Author Unknown
FIREMAN'S PRAYER
When I am called to duty, God
Wherever flames may rage
Give me the strength to save some life
Whatever be its age
Help me embrace a little child
Before it is too late
Or save an older person from
The horror of that fate
Enable me to be alert and
Hear the weakest shout
And quickly and efficiently
To put the fire out
I want to fill my calling and
To give the best in me
To guard my every neighbor
And protect their property
And if according to your will
I have to lose my life
Please bless with your protecting hand
My children and my wife

Author Unknown
FIREMAN'S SPOUSE'S PRAYER
The table's set, the meal's prepared, our guests will soon arrive,
My spouse once more disappears with a hope of keeping a child alive.
While waiting at home alone, our plans having gone awry
My first impulse is merely to sit right down and cry.
But soon again I realize the importance of my life
When I agreed to take on the duties of being a spouse in a firefighter's life.
While there are many drawbacks, I'll take them in my stride,
Knowing "My Daddy/Mommy saved a life" our children can say with pride.
The gusting winds and raging flames may be their final fate.
But with God's help I can remain my firefighter's faithful mate.

Author Unknown
WHAT IS A FIREMAN?
He's the guy next door - a mans man with the memory of a little boy.
He has never gotten over the excitement of engines and sirens and danger.
He's a guy like you and me with warts and worries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us.
He's a fireman.
He puts it all on on the line when the bell rings.
A fireman is at once the most fortunate and the least fortunate of men.
He's a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.
He's a gentle man because he has seen the awesome power of violence out of control.
He's responsive to a child's laughter because his arms have held too many small bodies that will never laught again.
He's a man who appreciates the simple pleasures of life:
    - hot coffee, held in numb, unbending fingers
    - a warm bed for bone and mscle compelled beyond feeling
    - the camaraderie of brave men
    - the divine peace and selfless service of a job well done in the name of all men.
He doesn't wear buttons or wave flags or shout obscenities.
When he marches, it is to honor a fallen comrade.
He doesn't preach the brotherhood of man.
He lives it.

Author Unknown
WISH YOU COULD
See the sadness of a business man as his livelihood goes up in flames, or that family returning home, only too find their house and belongings damaged or lost for good.
Know what it is like too search a burning bedroom for trapped children, flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen below you burns.
Comprehend a wife's horror at 3a.m. as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done too try too save his life.
Know the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, the sound of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing in dense smoke-sensations that I've become too familiar with.
Understand how it feels to go to work in the morning after having spent most of the night, hot and soaking wet at a multiple alarm fire.
Read my mind as I respond to a building fire "Is this a false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed?
What hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to an EMS call, "What is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life-threatening? Is the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?"
Be in the emergency room as a doctor pronounces dead the beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying too save during the past 25 minutes - who will never go on her first date or say the words, "I love you Mommy" again.
Know the frustration I feel in the cab of the engine or my personal vehicle, the driver with his foot pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you fail to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic.
When you need us however, your first comment upon our arrival will be, "It took you forever to get here!"
Know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the remains of her automobile. "What if this was my sister, my girlfriend or a friend? What were her parents reaction going to be when they opened the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?"
Know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly did not come back from the last call.
Feel the hurt as people verbally, and sometimes physically, abuse us or belittle what I do, or as they express their attitudes of "It will never happen to me."
Realize the physical, emotional and mental drain or missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have seen.
Know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or preserving someone's property, or being able to be there in time of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.
Understand what it feels like to have a little boy tugging at your arm and asking, "Is Mommy okay?" Not even being able to look in his eyes without tears from your own and not knowing what to say.
Or to have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy having rescue breathing done on him as they take him away in the ambulance. You know all along he did not have his seat belt on. A sensation that I have become too familiar with.
Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who I am, we are, or what our job really means to us...
I wish you could though.

James Price, Jefferson Parish Fire Department
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
"Hey mom,!" He yelled from the attic door, "What's these old heavy boots and hard hat for?"
With a lump in her throat and a tear stained cheek, His mother swallowed and started to speak.
"Come here my son," his mother said, "There's things to tell when I clear my head."
The past raced madly through her mind; She searched her heart, the words to find.
At last she sighed and rubbed his hair, And the words that followed I'd like to share.
"Those boots and hat," she said with pride, "Were worn by a man with grit inside.
He wore them to help people in need, Though facing danger, would never concede.
Many a time in the dead of the night, He jumped in those boots and flashed out of sight.
To answer a call and not knowing for sure What danger or heartache he may have to endure.
Your father, my son, was not like most dads, It was mainly because of the job that he had.
His life was devoted to all of mankind, And just why he choose it, is not clear in my mind.
I've often regretted the life that we led, When every third night I was alone in our bed.
But your mother is proud to say she was a part Of a man who possessed such a courageous heart.
Though, for all his discomfort and all of his pain The time he spent here was never in vain.
So the memories I've kept and the love I will save Are small consolations for the life that he gave.
Your father's days here made other's seem brighter, For your father, my son, was a Firefighter."

Page last updated 03/25/2004 by roberth@equipmentintensive.com