Ex-Al transitions to firehall quarterback
Former cornerback says he takes the most pride in saving lives
There are two things Irv Smith will admit to in his post-playing career as a firefighter for the Montgomery County Fire and Rescue Service.
He watches Chicago Fire on a weekly basis, admitting certain aspects of the TV show are realistic.
And as for that myth that firemen rescue stray cats out of trees?
“What I tell people is I’ve never seen a skeleton of a cat in a tree. It’ll come down soon enough,” Smith joked this week, having returned to Montreal to watch his 17-year-old son Kaylyn, a defensive back who will attend Vanier College this September, participate in the Canada Cup tournament.
Smith, 48, was an original Alouette, relocating with the team from Baltimore when the franchise was transferred to Montreal in 1996.
Smith played cornerback for the Als, lasting seven seasons. He was a Canadian Football League all-star in 2000 when the Alouettes lost in the Grey Cup to British Columbia. But Montreal lost its final seven games the following year — after a 9-2 start — costing head coach Rod Rust his job.
The team dropped the East Division semifinal at Hamilton with Smith shifted to halfback, a position he had never played, for the final game of his career by general manager Jim Popp, who replaced Rust. During the winter, Popp advised Smith he wouldn’t be invited to training camp the following June. Despite receiving a contract offer from Edmonton, Smith retired at age 35.
“I can be honest and say I wasn’t ready to retire from the CFL at that time, but we don’t determine our future,” he said.
Smith returned to Montgomery Village, Md., an affluent suburb of Washington, D.C., to contemplate his next move. With a degree in criminal justice from the University of Maryland, he aspired to work for the FBI or CIA. But age restrictions prevented him. A firefighter soon began selling Smith on the idea of pursuing a career in that field.
It was no easy task. Smith filled out an application, took a written test, had an interview and underwent a background check. Then came numerous physical exams.
Smith was then hired, although he still had to complete a six-month course at the Public Service Academy — three months of emergency medical service followed by three months of fire and rescue.
His starting salary was $35,000. His last salary with the Als called for a base of $75,000.
“It’s a great career and job,” said Smith, who was promoted to lieutenant last February. And two years from now he’ll apply to become a captain.
“It was the perfect transition, going from one team to another. When the alarm goes off, I still get that adrenalin rush. You really don’t know what you’re going into. It can be an EMS or fire call. When you do get on the scene, everyone on the truck has a role, everybody has a responsibility, like in a game. If everyone does their part, you’re usually successful.”
The first rule of thumb is lives are never risked for property.
“I can honestly say (the risk) doesn’t enter my mind. I’m not saying I have tunnel vision, but I’m here to do a job and I’ve been trained,” Smith said.
“If you have a bad game, one of your crew members might not come home. You can’t have a bad day. I take pride in telling spouses or their significant others they’re coming home.”
Montgomery County has not lost a firefighter in the line of duty since the 1960s, according to Smith, who works in the same area in which he was raised. Each firefighter can perform CPR — “honestly, if we break your ribs, we did a good job,” he said — while completing certain medical procedures.
As a lieutenant, Smith works a 10-hour shift, four days each week.
In the U.S. especially, as Smith quickly discovered, firefighters are looked upon as good guys. It’s not uncommon for people, especially those who have been rescued, to drop by the firehouse with cakes, pies, cookies, even pans of lasagna.
“I’ve always wanted to be that hero-type person, whether it’s on the field, talking to kids, signing autographs. Now I’m living it,” Smith explained. “Being on that truck and seeing people’s faces when you jump off. To see the relief on their faces. Someone on my crew is going to know what’s going on and we’re going to get this job taken care of.
“I take the most pride in saving lives. It’s something you just can’t explain.”