Well-here are some nice poems and such for everyone to look at. I hope that you enjoy reading them...oh and it might be a good idea to keep that box o' kleenex handy...not mentioning any names or anything-LINDSAY!
As I find more of them I'll be sure to add them on to the page or link to them. Let me know what you think of them~you can email me or leave a message in the guestbook.
~Brian
I HAVE NO AMBITION IN THIS WORLD BUT ONE, AND
THAT IS TO BE A FIREMAN. THE POSITION MAY, IN
THE EYES OF SOME, APPEAR
TO BE A LOWLY ONE; BUT THOSE WHO KNOW THE
WORK WHICH A FIREMAN HAS TO DO BELIEVE
HIS IS A NOBEL CALLING. OUR PROUDEST MOMENT
IS TO SAVE... LIVES. UNDER THE IMPULSE
OF SUCH THOUGHTS THE NOBILITY OF THE
OCCUPATION THRILLS US AND STIMULATES US TO
DEEDS OF DARING, EVEN OF SUPREME SACRIFICE.
CrockerChief of Department
FDNY
1899-1911
He’s the guy next door - a man’s man with the memory of a little boy.
He has never gotten over the excitement of engines and sirens and danger.
He’s a guy like you and me with warts and worries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us. He’s a fireman. He puts it all on the line when the bell rings.
A fireman is at once the most fortunate and the least fortunate of men.
He’s a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.
He’s a gentle man because he has seen the awesome
power of violence out of control.
He’s responsive to a child’s laughter because his arms have held
too many small bodies that will never laugh again.
He’s a man who appreciates the simple pleasures of life -
hot coffee held in numb, unbending fingers - a warm bed for bone
and muscle compelled beyond feeling - the camaraderie of brave men -
the divine peace and selfless service of a job well done in the name of all men.
He doesn’t wear buttons or wave flags or shout obscenities.
When he marches, it is to honor a fallen comrade.
He doesn’t preach the brotherhood of man.
He lives it.
Author Unknown
I wish you could see the sadness of a business man as his livelihood goes up in flames
or that family returning home, only to find their house and belongings damaged or destroyed.
I wish you could know what it is to search a burning bedroom for trapped children,
flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl, the floor
sagging under your weight as the kitchen beneath you burns.
I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 3 A.M. as I check her husband of forty years
for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping against hope to bring him back,
knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done.
I wish you could know the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus,
the feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, the sound of flames crackling,
and the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing in dense smoke-- "sensations
that I have become too familiar with."
I wish you could understand how it feels to go to school in the morning after having spent
most of the night, hot and soaking wet at a multiple alarm fire.
I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a building fire, `Is this a false alarm or a
working, breathing fire? How is the building constructed? What hazards await me? Is anyone
trapped? ' or to an EMS call, `What is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life-threatening?
Is the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?'
I wish you could be in the emergency room as the doctor pronounces dead the beautiful little
five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past twenty-five minutes, who
will never go on her first date or say the words, "I love you Mommy!", again.
I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the engine, the driver with his foot
pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you
fail to yield right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When you need us, however, your
first comment upon our arrival will be, "It took you forever to get here!"
I wish you could read my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the
mangled remains of her automobile, `What if this were my sister, my girlfriend, or a friend?
What were her parents' reactions going to be as they open the door to find a police officer, HAT IN HAND?'
I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family,
not having the heart to tell them that you nearly did not come home from this last call.
I wish you could feel my hurt as people verbally, and sometimes physically, abuse us or
belittle what I do, or as they express their attitudes of, "It will never happen to me."
I wish you could realize the physical, emotional, and mental drain of missed meals,
lost sleep and foregone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have viewed.
I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or
preserving someone's property, of being there in times of crisis, or creating order from total CHAOS.
I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy tugging on your arm and
asking, "Is my mommy o.k.?" Not even being able to look in his eyes without tears falling from
your own and not knowing what to say. Or to have hold back a long-time friend who watches his
buddy having rescue breathing done on him as they take him away in the ambulance. You knowing
all along he did not have his seat belt on--sensations that I have become too familiar.
Unless you have lived this kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who I am,
what we are, or what our job really means to us.
I WISH YOU COULD!
Sirens sound! He awakes with a start and hastily grabs up his clothes, dressing on the run,
as he has so many times before. Thumping of footsteps, motors churning, directions yelled, chaos!
TOTAL CHAOS! Or so it seems...yet, within seconds, dispatch...they are on their way,
racing down the street, sirens at ear-splitting pitch. Meanwhile, his mind dashes to other
nights-days of grueling, heartbreaking tragedy-ridden, heat-searing work. And he cries
to the depth of his soul, "WHY DO I CONTINUE ?" Loaded with nets, roof cutters, ladders,
axes, erc. they don air masks as they arrive. It is another bad one.
Flames are shooting everywhere, lighting the darkest of night with an eerie glow.
Screaming, a man and woman clutch to each other in panic. Nothing but PURE Intuition, or so it seems,
takes The Firefighter through collapsing beams, up the stair, past flaming bedrooms and
into a tiny closet to the side of a smoke filled bedroom.
He quickly gathers two squirming bundles in his arm, darts to the nearest window
and throws them to the waiting nets below...He leaps. Restrained no longer, the man and woman
bound for the nets. The Firefighter, weakened, hears sounds that are so far away, of a little dog's whimper,
happy cries and excited voices. Then, an explosion rocks the very ground upon which he lay.
Through the pain of a broken arm, he feels a little dog licking his face, and slowly opens his eyes,
the depth of his soul is touched, he willnever be the same, he needs no thank you's,
because he now knows the very reason "WHY HE CONTINUES"; for within her happy parents'arms.....
a child smiles.
My father was fireman. He drove a big red truck and when he'd go to work each dayhe'd say,
"Mother wish me luck. "Then Dad would not come home again'til sometime the next day.
But the thing that bothered me the mostwas the thing's some folks would say,
A fireman's life is easy, he eats and sleeps and plays, and sometimes he won't fight a fire for days and days.
"When I first heard these wordsI was young to understand but I knew when people had trouble
Dad was there to lend a hand. Then my father went to work one dayand kissed us all goodbye
but little did we realizesthat night we all would cry.
My father lost his life that night when the floor gave way below
and I'd wondered why he'd risk his life for someone he did not know.
But now I truly realizethe greatest gift a man can giveis to lay his life upon the line so that
someone else might live. So as we go from day to dayand we pray to
God above say a prayer for your local fireman. He may save the one's you love.
-unknown author
