The Legend

While we were visiting the Virginia Fire Museum Saturday, my husband saw two trucks that he was quite familiar with.

One was not being displayed, but he recognized the rear end of it immediately. It is a type of fire truck called a Quint. A Quint served as a pumper and as a ladder truck.

My husband hated it. I can remember hearing him fuss about that truck as if it were yesterday instead of 1995. He said it was absolutely useless on a fire scene.

My man reviewing the Quint he used to ride on at Station 13.

The other truck, though, was Ladder 1. This was a "real" ladder truck, one that bent in the middle and had a driver in the rear.

This was a truck he loved.

My husband rode this piece of firefighting equipment. In fact, he was on the committee that designed it and was instrumental in its setup.

I'm not sure how my husband fit in that tiny little place in the back.

While we were looking at the truck, my husband struck up a conversation with one of the men helping with the museum. He told him his name, and the fellow said, "Oh, I know who you are. You're a legend at the city."

My husband has never given himself much credit for the work he did at the fire department. It was an enormous job, being a firefighter. He saved people during floods, he worked car wrecks, he put out fires, he saw things people shouldn't ever see. He rose from the bottom of the ranks to Battalion Chief, and I was ever so proud of him with each promotion. He took his role as mentor to the younger firefighters seriously, setting aside time to help them train and learn. He knew where his people were on the fire scene at all times; he never did simply "surround, drown, and burn 'em down," - his people actually put the fires out and saved people and property. They knew they were expected to do their jobs when Battalion 2 was on scene.

I was thrilled to hear someone call him a "legend" at the city fire department. I know he is highly thought of, and he left on good terms. When he hurt himself on the farm in 2014, I had to ask to the nursing staff to keep the firefighters out of the room so he could rest after his surgeries on his hand. Nearly every one of them who brought a patient to the ER wanted to come in and see how Chief was doing.

He's been retired now for three years (I can't believe it's been that long.).

They still call him Chief when they see him. Sometimes they call. "Can I talk to Chief?" they will say.

It always makes me smile.

He is a legend. They don't make them like him anymore.