By Achibis
She clutches a teddy bear dressed like a firefighter in one hand, and her
older brother's arm with her other. The little girl watches a procession
pass by in wide-eyed wonder as she and her brother stand at the curb in front
of the church. With all the apparatus, flags and the people marching by,
she thinks, It looks just a parade! But it is not.
When the last engine in the procession pulls up, eight uniformed firefighters
step up behind it and carefully unload the cargo placed in its hose bed.
Slowly, they walk up the steps to the cathedral and place their burden on
a rolling stand. With their hands still on the casket, they enter the church
for Mass.
To the girl, it seems just like a Sunday, and yet it's different from other
Sundays, because there are so many people in uniform. And they are all sad.
She hears a lot of talking in church from many different people. She hears
prayers, and a song or two is sung. Now a big man approaches them. He gives
her brother a shiny gold badge and he hands her a firefighter's helmet…both
belonging to their father. The mass now over, the little girl and her brother
go outside once again to watch as the fire vehicles are lined up again. A
stiff breeze starts to blow, making the many various flags of the honor guards
crackle and pop like distant fireworks.
Once their father's casket is placed back in the hose bed, the two siblings
ride side-by-side in the big engine to the cemetery. She sees so many people
standing along the road. There are men with hats off and heads bowed; women
who are silently weeping. Once or twice along the way she sees children pointing
at the engine—her father's fire engine—and ask questions. The whole
procession is so silent that she can hear their mothers quietly hushing
them.
At the cemetery, the big casket is removed from the fire engine and then
placed on a horse-drawn caisson, where it is borne to the gravesite, along
with an empty set of boots and turnouts. The monument by the gravesite is
covered in flowers. There are more prayers, and then the big, brass fire
bell on a stand is rung:
Ding…ding…ding…ding
There is a pause, then it rings again:
Ding…ding…ding…ding
Another pause, and then it is tolled once more:
Ding…ding…ding…ding
She notices that many of the firefighters are now beginning to screw up their
faces, as if to cry; and does, in fact, see tears running down many of their
faces as their fallen brother-in-arms is rung home one last time.
She hears the Sergeant of the Honor Guard give some orders and…
FIRE!
FIRE!
FIRE!
The girl, now a young woman and a firefighter herself, is startled back into
the present by the twenty-one gun salute. Numbly, she watches as the flag
draping the casket is slowly and ceremoniously folded. In the background,
she can hear the two buglers playing Taps, one echoing the other after each
phrase is played. The department's Chief Engineer brings the now-folded flag
to the woman and presents it to her. As she accepts the flag, the firefighters
gathered offer one last salute to their fallen comrade. Her eyes glance briefly
at the grave markers, two of them side-by-side and now bearing the same last
name: the one on the left is that of her father, Clayt; the newest one bears
her brother's.
All ceremonies and honors completed, the assembly is dismissed. As she stands
to leave, her partner comes to her side. The rest of her family—natural
as well as firefighting—gather around her, forming a kind of cocoon
that shields her from the prying camera lens belonging to the ever-present
media. As she is guided back to the waiting limousine, Cassie Kelly pauses
and looks back at the two graves.
"Good bye, Big Brother."
********
In memoriam:
On March 21, 2003, Cincinnati Firefighter Oscar "Ozzie" Armstrong III became
the twenty-first firefighter to die in the line of duty this year when he
was caught in a flashover. Coincidentally, he died on the second anniversary
of another local firefighter's death, my friend and brother
firefighter/paramedic, Bill Ellison. Ozzie was 25 years old and had been
a firefighter for three years. He leaves behind his mother and father, a
brother and a sister, two young sons, his expectant fiancée as well
as the 800+ brethren that makes up the Cincinnati Fire Department. The day
before his death, he told his mother that joining the fire department was
the best career choice he made in his life. This story is dedicated to his
memory as well as to all firefighting/EMS/police personnel who have also
made the Ultimate Sacrifice while in the line of duty.
I got the inspiration for this story from a couple of sources:
In the Station 18 story, "The Second Alarm," Jane Woods wrote about the bar
owner, Smokey, recalling his Captain's—Clayt Kelly—line of duty
death, as well as his memories of watching Clayt's two youngest children,
Chet and Cassie, grow to adulthood; and in the "Emergency!" episode, "The
Greatest Rescues of Emergency!," it was implied that Chet had died in the
line of duty.
My deepest appreciation and gratitude goes to Jane for allowing me the honor
of borrowing Cassie.
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