USA TODAY International Edition
I can’t imagine not being a firefighter
Yes, it’s a dangerous job, but it is also rewarding
It was 1983. I had just started as a young firefighter in suburban Sacramento County, California, and was called to a fatal vehicle accident. There, in the middle of a busy intersection, lay the victim, his lower body turned inside out. Right then, I learned the first hard lesson about my new profession: Being a firefighter means being there for people on the worst day of their lives — sometimes on the day their lives end.
Firefighters experience every extreme, both physical and emotional. The blazing heat of a wildland or structure fire. The satisfaction of saving a life. The heartbreak of a medical call that ends with a child dying in your arms. As every firefighter will tell you, it’s all part of the job.
The most visible risks of the job have been on display on the wildfire lines in California. The deadly Camp Fire near Chico burned hot enough to melt aluminum, whipped by winds up to 70 miles an hour. As I traveled the fire scene, I talked to a crew that had been on the job for nearly two full days without a break. The stress and exhaustion were etched into their faces. They just couldn’t stop. Dozens of firefighters lost their own homes. Yet they still showed up for work. Part of the job.
For me, the fire service is far more dangerous than when I started out. Year-round wildfires are the “new normal.” Building materials burn hotter and more dangerously. Call volumes have exploded, as staffing remains flat or declines.
There are also risks that don’t present themselves in the moment, but over time. I have told my family that I believe it is not a question of whether I will get job-related cancer, it’s a question of when. Another silent killer is post-traumatic stress. Our culture is to bury our feelings about tough calls, but these “exposures” add up, too: Last year, more firefighters died by their own hand than in the line of fire.
Yes, it’s a dangerous job, but it is also extremely rewarding. Early in my career, we rescued a young child whose arm had been caught in a dangerous garden machine. It looked like his whole arm was gone, but our actions helped save most of it. Two years later, when a second-grade class came to visit the fire station, there he was with his parents. Once, my entire crew scrambled to help a couple flying to England for a funeral. They had left their passports in a closed Kinkos and we were their last hope. We got their passports — without breaking in — and the couple made their flight.
The fire service also gives you a second family. We count on each other when we’re on calls, and we’re living and eating together in the firehouse. It forms an indestructible bond: I know they have my back, and I have theirs.
As deep as our bond with each other is our bond with those we serve. Everybody focuses on the “guts and the glory” of the job, but that’s not what it’s about. If you’re not committed to helping people and the community, it’s not the job for you.
It is this commitment that sparked a strong reaction from many firefighters to a statement by the president in the early stages of the Camp Fire. As our people were responding to an unfolding human tragedy, the president’s first words were a 240-character Twitter broadside that included a threat to withhold federal aid, which could hurt the very communities they were sweating blood to save. As busy as they were, our members let me hear about it, and many weren’t happy.
I’m pleased to say the president has since fulfilled his mission, moving quickly on a major disaster declaration that brought critical firefighting assets and emergency aid to the thousands displaced. This action is greatly appreciated, as are the countless expressions of support we’ve received.
In my 31 years in the service, I’ve never met a firefighter who thought of himself or herself as a hero. I never did. Everything we do, we do because it’s part of the job. But at its best, that job is its own reward. Whether we’re fighting fire or rescuing a family’s trip, firefighters have a chance to be helpers.
It’s a privilege to serve. Even knowing all the risks, I can’t imagine doing anything else.
Brian K. Rice is president of the California Professional Firefighters, representing 30,000 firefighters and paramedics. He worked for 31 years as a firefighter with the Sacramento Metropolitan Fire District.