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madrobinsYesterday evening, when I left the house to meet ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
klages for a movie, I saw firetrucks whizzing by on the San Jose ramp to I-280. And people watching. My first thought: gotta be a big fire somewhere. And then I remembered: last week, while we were out of town, there was a fire in Diamond Heights (the neighborhood up the hill), and two firefighters were killed putting it out. This was part of their memorial. So I stood with my neighbors at the side of the road (two were police officers in dress blues, with their kid with them, and they saluted each time a fire truck went by) watching this extraordinary parade of fire trucks, paramedic ambulances, motorcycles with flashes burning, unmarked police and fire vehicles. And here's the thing: I may have missed most of the San Francisco FD fire trucks, but I saw at least thirty more as I stood there, from surrounding areas: Salinas and Chico and Napa, Contra Costa County and San Mateo County and Santa Clara County, Tiburon and Woodbridge and...you get the idea.
I may sometimes have reservations about the police, or at least about how individual cops do their job--it's a job that has many temptations, and dealing with Bad People one at least has the chance, however small, of using wit to get out of a dicey situation. But firefighters--my respect, my awe--is all for them. Fire doesn't care. As well stand at the foot of a tsunami and yell at it as try to talk fire down from a ledge. And yet these are men and women who sign up to deal with this force of nature on a daily basis. Years ago when we lived in New York we had a fire in our building, in the middle of the night. I woke up to the sound of breaking glass and the slow realization that there was smoke in our apartment; got the Spouse and kids up, shod and dressed, and we started down the stairs from our eighth floor apartment. On the seventh floor we were headed off by a firefighter in full kit, who told us to go back to our apartment, put a towel, preferably dampened, by the door, and sit by an open window, until either someone came to evacuate us, or they gave us an all clear. And then he went off to check on other people. Utterly routine and calm in the face of a primal force that had got out of hand on the second floor. Everyone that night was lucky, but it gave me a real, visceral sense of what a firefighter's job is.
Lt. Vincent Perez and firefighter-paramedic Anthony Valerio died doing their jobs. Over 5,000 people came to honor them yesterday. And because I left the house at the right time, I inadvertently became a part of that, and I'm glad for that.
klages for a movie, I saw firetrucks whizzing by on the San Jose ramp to I-280. And people watching. My first thought: gotta be a big fire somewhere. And then I remembered: last week, while we were out of town, there was a fire in Diamond Heights (the neighborhood up the hill), and two firefighters were killed putting it out. This was part of their memorial. So I stood with my neighbors at the side of the road (two were police officers in dress blues, with their kid with them, and they saluted each time a fire truck went by) watching this extraordinary parade of fire trucks, paramedic ambulances, motorcycles with flashes burning, unmarked police and fire vehicles. And here's the thing: I may have missed most of the San Francisco FD fire trucks, but I saw at least thirty more as I stood there, from surrounding areas: Salinas and Chico and Napa, Contra Costa County and San Mateo County and Santa Clara County, Tiburon and Woodbridge and...you get the idea. I may sometimes have reservations about the police, or at least about how individual cops do their job--it's a job that has many temptations, and dealing with Bad People one at least has the chance, however small, of using wit to get out of a dicey situation. But firefighters--my respect, my awe--is all for them. Fire doesn't care. As well stand at the foot of a tsunami and yell at it as try to talk fire down from a ledge. And yet these are men and women who sign up to deal with this force of nature on a daily basis. Years ago when we lived in New York we had a fire in our building, in the middle of the night. I woke up to the sound of breaking glass and the slow realization that there was smoke in our apartment; got the Spouse and kids up, shod and dressed, and we started down the stairs from our eighth floor apartment. On the seventh floor we were headed off by a firefighter in full kit, who told us to go back to our apartment, put a towel, preferably dampened, by the door, and sit by an open window, until either someone came to evacuate us, or they gave us an all clear. And then he went off to check on other people. Utterly routine and calm in the face of a primal force that had got out of hand on the second floor. Everyone that night was lucky, but it gave me a real, visceral sense of what a firefighter's job is.
Lt. Vincent Perez and firefighter-paramedic Anthony Valerio died doing their jobs. Over 5,000 people came to honor them yesterday. And because I left the house at the right time, I inadvertently became a part of that, and I'm glad for that.