Boys & Their Toys
“Sold to number 88, for $1500.00. Our next item is this well-restored 1938 Ford coupe…” The auctioneer’s voice seemed to fade out as Chet sat down quickly. He was pale, and sweaty. A medically trained person would have suspected that the fireman was going into shock. Indeed, he was. Fireman Chester B. Kelly, of LA County Fire Station 51 had just bought himself a 1950 Dodge/Towers fire truck.
It all happened so quickly…one minute, Chet was looking at a collection of antique barbed wire, checking to see if there were any strands he was missing for his own collection. The next, he found himself in a bidding war with another man for a faded red fire truck. As the gravity of what he had just done sank in, he vaguely remembered when Gage and DeSoto had announced one morning that they had bought an antique rig on their day off. As was typical for Chet, he had razzed them, especially when it was learned that the truck was but an angel’s breath from the scrap pile. He had hated to admit it, but the hours of labor and love invested by the paramedics paid off when the rig triumphantly rolled off to the California Fireman’s Association Convention Parade. Even Chet was shaken when a building collapse nearly totaled the old engine. Now, here he was. The clown had gone and made the same “mistake.”
“Well, at least MY rig runs well…” he thought to himself. The owner of the rig had made a little speech before the auctioneer began soliciting bids. The rig had been the pride and joy of a small volunteer Fire Department, and had only been out of service for a few weeks. The vollies had managed to raise enough money to purchase a new truck, their first new rig ever. The seller further explained that the department purchased the truck used, and relied on it and a 1954 Chevy/Alexis pumper. Even though the rigs were getting old, they still performed well when the chips were down. The vollies treated the aging trucks like they were made of gold, partly out of knowing full well that it would take an Act of God to replace them, and partly out of a deep pride in serving their community. A grant from the State, coupled with several pancake breakfasts, chili suppers, and other fund-raisers allowed the volunteers to buy a new pumper that would replace the two older trucks. Since the apparatus manufacturer had no use for the old trucks, a trade-in was out of the question. The volunteers then decided to auction-off the rigs, with the proceeds to go towards new equipment for the truck. The owner had bid on the rigs so that he could use them in his feed lot. He had planned on removing the fire bodies and replacing them with ones made from salvaged grain wagons. A series of events made the conversion unnecessary, so he consigned them into the auction to get rid of them.
Chet had taken a casual glance at the rigs as he walked by, shaking his head in disbelief. “How could anyone fight a fire with THOSE?” he wondered. The trucks looked so small compared to his “Big Red.” Unfortunately, Chet was one of the many career firefighters that had contempt for volunteers…often cracking jokes about them, and calling them “Wannabees.” He had absolutely no intention of even thinking about bidding on the rig. Chet was at the auction for one purpose…barbed wire, his collecting passion. He had told himself though, that if a decent classic car would come up, and wouldn’t cost too much to attain and restore, that he would at least consider it. He was admiring a particularly rare example of barbed wire from Pottawatomie County, Kansas when the bidding began on the old Dodge.
“We will start the bidding at $400.00, the auctioneer said. Immediately, a rather fat, loud, and obnoxious individual in some really hideous plaid slacks and a sport coat shot his hand up with the bid card. Chet had been wondering what kind of an idiot would buy an old fire truck, when he glanced up at the guy, he thought he had his answer. To Chet’s surprise, two and then three others were bidding on the Dodge as well. He shook his head, and went back to the barbed wire.
The bidding was stalled at $1250.00 when Chet looked up again. The fat guy in the plaid outfit was grinning. He was the only one left in the fray, the others having given up. Chet shook his head once again, until he heard the moron start laughing a hearty, self-important kind of guffaw. Chet recognized the laugh, and looked a little closer at the guy. Chet had met him once before. The guy was buying up old fire trucks, and painting them in hippie-van colors to use for pizza delivery. Chet met him after a fire at one of his pizza shops. A breaker in Chet’s brain tripped, sending him a message.
“Come on Kelly, you CAN’T let that idiot take that old rig and hippieize it….”
“$1250, going once, going twice, going…”
“$1500!” Chet shouted out suddenly. The assembled crowd turned to stare at him. He swallowed hard, and tried not to blush.
“I have a bid for $1500.00, do I hear $1550?” the surprised auctioneer said looking at the fat guy. The fat guy looked at Chet, tried to burn holes through him with his eyes, then slowly shook his head. “$1500 then, going once, going twice…sold to #88 for $1500.00. Our next item is this well-restored 1938 Ford Coupe…”
Chet felt ill. The fat guy waddled over to him, slapped him hard on the back, nearly putting Chet on the ground, and said, “Damn boy! You sure are a sneaky sonofabitch when it comes to bidding on things, ain’t ya?” Chet just looked at him, and smiled a weak smile. The fat guy looked at him strangely, then waddled off to the food trailer. Chet slumped against the side of the truck, coming to a rest seated on the running board of his new fire truck.
“How in the hell am I gonna explain this one?” he said to nobody in particular. He tried to talk himself into just taking off, leaving the truck behind. He tried to talk himself into withdrawing his bid. He tried to talk himself into keeling over and dying on the spot. Nothing worked. He finally pulled himself up, and walked on weak knees to the cashier’s trailer and wrote a check for the $1500.00. He had a little difficulty coming up with ID for the check, until he remembered that he had his badge with him. Ever since the time he lost his badge, he made sure it was with him at ALL times. The cashier looked at the badge, and his driver’s license, and took the check.
“I can’t believe a fireman would screw us,” she said sweetly. Chet looked at the petite redhead, and for once couldn’t think of anything to say. He just picked up his receipt and walked to his car. The auctioneer’s helper jogged over to him.
“Hey buddy, when ya gonna get that fire truck outa here?”
“Huh?”
“I said, when ya gonna get that truck ya bought outa here.”
“Oh, ah, I, ah, I don’t know.” Chet’s brain still hadn’t come back on-line yet.
“Well, you gotta get it outta here by tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, says so right there on your bid ticket.” Chet looked at the ticket, and sure enough, it said, “All items MUST be removed within 24 hours.”
“Oh shit.” Chet said.
“Hey, don’t be giving me ‘oh shit,’ you bought it, now ya gotta move it!”
“I, ah, I don’t know where I’m gonna put it, and ah, I don’t have any way to get it out,” he stammered.
“Well, Ed here can tow it just about anyplace in the County, only cost ya twenty bucks.”
“Ah, well, “Chet tried desperately to think of a place to have the rig towed to, then had a brain flash. “Tell ya what, have him tow it to County Fire Station 51 on 223rd street in Carson.” Chet figured that since his next shift wasn’t for two more days, he would have a place to store it, and time to move it before the rest of the crew found out about what he had done. Paybacks are hell in the Fire Service.
***
The next day, Chet was up bright and early, and burning up the phone line. He tried to call in every favor he had ever done in an effort to find somebody that had a place where he could park a fire truck. Everytime it looked he had found a home, the deal would fall through…
“Well, Chet, you can certainly park it in here, but the rats will make a home out of her.”
“Gee, Chet, I’d let ya park it here in a heartbeat, but the wife, well, you know, ever since that deal with the Studebaker, she’s been kinda funny about things…”
“Sorry, Chet, yeah, I got lots of room, but I don’t own the place, I only rent, and the landlord is kinda particular about antique fire trucks sitting in his yard…” And so it went. By late in the afternoon, Chet was getting worried. He laid down for a nap, and dreamed that instead of an albatross around his neck, he had a 1950 Dodge fire truck with a tow chain around his neck. It was pulling him down deeper into the shit. He woke up, sweating profusely.
“If I don’t get rid of that thing tomorrow, the guys will NEVER let me hear the end of it!” he said through clenched teeth.
Just when the situation looked its bleakest, the phone rang. Chet pounced on it, hoping it was a buddy of his who said he might have a place to put the rig. It wasn’t.
“Hello! Hello! Jack! What’s the word ,pal? Can I park the rig over there? Huh? What’s the story? I’m in a REAL bind here!”
“Yes Kelly, you certainly are.” It was the cool, calm voice of Captain Stanley. Chet just about wet himself and passed out at the same time.
“CAP? Why are you calling me?”
“Well, Chet, Capt. Andrews just gave me a call…it seems that somebody named ‘Ed’ in a tow truck just dropped off a 1950 Dodge fire truck behind the station. It also seems that Ed said that Fireman Chet Kelly told him to, and that he was needing twenty bucks for the tow.” Stanley wasn’t trying too hard to hide his irritation. The Capt. had been enjoying his days off, catching up on minor projects around the house, and getting caught up on his soap opera. He couldn’t watch it on-shift, so he really looked forward to his days off. The climax to a three-month story line was about to be reached when Capt. Andrews had called him. Now, he had missed the big moment, and Kelly was going to explain, and pay… “So Chet, you now owe the guys on C shift twenty bucks…and you owe me and Captain Andrews an explanation of just why in the hell an old fire truck is sitting behind our station.”
“Ah, OK Cap, I, ah, uh, well, ah I kinda bought it by accident yesterday…” Chet’s voice trailed off to almost a whisper. Stanley heard every word though. His fuse became even shorter yet…a dangerous thing for Chet.
“I see, you say you ‘accidentally’ bought it…” by now, Stanley was rubbing his brow, which was quite furrowed. A vein on the side of his temple was pulsing, and he was beginning to turn various shades of red and purple. Kelly was missing quite a show! “Well Chet, that I can understand, sort of, I mean, we all buy things from time to time…but I still want to know why the blasted thing is sitting behind my fire station.” The Captain was almost to the point of breaking the handset on the phone since he was grabbing it so tightly. “It was bad enough when Gage and DeSoto had that old Dennis rig, now Kelly’s doing it too! I’m not running a fire station, I’m running a freaking museum!” he thought to himself.
“Well Cap, ah, uh, I didn’t have anyplace else to put it…and since you let Johnny and Roy park THEIR rig out back, I ah assumed that ah…”
“I let them because I thought it was a one time deal.” Stanley interjected rather angrily. He then regretted it. “Sorry Chet, go on, you were saying?”
“Well, uh, I figured I could stash it at the station while I tried to find someplace else to put it...but Cap, there IS no other place. I’ve been on the phone all day, nobody can take it! I know I’ve gotta move it, if the guys see it, I’ll be the laughing stock of the Department!”
At that, Stanley began to crack a smile, and his colors began to fade back to normal. “You mean like Johnny and Roy were a few years back?”
“Yeah, Cap, ah, I mean…”
“Look, Chet, you keep trying to find a new home for the truck. If you can’t, well, its not like we haven’t had one out back before. But that is ONLY if you can’t find somewhere else. Oh and just how did you ‘accidentally’ buy it? No, wait, don’t answer, just try to find someplace else for it.” At that, Stanley hung up. He went back to his easy chair in front of the TV, and scowled. A commercial for feminine products was on. Hank never could sit through one of those. He looked at his watch, saw that his show was over, and turned off the set in disgust. “Boys and their toys,” he said, shaking his head.
Chet hung up the now dead phone. He buried his face in his hands. “How did things get so complicated?” he asked himself. “One minute, I’m looking at barbed wire, the next, I own a freaking fire truck!” Since he was sitting at his kitchen table, he banged his head against it about a dozen times when the phone rang again. “Well, at least Gage doesn’t know about this yet,” he thought to himself as he rubbed his now sore head and reached for the phone.
“Hello?”
“Chet! Buddy! Hey, ah, I heard from McDowel on C shift that you bought a rig!” It was Gage; Chet’s day had just gotten worse. “So, ah, what would anyone want with an old junk rig?” Johnny asked mocking Chet. “So, I guess Roy and I weren’t as far out in left field a few years ago as you thought ‘eh?” Chet just slumped in his seat, he felt ill again. Gage continued his tirade, but Chet had set the phone on the table, then got up to find the aspirin. The only creature listening to Johnny get his long-awaited payback was Chet’s cat. Even the cat got up and left. “Chet? CHET? Hey, where the hell did ya go? CHET?” Gage finally realized the phone had been abandoned. “Well, piss on ya then!” Johnny said before hanging up.
It was a beautiful morning in LA County…the sun was shining, a slight breeze was blowing, and the birds were chirping. It seemed that all was well in the world, unless your name was Chet Kelly.
Chet made a point to be extra-early into the station, in the hopes that he could head-off or even prevent the ration of shit he knew was coming. As he pulled into the lot behind the station, he felt ill…there was Johnny’s Land Rover, DeSoto’s wagon, Stoker’s car, and even Marco’s and the Capt.’s…
“OH SHIIIIIIIIT.” He said as he pulled into the only open spot left, right next to the Dodge. “Well, at least they aren’t out here waiting for me,” he said as he reluctantly got out of the car. He paused to look at the old rig. “You know, it really ain’t that bad of a truck,” he thought to himself. “A fresh coat of paint, and a little detail work, and it really could be a show-stopper.” He then looked a little closer at the door, seeing something scrawled in chalk. As he stepped up, he could read it: Chester B. Kelly’s Volunteer Fire Company. You Call… We Haul. “I’m gonna KILL Gage!” He roared as he stormed towards the station.
Chet came flying in the door into the kitchen. A shift and C shift were comparing notes on the previous day. No body even looked up when Chet stormed in.
“GAGE! WHERE ARE YOU? Where the FUCK are you?” Chet shouted, prompting the assembled smoke-eaters to look up at him.
Johnny walked in from the apparatus bay, smiling. “Why Chet, you seem a trifle bit irked…”
“WHAT did you do to MY firetruck?”
“What?”
“You heard me, Gage, the door to my fire truck says ‘Chester B. Kelly’s Volunteer Fire Company. You Call…We Haul’ sounds like something a brain-less chump like you would cook up!”
Captain Stanley stood up, blocking Chet’s path to Gage.“Actually, Chet, Gage had nothing to do with it. He was out checking the Squad when Capt. Andrews, the boys on C shift, and the rest of us came up with it…I think it’s kind of catchy.”
Chet’s eyes bulged out, and his jaw dropped. “I, ahhhh, HUH?”
“That’s right, Chet, I was kinda pissed they did it without me…but that’s OK, I still owe you big-time for all the shit you gave Roy and me about the old Dennis.”
Roy just rolled his eyes. He had pretty much forgotten about the whole thing. The C shift guys got up, said their good-byes, and made their way either to the door, or towards the locker room. The ones that passed Chet made it a point to either tussle his hair, or pat him on the back. Chet just fumed.
All through roll call, Chet kept glancing at Gage, who had his trademark crooked grin working overtime. The Captain also noticed Gage’s smirk, but chose to ignore it. “Let the twit have his fun,” he thought to himself.
The morning was quiet for the station, with the Squad only going out for a traffic accident with Engine 127. For 51s Engine crew, it was drill time on the smoke ejector. During a break, Stoker went over to Chet and sat by him.
“Chet, I don’t care what the other guys say, I think you got yourself a really good truck. My Dad ran a 1942 Dodge with a General body over in Rosemead…it was a good, solid truck. With a little bit of work, your rig could really be something.” Chet looked at the Engineer, at first, he thought Mike was gonna “cram” him, but quickly realized he was being sincere. “If you want some help with her, just let me know.”
“Thanks, Stoker, right now, I’m not even sure if I’m gonna keep the damn thing or not.”
“Then why’d you buy it?”
“Well, I kinda bought it by accident, I mean, it just sort of happened.” Chet was almost blushing, but at the same time, he really wasn’t sure why. Mike looked at him in a puzzled way, but didn’t have the chance to act on it as the Capt. came back in for the rest of the drill.
By lunchtime, the Squad was back, and the boys had a little free time. While Marco prepared lunch, the rest of the boys went out back to look at Chet’s new toy. Chet was still in a very defensive mode…but was starting to get attached to the old battle wagon. Johnny walked around the rig, and came over to where Chet was nervously standing.
“You know, Chet, they got a rig just like this one back at the Reservation.”
“Don’t fuck with me Gage…,” Chet said in a warning tone.
“No, really, we have a Volunteer Fire Department on the Reservation, and they run a rig just like this one, I’m not fucking with you,” Gage said as sincerely as he could. He thought back to the Reservation, and watching his tribal brothers pull on heavy rubber coats and old tin helmets when fire threatened. They were part of why he sought to become a fireman. He remembered fondly visiting the garage where the pumper was kept, and watching the men polish her lovingly each week…whether she needed it or not.
“A volunteer Fire Department?” Chet asked somewhat surprised. “I thought they only had those in the little podunk towns.”
“Chet, there are far more volunteer firemen in this country than there are career firemen. Not every town has the budget to staff the local fire station, we sure as hell didn’t.” Chet looked a bit taken aback, but was also intrigued.
“But I always thought volunteers were just a bunch of barbers, bankers, and the guy that runs the gas station that wanted to be firemen, but couldn’t…you know, a bunch of Wannabees.”
“Chet, most volunteer firemen I’ve known spend as much if not more time than we do learning about fire fighting. The go through the same training we do, and use pretty much the same equipment. Sometimes the gear is a little older, and they may not have as much of the newer technology, but they do it because they know that they are all that stands between their town, and disaster.”
Chet was speechless.
“Sometimes, they may earn a dollar for a particularly long call, or for making meetings, but generally, they do it solely out of a love for the job. How many guys in our department can you honestly say are here because they love fighting fire? How many do you think are on the job because it’s a County job with good pay?”
Chet could only nod. While he had the passion for fighting fire, he could think of plenty of his brother firemen that were more interested in their weekly paycheck than advancing themselves in the profession.
“Oh, and by the way, Chet, you know your buddy McDowel, on C shift?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you know, that he is a volunteer over in Sierra Madre?”
Chet was stunned. Bob McDowel was one of the most dedicated firemen he knew. Chet worked several overtime shifts with McDowel when he was first starting out. McDowel showed him how the job was done, and had a lot to do with the kind of fireman Chet was today.
“He never said nothing about that,” Chet stammered.
“Well, he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and besides, since he knows of your disdain for the vollies, he told me he figured he’d end up having to pound you if you started spouting off.”
Chet looked genuinely embarrassed, and for good reason.
“Also, Chet, he told me about your new rig because he is currently helping to restore a 1944 Seagrave they’ve got. He thought it was great that a fireman was gonna preserve a rig, volunteer or otherwise…” With that, Gage turned and walked back into the station to see how Marco was coming with the lunch.
Chet then felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to find Captain Stanley. The Cap had heard the whole conversation.
“You know, Chet, as much of a twit as Johnny can be, he had a few good points there. If I was you, pal, I’d reconsider my opinion of the volunteers, and I’d also be thinking about how to restore this old rig to her former glory.” With that, the Cap gave him a pat on the back, and also headed inside. Mike Stoker walked by, looked at Chet, then continued on in.
Roy, who had been admiring the taillights (they had the Dodge logo on the lens glass), came up to him. “Chet, I know you’ve gotten a lot of shit about this old truck…and rightfully so with all the shit you gave us on the old Dennis. But I’m gonna tell you something. You have a damn-good truck here. Maybe you will fix her up; maybe you will sell her to someone else so they can. That doesn’t matter. I think your biggest problem is that you can’t admit to yourself that Chet Kelly is just like the rest of us…he loves firefighting, and everything that goes with it, even if it is an old volunteer fire truck.”
Chet just looked at him, then at the ground.
“You’re problem is, you spend so much time being Chet Kelly the clown…”
“That’s PHANTOM,” Chet corrected him.
“Phantom, sorry, anyway, you spend so much time being ‘The Phantom’ that you sometimes forget to be Chet Kelly, the fireman. We’ve got a history and a legacy that goes back a long ways; this truck is but a part of that. If you can’t appreciate it for that, then I just hope you find someone who will. Otherwise, some gonad that buys up old rigs, makes ‘em look like a faggot-hippie-mobile and delivers pizza in ‘em will buy it up. I don’t know Chet, but I think she deserves a helluva lot better than that. Don’t you?” He looked Chet in the eye. Chet looked away quickly. He was blushing. Roy had struck more than a few nerves.
That evening, Chet spent a few hours sitting behind the wheel of the old Dodge. He caressed the dashboard, and fiddled with the switches. At one point, he accidentally sounded the siren, waking Henry up from his post-supper nap. He crawled under the rig, admiring how well maintained it was. He opened up all of the compartments, inspected the boards on the hose bed, and even worked the levers on the pump panel. He opened the main discharge valve and got a wet surprise. The tank wasn’t fully empty, he found as he quickly shut it and went squishing back into the station with soaked shoes. Gage had been sipping a cup of coffee, and watching Chet through the kitchen window. When Chet came in, he looked at him, then down at his squishing shoes, then back up at Chet. Gage grinned, but said nothing. Chet looked back at Gage…and cracked a slight smile. Johnny just shook his head and went back to sipping his coffee.
The next morning, the men of A shift found Kelly missing as they got up. They found him outside in front of the old Dodge, bragging to the men of B shift about what a bargain he had found, and boasting of how he was going to restore her. A shift shook their heads, and started the coffee infusion. Roy was looking out the window at Chet, smiling. Gage noticed and walked up to his partner.
“What are you grinning at?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing I guess.”
“You said something to him, didn’t you.” Gage was curious, and a little peeved that Roy hadn’t filled him in.
“Well, I might’ve said a few words to him, nothing really important though.”
“ROY?!”
“Well, I just told him that he had a really good truck sitting there, and that it deserved to be fixed up, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” Gage had a perplexed look on his face.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Roy took a sip of coffee, and turned back to the window. Chet was gesturing wildly as he recounted HIS version of the bidding. Johnny just shook his head, and went to the locker room to change his clothes and go home.
***
Several months had passed since Chet had finally found another place to store the old rig. Johnny hated to admit it, but he actually missed seeing the faded red rig. He was glad though, that Chet was fixing it up. He was also happy that Chet had been in contact with the volunteer department that sold the rig, and was even exchanging pictures with them. He would send them progress photos of his restoration efforts while they sent him pictures of the truck in action. Gage chuckled when he recalled one picture Chet brought in. The Dodge was pumping away at a grain elevator fire. Chet had never seen a wooden grain elevator before, and had to be told what it was.
A shift was assembled out back of the station. Chet stood proudly before something under a tarp. Everybody knew it was the old Dodge, but played along for Chet’s benefit.
“As you all know, I sorta kinda bought an old fire truck by accident a few months ago.”
“By accident?” Marco asked incredulously, forgetting that Chet had already explained the fiasco with the barbed wire and the idiot in the plaid suit. Stoker nudged him. “Oh yeah, I remember now.”
Chet continued.“Well, at first, I was a little upset about the whole thing, I mean anybody that buys an old junk rig is an idiot right?” Gage and DeSoto shot him evil looks. “Oops! I mean, isn’t thinking quite right…ah, I mean, oh…HELL.” He was blushing. Johnny and Roy started grinning at him, realizing he had his foot deep in his mouth again. Chet composed himself and tried to go forward.
“Anyhow, I bought it, and I was upset at first. But the more I looked this old girl over, the more I realized how proud those vollies must’ve been that ran her. Did you know that she pumped for 36 hours straight once? This big wooden grain elevator caught fire, and she was the first-in rig, they had to supply her with tank trucks, but she never stopped pumping, and…”
“Chet, we know that, you told us a thousand times, get on with it so we can get some work done around here,” the Captain said.
“Ahem, uh, right, Cap. Anyway, I got to thinking about the old rig, and well, I decided she was worth a little time, and effort, and money.” He could see that his comrades were getting bored and more than a little restless. “Ah, anyway, here is what she looks like now,” and with that, he pulled the tarp off. The boys were speechless. The old Dodge had a fresh coat of Fire Engine Red paint, with gold leaf trim, including a fleur-de-lis on each fender. There was even an emerald green shamrock on the door, just above the wording that had been carefully hand-painted to read “Greentop Vol. Fire Protection District.”
The crew was stunned. Gage looked like he had been snake-bit, Roy had a slight smile forming, Marco looked dazzled, Stoker had a look of pride, and even the Cap was stunned. Gage finally spoke.
“Ah, Chet? Ah, what’s with the door?”
“Oh that? Well, that’s the name of the department that originally sold the truck. I figured the least I could do was keep it.”
“Yeah, but it says volunteer…”
“So?”
“But Chet,” Johnny was puzzled, “you don’t like volunteers, remember?”
Chet looked at the ground, then looked up at the crew. He smiled when he looked at Roy. “Well, I did some thinking about that as well, you see, a fireman is a fireman, whether he is paid or not…we all share a long history of helping people and fighting fire. The name on the truck is just that, a name. Either way, she is a fire rig, that’s what’s important. Oh, and she belongs to a fireman, and that’s the way it’s gonna be!”
The crew was about to go get an up-close look at the rig when the tones started sounding, followed by the klaxon.
“Station 51, Station 36, Engine and Truck 127, Deluge 105, Truck 105, Battalion 14, Engine 116, and Engine 45. Report of an explosion and fire at the DeBruce Grain Company, 11569 DeBruce Way. 11569 DeBruce Way, cross street LaMesa, time-out 0745.”
The boys ran back into the station, donned their turnout gear, and mounted up. As Chet strapped himself into the jumpseat on “Big Red,” he looked out the back at the old Dodge, HIS old Dodge, and thought about how she did at her grain elevator fire. He patted the engine housing and said, “Well girl, I guess it’s your turn.”
"Boys & Their Toys" ©1999 Chris Umscheid. "Emergency!" and its characters © Mark VII Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. No infringement of any copyrights or trademarks is intended or should be inferred. This is a work of fiction, and any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
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