Fire History & Onions

If you are having trouble reaching this site, my comment box, or e-mail, please see note at top of my March 25^th posting.

The way of the historian, like that of the transgressor, is hard.

Wednesday I wallowed, like a happy pig in a puddle, in research and writing on my history of the Jacksonville Fire & Rescue Department book. I’ve revised sections up to World War I and the more I work on this history, the more facts and incidents I find I want to include in the book.

At one time I bemoaned the scarcity of material; now I’m wondering what to cut.

Between sessions at the computer, I ran outside to move the sprinkler from place to place in the yard. We’ve hardly seen rain in weeks and none is predicted for yet more weeks. I hate to pour money on the ground, but to keep lawn and flowers alive, I’m forced to water.

Actually the watering sessions made for pleasant breaks in my work. I’d sit for a time in a lawn chair smoking my pipe and watching the spray sparkle in morning sunbeams and watching birds bathe in shower.

I often reflected on how I can enjoy such a peaceful idyllic scene because American soldiers fight in Iraq, Afghanistan, and throughout the world to insure such peace as mine at home. I feel thankful for their sacrifices.

Although I live a sedentary quite life, I admire the heroic actions of others.

I suppose that’s one reason I chose to write this history of firefighters.

Yes, I know the traditional picture is of a bunch of guys hanging around the firehouse playing cards most of the time. One firefighter I interviewed described his work as “hours of boring tedium punctuated by moments of sheer terror”.

Yet in my research I keep uncovering astounding acts of heroism and valor and self-sacrifice. I’m writing this history largely as an expression of my admiration.

Yet, as an amateur historian and a Christian, to be honest I have to also deal with the realities of political infighting, corruption, racial tensions, and plain human goofiness.

These elements are part of our history too. And they should not be ignored, but the thrust of my book is not to dwell on them but to focus on the good, decent and dangerous things firefighters do daily, even as I acknowledge their … what’s the word I want… cowboy-ness?

For instance, a few years back somebody thought it would be a good idea to take photos of a young woman in an abbreviated swimsuit posing with a city fire engine as a backdrop. These photos were posted on the web and came to the attention of a local newspaper reporter. The newspaper went ape with indignation condemning the moral turpitude of Jacksonville firefighters and calling for an investigation.

It’s interesting to note that while the newspaper, from the high ground of shock, outrage and offence, did not publish the photos — it did, however, publish three web addresses where the photos could be viewed!

Of course in the name of historical accuracy I checked out the sites. In hundreds of photos there, I did not notice a single fire truck.

Ah, the burden of historical research!

On the homefront, Sunday a friend gave us a huge sack of onions. So tonight I cooked an enormous pot of onion soup. After supper Ginny and I stayed at the table dicing even more onions to put in Ziploc bags and freeze.

Somebody (to save her embarrassment I won’t tell that it was Ginny) knocked over the trashcan squishing onion chips into the carpet even though somebody wiser and more careful (it was me) had warned her to watch out and not do that.

Of course, I had just emptied my big ashtray overflowing with 12 hours worth of ashes from my knocking out my pipe. Onions and ashes and onion juice fanned out across the carpet.

Glade just ain’t gonna do the job this time.

Being the kind, gentle Christian husband that I am, I did not tease Ginny at all about this incident — not while she still held the dicing knife in her hand.

The way of the husband, like that of the historian and the transgressor, is hard.

But I have learned a few things in 38 years of marriage. (When not to tease being one of the most important).

Oh, but I love her so. And I love my work, and my garden. And my hometown. I have so many things to relish and enjoy.

Thank You, Jesus. I appreciate the life You’ve given me.