I’m
an old firefighter. I have been a firefighter since 1978. I haven’t been active in a number of years,
but once a firefighter, always a firefighter.
I
joined the Pollocksville Fire Department in 1978. We were a small, volunteer department with
only one 750 gallon pumper and a large tanker truck. The tanker was essential because outside of
the town limits there was no water, we had to bring it with us. I moved to Roxboro in 1982 and the Fire Chief,
knowing I was a firefighter, asked me to be the Roxboro Fire Department
Chaplain. For the next eight years I
responded to calls at all hours of the day and night. I comforted families in time of loss. I delivered the devastating news that a loved
one had died in a fire. I conducted the
funeral for our beloved Assistant Fire Chief who was brutally murdered by a
deranged drug addict who had just been released from prison on a technicality.
But
nothing prepared me for a heart wrenching experience early in 1990. We responded to a house fire one cold, rainy
morning. A frantic mother was screaming
that her baby was in the house. Smoke
was pouring out and it was evident that we could not save the house, but there
was a child. Two of my fellow
firefighters quickly donned their breathing equipment and did what any brave
firefighter would do; they risked their lives to try to save the life of a
child. I was standing by a front window
when it shattered. One of the
firefighters tore through the window with an axe while the other one reached
through and handed me the lifeless body of a small child.
I
started CPR and was soon relieved by EMS workers who took the child to the back
of the ambulance as they tried desperately to restore his precious life. The child responded and started to breathe on
his own. Within an hour he was airlifted
to Chapel Hill where he later died.
I
will never forget that moment. It is
frozen in time in my memory. I am
standing there holding a little child and trying to give him back the gift of
life. And I will never forget my fellow
firefighters who courageously rushed into that burning house to save the life
of a child.
Fifteen
years ago on September 11, 2001, we all watched in horror as the Twin Towers in
New York City came crashing down taking 2,753 innocent lives. Most of those victims were desperately trying
to get out after the airplanes crashed into the buildings, but not
everyone. 343 brave and courageous
firefighters were going into the buildings while everyone else was rushing
out. Those firefighters were going up
the stairs while the multitudes were rushing down. All 343 firefighters were lost on 9/11. They were doing what my two friends did that
fateful morning in 1990; they were risking their lives to save the lives of
others.
This
Sunday on September 11, I get to be a firefighter again. I’m wearing my old Chaplain badge as I share
in our community’s memorial observance of 9/11.
I have the great privilege of leading the bell ceremony, a 200 year-old
tradition in firefighting as we honor those brave men and women who have
answered the final call as they have given their lives to save the lives of
others. We will also honor all of our
Lexington Firefighters in the ceremony on the Old Courthouse Square that begins
at 12:11 p.m.
At
some point in the ceremony I know I will recall that experience of my fellow
firefighters going into that burning house to save the life of that small
child. I will be reminded that every
time the alarm sounds, our firefighters never know if they are answering the
call for the final time. We thank God
for our firefighters. I am proud to be
included in their family.
