“It’s Just What We Do”

By Ron Kanterman

We left our department headquarters in New Jersey and headed south on the Garden State Parkway in a driving rainstorm on December 11, 2003. It was two weeks before Christmas. Another line-of-duty death (LODD) funeral. The pomp and circumstance. The pipes and drums. The long line of apparatus and cars. The brothers and sisters lined up curbside. Another one. They seem to never end.

My faithful deputy and I didn’t know Ron Fitzgerald, but it didn’t matter much. He was a brother who went down at a fire. That’s all we needed to know. We got off the parkway at Exit 105 and snaked our way into the City of Long Branch. The rain and wind were worse than when we left, as St. Michael’s Church is on Ocean Avenue, one block off the Atlantic Ocean.

We sat in a long line of 40 engines and trucks and chiefs’ cars on a side street adjacent to a small inlet fed by the now-raging ocean. It was a nasty day. I looked at Ray (my faithful deputy) and made mention of getting soaked to the bone when we get out of the car. It was 9:30 a.m., and the Mass was scheduled for 10:00 a.m.

We waited until 9:50 a.m. and agreed that you only get wet once. When you’re soaked, you can’t get any more wet than that. So be it, for it’s not about us. It’s about something bigger and more important. As we geared up to exit my car, the rain became a light drizzle. There was hope. We abandoned our Class A uniform jackets and stayed with our winter wear Class B coats, donned our white hats and gloves, and headed for the church, about a three-block walk.

About 1,000 uniformed firefighters beat us to Ocean Avenue. They were soaked to the skin. The wind coming off the ocean was gusting to 30 or 40 mph; Ray and I, who have been used for human anchors at times, were fighting it just to walk and stand in one spot.

We exchanged greetings with brothers and sisters we never met and took our spot in the Sea of Blue. The rain had stopped, but the wind was steadfast. Did I mention it was a lousy day in Long Branch, New Jersey? The weather was horrendous, and we were saying good-bye to one of New Jersey’s bravest—a long-time career and volunteer firefighter with an impressive record of rank, teaching, and involvement in this service of ours for a lifetime.

We heard the call to attention and the command to present arms. One thousand right arms snapped to 1,000 peaks of 1,000 caps. The Long Branch Honor Guard wrestled with the flags, which were standing straight out and wanting to blow away with the gusty wind; but the Honor Guard won as they remained vigilant in their job. Keep the flags upright. Honor our brother.

The pipes and drums followed with the all-too-familiar “clicks to march by.” Two of the drummers were friends of mine, and we caught each other’s eyes as they marched past. It was a look defined as “here we are again, but honored to be here.” The caisson rolled past. It was a Long Branch engine with “Fear No Fire” painted on the top of the cab above the windshield. Three uniforms walked on each side, two up on top, and four on the back step. Every warning light including the light bar was covered with black material covers. The siren was covered too.

In a last act of kindness and a signal to all of us from Brother Ron, the wind subsided to a manageable breeze, the clouds parted, and the sun appeared. I leaned in to the firefighter on my right and said, “He must have been one special guy. The sun is out.” I got an “Amen” back.

The casket was removed from the hosebed and carried into St. Michael’s. The rest was pretty standard, except to his family, his brothers and sisters of the Long Branch Fire Department, the mutual-aid companies, the hundreds of firefighters he touched as an instructor at the local fire academy, his friends, and those who knew him.

Ron Fitzgerald left his mark on this earth and left the fire service better than he found it. We all should strive to do the same.

The civilians stared and gawked at the Sea of Blue, standing in line, soaking wet, stiff wind at our backs, and they wondered about the kind of people who would do this. “This” meaning who would be a firefighter and who would stand at attention in the windswept pouring rain for someone we never met? In Colorado, it’s during a snowstorm. In Phoenix, it’s in 115° heat. It’s who we are. It’s our calling. It’s just what we do.

RON KANTERMAN is chief of emergency services for Merck & Co. in Rahway, New Jersey, and a volunteer on call member of the Borough of North Plainfield (NJ) Fire Rescue Department. He has a bachelor’s degree in fire science administration and master’s degrees in fire protection management and environmental science and is an adjunct professor of fire science at Middlesex County College. He is a member of the FDIC staff and advisory board and of the Fire Engineering editorial advisory board.

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