Report From Engine Co. 82 - Dennis Smith [19]
The three men are disinterested, and talk among themselves. Captain Albergray looks around and goes to rewind the alarm box. I walk over and ask the men if they saw anyone pull the box. One man, without looking at me, said, “Yeah, a kid. He went up the street.”
“I guess you didn’t think of grabbing him,” I said.
“That’s not my job, man,” he said.
I would like to tell this guy about Mike Carr, and about the letter the President sent to his widow. But I know that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to hear it.
Bill Valenzio yells from the driver’s seat of the pumper, “Hey, we got another run.”
The siren and air hom begin to wail again as the pumper turns down 170th Street. I can see the radio at Captain Al-bergray’s ear. We don’t know where we are going, but we know that a box has been pulled somewhere.
The pumper turns up Freeman Street and we can see a lot of smoke on Stebbins Avenue. It is an abandoned Pontiac convertible, about a year old. The flames are shooting ten feet above the car. We don’t have to hook up to a water hydrant because the pumper has a 275-gallon water tank for small fires like this. I pull off the small, one-inch booster hose that is already connected to the tank. The water spurts and I direct the stream behind the rear wheel. The gas tank must be cooled off to keep it from blowing. I’ve only seen one gas tank blow since I have been a fireman, and that one sent a guy to the hospital. As I extinguish the rest of the fire, the men of Ladder 31 open the doors, the hood, and the trunk. The trunk is empty. The block and the radiator are all that is left under the hood. The car is sitting on wooden crates, the tires and rims gone. There are no license plates. The guy who owned it will never find out what happened to it. It must have given someone a few hours of joy riding, and whoever got the tires must be twenty dollars richer. We extinguish four or five of these fires every day.
It is 6:30 P.M. as the pumper backs into quarters. As I walk to the kitchen to attempt another cup of coffee, Bill Valenzio pulls a hose to refill the booster tank. It means a lot of extra work for us if that tank is empty. I remember the times we had to stretch six or more 50-foot lengths of hose to put out a simple car fire, or a garbage fire. When the fire was extinguished the hose had to be uncoupled, each length drained, and then reloaded onto the pumper. You can see why Bill makes sure the tank is full at all times.
In the kitchen, Billy-o and Jerry are making a shopping list for tonight’s meal. One of the younger guys, or “johnnies,” will go to the store.
“What’s on the menu, Billy-o?” I ask.
“Dennis pal,” he replies, “everything will be just the way you like it.” This is a phrase Billy-o uses often. He continues, “To begin with, a little tomato juice for an appetizer, breaded pork chops topped with a baked peach for the entree, and Jerry is gonna make his great potatoes with sour cream sauce. And for dessert,” he adds with a twinkle in his eye, “the cabinet is filled with Alka-Seltzer.”
I laugh and ask, “What about the vegetable?”
“Me and Jerry were just thinking about that. Any suggestions?”
“Asparagus with wine vinegar.”
Billy-o smiles his usual half-smile, and says, “Dennis pal, that’s an excellent suggestion.” He turns to Herbert, and says, “Make it string beans, Jerry.”
“I knew I could help you, Billy-o,” I say.
There are eighteen firemen in the kitchen now. Engine 85 and Ladder 712 have returned from the fire they were working. It was a small job, two rooms in a vacant building. A few men are playing gin at the corner table. Four guys from Engine 85 have started a Scrabble game at the next one. Matt Tunney carefully makes the first word: “ANUS.” The other players laugh. I look down at his rack and ask him why he didn’t use the other A to pick up an extra point. He says, “You mean sauna. I thought of that, but nobody would’ve laughed.”
The bells start sounding again—Box 2508—Hoe Avenue and Aldus