Sound the Alarm, It’s Dinner Time

 
My maternal grandfather was a volunteer firefighter, and I grew up at the suburban New Jersey firehouse where my late father was a career dispatcher and volunteer firefighter. As a kid, I’d beg him for change for the soda machine by the break room/kitchen. Sometimes he’d give me a dollar for a slice from Luigi’s Pizza next door. As a young adult, I would drop my dad off for his day shift, then come back in his F-150 after soccer or softball to pick him up.

What most people don’t know is that firehouses and food go hand in hand. JFRD Station 4 Engineer Scott Karpus said, “It is tradition, especially for the larger downtown crews, to cook at the station, then eat together.” There are dozens of firehouse cookbooks. The national fast-casual sandwich chain Firehouse Subs was started on the First Coast by two former firefighting brothers. Cities across the country, including St. Augustine, participate in firehouse chili cook-off contests every year.

In Northeast Florida, if a fire crew doesn’t cook together, it will, at very least, eat together. Nearly every day I see an engine from St. Johns County Fire Rescue Station 9 waiting outside the Vilano Beach Publix as the firefighters shop. St. Augustine Station 40 Firefighter Guerry Bradley cooks for special occasions like holidays and promotion meals. Changing tastes and great discounts from local eateries means a crew may have gotten away from preparing meals as a group, but Bradley said, “Our captain insists we sit down to eat at 6 p.m. every evening.”

Bradley’s crew chief, Captain Jim von Bretzel, noted if a truck goes on a call around mealtime, the rest of the crew waits to eat until they return. For him, eating as a unit is important because it helps build a bond like it did for his family growing up. He said of his crew, “We spend one-third of our life together, and have to depend on each other.” He added that because of constant calls and training, their meal at 6 p.m. is the only time the shift is all together and able to have personal time.

 
As we chatted about training, family and the types of calls they see, the inevitable transpired. A loud two-tone squawk emanated from a speaker on the kitchen’s south wall. I froze. Fast as an alien abduction, the firefighters disappeared. They vaulted out of their chairs, and rushed to their trucks, which pulled out of the station with sirens wailing in under a minute. The alarm was for a fire at a single-family residence. Half-filled coffee cups, a can of Mountain Dew, a cell phone and a pair of reading glasses lay abandoned on the dinner table.

JFRD Public Information Officer Francis noted, “Our annual call volume is 150,000.” That adds up to more than a few interrupted meals for the city’s fire and rescue workers.

When the trucks returned, I asked whether there’d ever been an incident in the station’s kitchen. Say, a fire. There was a uniform pause, then quick sidelong glances and a burst of laughter. One firefighter mumbled, “We’re not at liberty to discuss that,” but another quickly launched into a long story involving bacon on the stove … and flames. What happens at Station 4, stays at Station 4 — and I swore I wouldn’t say anything about the tiny furry kitchen critter, which may, or may not, be named “Bojangles.”

The wings are to be finished on the gas grill, but not before another call, this one for a fall requiring half the crew and one truck. Firefighters remaining at the station keep an eye on the stove and began transferring the wings. Fire is obviously their thing. Station 4 goes through three propane tanks a month, and about three overworked grills are retired each year. Note to the grill makers of the world — B shift considers themselves excellent “product testers.”

 
JFRD Firefighter Zach Washington, whose dad was also a firefighter at Station 4, set napkins and silverware on the table. I’d wondered earlier if the chuck wagon iron triangle dinner bell hanging with the pots and pans was for show, and on this night, it wasn’t. Washington took it down and clanged it.

Dinner was served buffet-style from the counter near the sink. The guys rustled around as drinks were poured and seats were taken. No one took a bite until all were settled with plates in front of them. Heads bowed as Washington said grace. At “Amen,” forks hit the plates and B shift dug in. It’s 5:42 p.m.

Will dinner look different for firefighters and families in the future? Probably. The foods will change, and the way we eat may too. For now, however, over food — we bond. It’s a time for processing our days and trying to solve the world’s problems, whether we’re superheroes or mere mortals.

Engineer Karpus put it well, “This is family time.” He looked down and gestured at Station 4’s table, “If you need answers to questions, this is where you’ll find them.”