getting hired in the sixties

the beginning of my father as a fire fighter

When my dad quit his job at the marine slips the cabbie DeMott saw him kicking along Alderney Drive.

Where you after today Jimmy?

My dad told him about leaving a crappy job and needing another.

Well, I hear the fire department is hiring. Let’s go see.

DeMott rolled down to station 1 on King Street. There, my dad picked up an application. He filled it out in the cab. This was a Tuesday. He had an interview on Thursday and on the following Monday was told to go and see Mr. Spicer to be sized up for a pair of boots.

They were hiring fifteen guys. Sixty applied. Back then, the fire department was a lot like welfare. It was frowned upon. You needed grade 8 to get on. Having graduated with my grade 12, I was the Rhodes Scholar of the bunch.

My dad smirked.

Who was I? Some scrawny kid from the north end. I had no business being a firefighter.

At just barely 5’8” my dad was never big. Now in his seventies, I have a pretty clear idea of what he might have looked like before he filled out.

I had just had surgery on my elbow. I dislocated it playing basketball - you remember this. What I never told you is that I couldn’t shake the medical examiners hand when I met him.

I was shocked. You couldn’t lift your arm? How did you get the job?

Dad smirked. He asked what happened. Then he asked if I could lift a ladder. ‘Oh sure’ I told him, ‘I’ll do whatever you tell me’. And that was that. I got on.

It took less than a week and my scrawny, injured father was given a job that kept us well for his career.

Back then, all of the cops were Catholics and the firefighters were Protestant. There was a box to tick on the form CATHOLIC, PROTESTANT. There were no ‘muslims’ that we knew about. And the Jewish people? They owned the stores, the groceries or were the accountants or worked in banks.

These days, there are new boxes to tick on those application forms. And firefighting? That’s now a job with good pay, good status and flexible living.

I was really lucky Jimmy. It was a hell of a career.

Sitting with him, I can’t help but be impressed by his wilful confidence with the medical examiner. I can’t help but have an awe filled respect for this small man who displayed such bravery throughout his career.

I ran in when the others ran out. We’d go and save people and property even when management told us it was unsafe.

My dad didn’t mean to be a hero. He just lucked into it.

I guess that just how heroes are born.