Parting Glass

I am sitting alone at last. The firehouse is quiet and I can hear the pipes playing in my head. My Chief has fallen. While we ran from tone out to tone out, he slowly let go. As his boys ran the beat, he went to sleep. I miss him, you know. For some silly reason he used to call me "Watash". I think I'll write that on the back of my helmet. He believed in me.
He was our bull dog, our champion. He loved his men. We loved him. You couldn't help it. He believed in us. As the pipes play and the bell is rung, we'll sing a song for our Chief and remember him fondly as he was. But I will remember forever my last moment with him.
We had just run a Code, the boys had performed flawlessly. None older than 22, they fought for another man's life while their own Chief lay dying in his hospital bed. They did it all, ET tube first try, EKG and drug therapy, the works. I just stood there and passed them what they needed. You'd never know they were "just kids" as so many prefer to dub them. I was watching them work and thought, "Not professional? Kiss my Ass!" We can take these boys anywhere!

So as I stood next to the chief, I couldn't wait to tell him how well they'd performed, even then, knowing of his struggle, wanting to be with him. I took his hand. It was cold. I leaned over and said, "Watash reporting for duty, Chief." His eyes lit up, and he struggled for breath. I held his gaze, begging God to help me hold back my tears. "You shoulda seen your boys tonight, Chief" I said. "You can be so proud!" He reached up and placed his hand on my face and his eyes grew bright. He tried to talk, but we had to calm him. I told him I understood and I told him I loved him. Then I left him. I left him knowing we were on duty, toeing the line, ready to make him proud. Each University Firefighter, with grief in his/her heart, refusing to quit the tour.

I've never wanted to be a Battalion Chief or any other kind of Chief. I like my place, I like being a company officer and have never longed for the crossed bugles. But now I sit in his place. Only a week ago he sat here, saying "Well, Watash, what's for lunch?" Now I'm here...... And he is gone. Its after 2 am, and I can't sleep. Somehow I have to find the focus and willpower to begin again, to press on. I need to tackle that Battalion Chief's job, and do it for him. I know he wanted that. He believed in his people. He wanted one of us to step up and take it. So we must step up even as we plan his funeral.

We are the very embodiment of his life, his devotion to duty and his dedication to the young men and women who worked under him. We will be a living memorial to the Chief. What an honor to follow behind this man.

But just now, at 2:30 am, in a quiet firehouse, I miss him and I wish I could sit and talk with him just one more time. He was my friend you know.

Ben Fleagle - President, Farthest North F.O.O.L.S.

The High Kings - Parting Glass