique stories about food in the firehouse than there are firehouses, and I encourage you all to comment about some of your favorite memories about the people and procedures that helped feed the folks in your station.  

My first stories come from 7507 Baltimore Blvd. in College Park, Maryland.  PGFD Station 12 was my home away from home for 2 ½ years while I attended the University of Maryland.  It was a unique situation for several reasons.  First and foremost, it was a fire station.  There was a career staff on duty during the day from Monday – Friday, but the house was staffed by volunteers the rest of the time.  However, within those vollies were 12 people who actually lived at the fire station in what was called the “Sackroom”.  

Although the Sackroom itself was our little oasis away from all the normal activity of the station, we all shared one kitchen on the main floor.  Every live-in had a portion of a shelf in one of the three refrigerators, and one overhead cabinet.  Although we trusted each other, you wrote your name on everything if you actually wanted to have it there when you were ready to eat it.  Fortunately, there were alliances and partnerships that permitted sharing, but only if you had something of equal value to share.  I remember mass quantities of fish sticks, spaghetti & meatballs, mac & cheese, and P. B. & J’s coming out of that kitchen; at least until grillin’ season.  I never knew how many things could be grilled.  I also realized that I wasn’t the only wacker who enjoyed pretending a good grease fire on the grill was like a mini structure fire.  Nothing wrong with multi-tasking food prep with fire attach practical exercises, right?  I only recall one instance where gear and SCBA was actually deployed, but the squirt bottle got a good workout.

The town had the usual college town temptations as well.  I was particularly fond of Hungry Herman’s steak, egg and cheese hoagie, the Bagel Place’s breakfast sandwiches, and of course, the Domino’s Pizza joint, which was within eyesight of the apparatus ramp if you felt like peering through binoculars and watching your pizza get made.  There was one delivery guy who drove a convertible Jeep who worked every minute that store was open, 7 days a week.  He knew every corner of the campus and town, and never walked.  He even ran the stairs, elevators took too long.  I remember him telling me that he made $90,000 a year, and based on his hustle, I believe him.  I briefly considered a career path adjustment. 

Probably my greatest memory of all was the evening meals during work shifts.  During the summer and over holiday breaks in the college calendar, the fire department would hire three or four vollies to staff the station after the career staff went off duty.  Since most of the active members were college students, the house would get might lonely when everyone went home for the holidays.  It was a pretty good deal, and the selection was usually a competition.  Hang at the fire station AND get paid?  Sign me up!

The shift started at 3:00 p.m., and we had three important tasks to complete at the start of each shift: equipment checks, spot cleaning tasks, and meal planning, but not always in that order.  We would decide on the menu and post it on the chalkboard in the dayroom with a sign-up deadline time.  By 3:30, we could expect phone calls from members trying to decide what they wanted to do for dinner.  If our menu sounded good, they signed up.   

With the afternoon tasks completed, the duty crew would check the sign-up list, and do an impromptu first-due target hazard familiarization of a local grocery store.  Since we were running hot, we always tried to keep the store visit as brief as possible.  Dividing the shopping list (usually by tearing it into portions) made the trip go very quickly.  Back at the station, the preparations and calculations began.  Barring any interruptions by the communication center, our timing was usually spot-on, and we collected cash (usually between 4 and 7 dollars, depending on the menu).

I remember occasionally having leftovers, but not very often.  Either we were good planners or great eaters.  Clean-up was always as smooth as the preparation.  Everyone who ate helped clean up… it was the unwritten rule.  With great teamwork, we could have everything cleaned up and put away in less than 10 minutes.  Only then could we do dessert! 

A Memorable Beginning

It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago, but it has been over 27 years since I started my second tour of duty as a fire department “probie”.  I was 21 years old, and was certain that I had all the answers.  Up to this point, I had been hanging around my hometown fire company for as long as I could remember, and knew every inch of the apparatus, had polished, painted, or sharpened every tool, knew every knot in the book, and was a sponge for training classes.  I had officially joined the fire service on my 16^th birthday, but already knew the names and locations of all the equipment as well as the current members.  After graduating with honors with my Associates Degree in Fire Technology from my regional community college, I was ready for the big time; I was accepted into the University of Maryland at College Park. 

As the opening semester approached, I was still uncertain where I would be living.  I didn’t want the normal housing arrangements of a transfer student; I wanted to live in a fire station.  As my parents would likely attest, I was pretty much living at my local firehouse already, so It shouldn’t be much of an adjustment.  Other than being responsible for my own laundry and running considerably more calls, how much different could it be?   

 The University placed me at the Hyattsville Station, a few miles south of the campus.  I visited the station, met Chief Moltrup, and a few of the members gave me the tour of the place.  As excited as I was to be in a “big city” station, I was a bit disappointed.  I knew several past alumni of the College Park Station, and my heart was set on living there.  I wanted to be part of the stories that are told by the great achievers in the fire service who rode proudly out of the 12 house.  Most importantly, I wanted to be on campus, and surrounded by students that shared my goals of fire service greatness. 

There was something special about the fire station at 7507 Baltimore Boulevard.  The building wasn’t going to win any beauty contests.  It had been “rode hard and put away wet”.  It lacked many modern amenities, but it had an alluring charm.  From the rub marks on the bay door trim from the apparatus squeaking through, to the personalized cubicles in the student “sackroom”, this old place was calling my name, and I was ready to jump aboard.  Sadly, all the spots for the upcoming semester were spoken for.  It didn’t stop me from visiting, several times that summer, each time telling my saga to another few members I had the opportunity to meet.  I memorized the phone numbers as well; and I am sure the chief was tired of hearing me beg for a spot.  Finally, another visit to the station put me in the company of Fred “Hacksaw” Welsh, the chief in charge of filling the Sackroom.  He informed me that one of the candidates that were to report for the fall semester had not been returning his calls to verify acceptance of his spot.  I am not sure whether he was tired of me pestering him, or if I managed some award-winning puppy-dog eyes and sad-sack pout, but Hacksaw (you know, I never found out exactly why he got that nickname) gave me the best news I had heard in months.  “I’ll tell you what, If I don’t hear from this guy by 6:00 p.m. tomorrow, the spot is yours.” 

The next 22 and-a-half hours seemed to crawl by, but as promised, I received the phone call at exactly 6:06 the next evening.  I was IN, and with only 22 days to go before the start of the semester.   It was the beginning of an amazing period of growth and discovery.  The 28 months I spent serving the College Park Volunteer Fire Department met or exceeded every expectation I had, and I have a truckload of friends, stories, memories, and life experiences that have become part of me. 

I am not sure what the best part of the experience was, there were so many.   Was it the college education I earned, the campus life experience, the diversity of people I interacted with, the tradition I was a part of, the friends I met, the life lessons I learned?  Perhaps it was all of it!  For such a brief period of my life, that window of time certainly stands out, and still does to this day.  I am sure I didn’t know it at the time, but it is all very clear to me know.                 

It makes me wonder who is in my life that is going through one of those life defining periods of their lives right now.  If I am a part of their memory 27 years from now, I sure hope the memory is a good one. 

You're Holding WHAT?

It was about 2:30 in the morning when the three alert tones echoed through the fire station; "7600 Mowatt Lane, for a house on fire".  We scrambled a crew of six, all college students saving cash by living in a fire station on campus.  Oh, who am I kidding, we LOVED living in a fire station, and a slew of those stories will likely make their way onto this blog.  This one was a classic...

With the Powercall wailing, and the Mack's tranny banging through the gears, we made our way toward the outer edges of the campus.  The duty chief tapped into his vast knowledge of our first due and while en route, advised "If this is the abandoned house, advise all units that this house is in extremely poor condition".  Now, it was rumored that he had a crystal ball on his nightstand, but how in the world did he know that?  I must admit, he really had this one pegged.  This place was well off!  Not well off like the snobs that drive Italian sports cars in a snowstorm, well off, as in fire belching from every opening.  As we crested the hill in Little Asia (an area known for fire alarms caused by food on the wok), there it was; a ball of fire with a glowing header of smoke soaring straight up into the sky...  It sure was in poor condition, and it was getting poorer by the minute.

The Lieutenant grabbed for the mic, and I grabbed his arm to stop him.  We were both pretty jacked up with adrenaline, and I didn't want him to shriek unprofessionally on the radio like the clowns we always mocked mercilessly.  I looked over from the driver's seat and said, "Take a breath, let's see how cool YOU can be".  He knew exactly what I meant.  He slowly raised the mic to his mouth, "Communications, Engine 122, be advised, we are approaching the scene with heavy fire evident."  It was the deepest, calmest, most emotionless radio transmission I had ever heard.  I was immediately overcome with a wave of relaxed confidence, despite the inferno we were racing toward.  I began by mental checklist of needs: water supply, apparatus positioning, pump operation... these lads were gonna want water, and lots of it. 

The dual supply lines played off the hose bed as I wheeled the wagon back the narrow stone lane toward what looked to be the gates of Hell.  The pumper had gotten out of the station when they heard the magic words, "heavy fire".  Ahh, the joys of 12 action-hungry live-ins in a fire station!  They picked up my split lay and fed me from a near-by hydrant, then the Indians all came looking for another line to pull off my engine. 

In the midst of all the waterworks, Chief 'Crystal Ball' delivered the most cavalier size-up I have ever heard ... "We have a 2 1/2 story, abandoned wood frame dwelling, fully involved, I'm gonna hold Engine Company 12, return the rest of the assignment."  Did I hear him correctly?  We got this entire place to ourselves?  Outstanding!  I have never seen my roommates so happy, I have never seen so many lines pulled off of one engine, and I have never seen so much fire handled with a two-piece engine company.

As for our classes the next day ... well ... lets just say they were something none of us have ever seen either.