The crowd of second grade students gathered a safe distance from the miniature structure sitting in a shallow metal pan in the parking lot of Los Angeles County Fire Station Number 85. They watched and listened intently to the firefighter crouched over the display as he brought to life a different slant to a favorite old story.
All of the huffing and puffing from Wolf stirred a breeze in the little pig’s house, so he built a fire in his fireplace to keep his hooves warm. He settled in his favorite chair, his feet warming by the fire, and dozed off to dreamland.
Now, wolves are stubborn beasts and don’t give up easily. Big Bad Wolf finally caught his breath and circled the stick house looking for an easier way to get to the little pig inside. Seeing the smoke from the little pig’s chimney, reminded Wolf of a barbeque, and how terribly hungry he still was. His eyes flashed with renewed anger. He inhaled deeply and huffed and puffed his hardest at the little pig’s house of sticks and glue. This created quite a breeze in the little pig’s house, fanning the fire that warmed his hooves. As Wolf huffed and puffed with all of his might, the fire in the fireplace grew and grew with all the air forced in through the gaps in the stick walls. Soon, the walls next to the fireplace grew very hot, melting the glue. The melting glue dripped down into the fire. WHOOSH!! The little pig’s house became a blazing inferno.
Firefighter Larry Osborne, the storyteller, puffed into the miniature stick house from his knees. The hidden candle flared with his breath and ignited the strategically placed tinder. The school children gasped as wisps of smoke rose from the imagined little pig’s house. There was a small flash and soon the entire small structure was ablaze.
Engineer Hank Stanley readied himself just inside the apparatus bay, feeling embarrassed in the costume, but willing to do his part. As the newest member of the company, he was delegated to be the Big Brave Firefighter Pig. It was his job to douse the fire and save the little pig from the flaming stick house. It was his turn to be initiated into the ranks of Station 85.
Hank peeked around the corner, waiting for his cue. The pig nose itched and the fire helmet with the flashing light on top was too big and kept slipping down over his eyes. He pushed the helmet back once again, wishing to get this ordeal done.
The station’s new captain, McConikee, stood near the play-acting scene with Chief Sorenson and the school children’s teacher. He had never seen this scenario played out before, although he was aware that it was a regular occurrence with young tour groups, and a fairly popular one at that.
"Now what should the little pig do while trapped inside his burning house?" Larry asked the group of children.
As one, the children dropped to the pavement. "Get down!" They all yelled in unison.
"That’s right." Larry motioned for the kids to get up. "The heat and smoke rise, so the freshest air will be down low. Very good."
Larry watched the kids’ faces. He saw the familiar wide eyes as they stared into the small burning stick house in the containment pan. Their imaginations seeing the desperate little pig inside, in need of rescue; they turned now pleading eyes to the narrating firefighter.
"Call the fire department," several kids replied hesitantly.
"That’s right," Larry confirmed. "But it takes a special firefighter to put out a fairytale fire. It takes a Big Brave Firefighter Pig."
Larry finished his narration and stepped back so that Hank, the Big Brave Firefighting Pig, could swoop in and extinguish the small fire.
Hank rounded the corner of the building, wailing his best imitation fire engine siren. The oversized helmet slipped down nearly covering his eyes again. He didn’t see Captain McConikee step away from the Chief to get a better view of the scene.
The collision was bone jarring. Hank’s wailing siren stopped as he bit into his tongue; the flashing light helmet clattered to the ground. Hank was able to reach out and grab his captain’s arm to keep him from falling to the ground.
Captain McConikee’s hat did not fair as well. Knocked from its owner’s head, it flew a short distance across the parking lot, landing squarely on top of the burning stick house. The hungry flames eagerly gobbled up this new fuel source. The white fabric charred to black ashes, and the vinyl rim warped into a distorted, bubbled and pitted glob.
Hank recovered his balance, and stared flabbergasted at the burning heap that was the stick house, his captain’s hat now a light covering of ash over it. Hank snapped out of it and proceeded to blast the burning remains with the CO2 extinguisher he carried. He glanced up at his captain and his mind froze when he met the other man’s eyes. Those eyes bored into Hank, filling him with a dread that he knew would be with him until the end of his days.
Hank swore his captain put a hex on him with those eyes. His nerve left him under their gaze. He dropped the extinguisher on his foot, the pain barely registering. With the fire out, and the story obviously over, the kids began to giggle and point to the fire captain’s hat remains, then up to the captain’s naked head.
The laughter and ridicule from the second graders sealed the hapless engineer’s fate. Hank could feel the curse settle into his bones, permanent and incurable. In the last wisps of smoke from the ill-fated stick house, Hank imagined his career waft up from the ashes and disappear into thin air.
The Big Brave Firefighter Pig officially retired that fateful day, never to be seen again. Hank’s imagined curse turned him into a bumbling twit at the mere mention of McConikee’s name. Hank swore on that day that if he ever managed to make Captain, he would never wear one of those hats, except when the dress code required it. But, he had to get through his assignment at 85s under McConikee first.
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