50 Year Celebration...PAF&R

911 10th Anniversary Bell

The Original Crews

So tomorrow is the 50 year celebration of Portland Airport Fire and Rescue (PAF&R), of which I have been part of over 1/2 that time. One thing that's cool about this is that I have bridged the gap between those first employed to the current employees. In fact I was the replacement of one of the very first employees hired on October 1, 1962, Jack Barnard. I worked with Jack the last month that he worked for the FD. I've told the story many times about one 2am call that I had with Jack and FF Mickey Mouse (the name has been changed to protect the guilty). The other FF was our driver, I was in the middle seat and Jack in the 'shotgun' seat of one of our Crash rigs 'Fire 82'. Jack and I were in the truck waiting for the driver when he slowly turned his head toward me and said, "son, you're about to be in for the ride of your life". And yes it was:) The driver had quite the 'lead foot' plus interesting turning procedures and we had quite the ride for sure.

Stan, Mitch, Bob, me, Bill, Dan, Al, Byron, Willy, Ron, Rex and Tom

For this celebration I am putting together a 'PowerPoint' that reminisces the time from 1962 until 2012. What a span of time and what an amazing amount of history. Will I be back in 2037 for the 75th? Let's see! For now, I'm thankful for many good years with many folks. Thank you men and some women for enhancing my career. I'll write more about some of these experiences in the days ahead.

That's SHIFT 47...

Fire Camp, Chainsaws and Dutch Ovens

SHIFT 48...Looking not so much at a 'Countdown', but a 'Reflection of Time'.

Gearhart Wilderness in Fremont National Forrest

So this part of the 'reflection' continues to peek into those days of the 'Lost Fire'. While the fire was eventually growing to over 10,000 acres we were given the task to attend to the smaller fires in the area, typically from lightening strikes. This was due to the fact that we knew the surrounding area. Where the other crews that were fighting the large fires had traveled from out of state. Particularly from the southeast. This kept us away from our homes for nearly 20 days. So what is one to do for food away for that long? Fire camp baby! To this nineteen year old the meals seemed to be the best ever known to man. It is more likely that we were just burning so many thousands of calories, that we could of eaten the leather off of our boots with some gravy, salt and pepper, and our hunger would of been satisfied.

One of the fires that we were given during this time was near the tiny town of Beatty. The wind that day was maybe 15 mph sustained. By time we were called the fire was nearly 100 acres and growing with the locals fighting the blaze. We were given the assignment as a chainsaw crew with yours truly as the lead. How was I given the lead? They asked, "has anyone operated a chainsaw before?" Three or four of us raised our hands. They choose me. I guess because I looked older than the rest with my beard. The problem...ops, I may have never actually used a chainsaw. Oh I'd seen one a couple times in the hardware store...use one...No! But over the next several hours...I became quite the quick study. Very thankful for couple guys who actually knew what they were doing. Moral...don't make yourself out to be what you're not.

Nice attire dude!

As I conclude some memories from the beginning days of my fire experience I'd like to add some more food for thought. Or is that thoughts about food? During a three-day weekend I decided to backpack to Blue Lake in the Gearhart Mountain Wilderness. As the other guys that I typically hung out with were still on the fire line, I decided to go it alone. About 1/2 way up the trail I ran into a guy whom I'd seen before who worked in another division of the Fremont National Forrest. He was a large dude, maybe 6'2" and at least 240 pounds and from Kentucky (he maybe had just a tad of accent:). As we hiked along the path, we determined that we would camp at the lake together. He was carrying what appeared to be a handmade backpack, perhaps sown by his grandmother during the civil war... As we continued hiking I could hear the creaking of his backpack along with something clanging inside. Much to my amazement I would become his guest to a dutch oven feast that included a small roast, potatoes, carrots and a baby loaf of cheese. I love backpacking :)

So this was the Fremont National Forrest...fight fires...I could do this for a career. The crazy thing is...I think that I fought more fire that summer than I believe that I have during the remainder of my career. And food? Well...it plays a pretty important role in the fire house for sure.

Until the next shift..

 
                                                     

Not 'Hotshot', but a Fire & Helicopter just the same...

It's the summer of 1977, the Lost Fire continues to create havoc for the Fremont National Forrest. As the fire works it's way across the mountains, the winds begin to send it to one of areas popular campgrounds which sits upon a lake. What campground, I can't remember. I even attempted a web search without success. Anyway, the rest of story here on Shift 49.

A glimpse of what it was like...

 During morning briefing, in which crews are given their assignments, we are told that there is a campground in jeopardy that they want to protect. No problem thus far. The situation is that the road leading to the campground is not passable due to the fire. They tell us that the only way to reach the campground in time is through the air. They sent out a helicopter, in similar appearance to the CH53, to take a crew of 8 to 10 of us with equipment to create a fire-line and protect this campground. As with ‘Shift 50’s’ recollection of the Lookout recovery, the details from my memory are not great. What I know and do remember…at age 19 I was flying in a helicopter with a crew of other firefighters into an area with much fire and full of smoke. With this crew, we were able to work to protect this campground.

How totally cool is that?

 

 

This song is from the movie "Only The Brave", which is based on the tragic true story of the Yarnell Hill Fire that occurred in June 2013. 19 out of 20 Granite Mountain Hotshots firefighters lost their lives whilst on duty.

Cincuenta Mas Dias

Where does one begin? Today I put together a calendar of my final months working full-time in the Fire Service. That calendar shows that I have '50'/Cincuenta Days or Shifts remaining. Wow, how can it be? A career that began in 1977, with a school break of four years in the early 80's, will conclude next Spring with 32 years. So I began to think...what if I wrote something each shift regarding the previous 32 years? Let's see if it might happen.

Not my picture, but experienced this kind of fire a couple times in 77'

How did it begin? I had traveled after my first year in college at El Camino to Southern Oregon to work on the road engineering/survey crew. About three weeks into that summer a request was made for volunteers to raise their hands if they were interested in going to a week long of fire fighting training. The rest, as they say, is history. As a boy, like many boys, I had a dream to be a firefighter, but never really gave it much thought. Now...it was dropping in my lap.

 There are maybe three or four awesome stories from those days. The first I'll share today...SHIFT 50. I've added the songs from Boston 'More Than A Feeling' and Steve Miller Band's 'Fly Like An Eagle. They were the 'cassettes' that we were playing enroute to the scene.

So it's July 1977 (yeh I know you weren't born yet), myself and two other guys were called to go to a Lookout in the Fremont National Forest to retrieve the belongings of one of our lookouts who had lived there for over 20 years. The ride up the mountain to the lookout was filled with smoke and some small spot fires. We were 19 to maybe 23 years old, pumped with an amazing amount of adrenaline and just plain crazy. I don't recall how many trips we made up into this lookout, but by the time we were done we had our truck full, especially some personal items that he had requested. I wish that I had a picture of that day. The one in my head is a clear as if it happened yesterday. To say that I was hooked is a definite understatement.

See ya next shift.

To Be Remembered

Rick & Rick Williams...Air Force photos...exactly 20 years apart

Today marks the second anniversary of my father's death. It seems always easy to 'scream' the anger that you might feel towards another. Yet...to quietly and peacefully remember what you so greatly enjoyed about that person...that is how I choose to live this life. It has been said, 'circumstances can make you a bitter person or a better person'. Oh how I always hope to choose the latter.

God has provided five to seven most excellent memories to cherish regarding my father. As I began to write today I was trying to think which of these memories would I call 'the best'? And I don't think that there is a 'best'. I am privileged to truly have some fond memories. So here's one. Perhaps I will share others over the years on September 5th or December 12th (the day of his birth).

If you ever mention 'the babe', most people likely go straight to 'Babe Ruth'. And rightly so! But did you know that there was another 'babe' that played for the New York Yankees? His name was Babe Dahlgren. One of my all-time favorite movies is 'Pride of the Yankees'. It is the story of Lou Gehrig. So what's the connection? Well if you were to watch the movie it shows Lou coming off the field for the first time after playing in 2,130 consecutive games. A feat unmatched until the great Cal Ripken Jr. tied that record on this day 17 years ago. Cal of course would go to break the record the next day. Back to the Babe...when Lou comes off the field the Yankee manager calls out, "Dahlgren, first base". Babe Dahlgren is the one who takes the place of 'Ironman' Lou Gehrig. He actually did it in amazing fashion as he homered, hit the ball hard on three other occasions and fielded good as well.

2 Rick's in 1966

Ok Rick, but what's your connection? My dad, Babe Dahlgren, myself...In 1967 or 68 my dad gave this boy a gift to Babe Dahlgren's Batting School. And the rest is history. Dad recognized that even as a boy I LOVED baseball. Though I must admit I don't recall much from those days. What I do know...I became quite a good hitter. And more than that...my dad GAVE this gift to me.

Thanks dad! What a great gift...what a great memory. Maybe...even a great story.

 

 

 

                                                    

 

Yeh, 'I Want To Live Like That'

Two years ago this week...my 'biological' father died. Not so much estranged, but apart never-the-less. You see...it had been more than six years since we had been together. Dad lived in Mexico the last 13 years of his life. Karen and I visited once in 2004...and that would become our last. He made it north to southern Cali many times, but never ventured further toward the PNW. That Labor Day Weekend he was actually in Palmdale visiting my sister Tami, who was scheduled for surgery. He left a phone message Saturday morning on our home phone. We returned Monday late afternoon from spending our weekend at Family Camp in Rockaway Beach, Oregon. Upon looking at the answering machine we saw several new messages. The first was dad's. Then several from my brother, sisters and step-mom asking that I call as soon as possible. Thinking that it might be something with Tami, I was quite shocked to find out that it was dad, and that he had died sometime Saturday after his call to me.

So...what do you think about that Rick? Well, those feelings and thoughts, that journey are for another day. Suffice it to say, verses the life that I experienced with my earthly father, I want...I hope for this powerful relationship with my heavenly Father to continue until the end. And one of my songs will be 'I Want To Live Like That'.

On this blog you'll find my 'Dad's last message' and the 'message...Live Like That'.

                                 

93rd Street…an Hour Spent

Today was simply amazing, a ride through the Willamette Valley countryside on my Yamahaug. Joined along the path were meets with Jon and later Tom (of Blossom Lane). But that which will be eternally etched in this mind is my hour on 93rd Street.

 

A friend had mentioned a ride in this particular area, but I was not prepared for what lay in store. I parked the bike and stepped out onto the road and took in the 360° view. What my eyes beheld was nothing short of beauty unsurpassed. At that moment, in that time, this place held for me one of ‘wonders of the world’. Before lay Mount Hood, St. Helens and Adams...and a spec of Jefferson. To the west, the coast range and valleys below. During the first 30 minutes I walked the double solid line in the middle of the road without the passing of one vehicle. Even through the second 30 minutes only 20 cars would pass. I was left to the road, the view and the sound...some of birds, but mostly the wind. The day was most perfect, in the mid 70’s, with clear brilliant blue skies. And I prayed, and I listened, and I wondered.

I ask, when can you just stand in the middle of the road and...wonder? I looked from where I had come from...the road I had just journeyed. And I looked ahead at the road that lay before. A road that I had never traveled. Yet, for sure I shall soon return.

And the parallels that flowed...between 93rd Street and...life. Five minutes ago, five years ago...I have been there. I lived each and every moment. Yet, even five seconds ahead, I know not. I know not! They are surprises. I have my plans, I know my goals, but...how will it all play out? I know not! The road that I’ve journeyed...marked with suffering...and marked with blessing. Such to be sure, will be that journey which lies ahead.

So I gazed, I walked and I felt & listened to the wind. And Paul’s words spoke again into this soul, “the Spirit helps with our weakness, for what shall we pray as it is necessary? We do not know.” But wait, the writer does not leave us here. He continues, “But the Spirit” intercedes, no He “super-intercedes with unspeakable groanings. And He who searches the hearts, knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because according to God He intercedes in behalf of the saints.” It’s like the wind. The best place to be sure of regular times of wind is on top. On top, just on top! There are times when the wind does not blow, but you can be sure that the wind will blow, and it will blow often and with power. When we, weak and suffering souls, go to His word for daily strength...daily nourishment...it’s like being on top. You can be sure, so very sure, that His Spirit will blow. Maybe not always in your life. But, give it time...trust Him...give Him time...His Spirit will surely blow...will surely direct and super-intercede in your life.

And you know what...I know you do...I...did not...want...to leave...that moment. But I must. We all must move forward. And...we won’t know...no, we, I will not know how even the next five seconds will play out. Make our plans, have our goals, but be ready for the unexpected. And you, and I...can be most prepared for that moment when our strength, when our time is spent in His Word...viewing His Cross...led by His Spirit.

Thank you 93rd Street for your beauty, and for the reminder of the path...both that which has been traveled...and that which lay before. And in the simple truth that though I had never journeyed this road before, that there will be new beauty...new wonder just ahead. And the parallel...tomorrow there will be new beauty...there will be new wonder...experiences held for the very first time. That...was 93rd Street. 

 

        No not '93rd St', but close ~~ Simon & Garfunkel - Feelin' Groovy aka '59th Street Bridge'