My interest in healthcare as a career started "by accident," I guess you could say. Here's the story. The year was 1979. I was just a bumbling, nerdy high school kid who had a friend named Michael that I used to hang out with. My activities consisted of taking piano lessons and playing Scrabble. Other than that, I was pretty average. Then Michael started telling me about his dad being a fireman, and about the local Fire & Rescue Explorers Post that trained kids our age how to be firemen and rescue personnel. I figured that sounded like a great way to add some excitement to my life. After all, I was looking for some action, a way to really dive into something that would get my adrenalin rushing. I was looking for a way to "fit in" and be a part of society, and being a fireman would be a great big huge way to do it. So I joined the explorers post that Michael belonged to. Over the course of the next two years, I really enjoyed taking training classes in first aid, CPR, firefighting techniques, and even going to some real-life emergency calls to observe. I really felt that I was onto something great.
Then came my senior year in high school. I turned 18 years old. Now I was old enough to actually join the fire company and become a volunteer fireman. So I did. Reading, Pennsylvania has the oldest existing part-paid-part-volunteer fire department in the U.S. Even though you become a member of one station within the city, you can go to any station and hop on the fire truck if an emergency call came in. Naturally, I joined the station that served my neighborhood, the Oakbrook Fire Company. That was in March of 1981. I now had a place to call my "second home," and many of us enjoyed hanging out there during the evenings. Even though the "Oakies" was my primary base, I didn't hesitate to go anywhere in the city to help fight a fire if it was big enough. Six months after joining the Oakbrook Fire Company, I transferred to another company simply because I wanted a place where I could sleep at night and be right in the middle of the action even during the night. That station was the Keystone Fire Company, and it was located in downtown Reading. Many fellow Oakies warned me not to transfer my membership. But I didn't listen, especially because they never gave me a good reason. Within a matter of days, I found out why.
One night I was at a fire call with the "Keystones," it was a house fire, and I maintained my position outside the burning building, unraveling the hoses when they'd get crossed and maintaining crowd control. During the cleanup process after the fire, the head chief at the time, Swifty Schaffer, called me over to talk to him. I wondered why he would want to talk to me personally. He said that he knew about my heart condition, and he told me not to go to any more fire calls until a doctor gave approval for me to do so. That took the wind right out of my sails. Until then, I was flying on Cloud Nine. Then I began to wonder who squealed. Who could have blabbed that I had a heart condition, a failing aortic valve, to be exact. Interesting. What was even more interesting was that just two months later, my cardiologist discovered that my heart condition had worsened to the point where something needed to be done. On November 4, 1981, I had life-saving open heart surgery at the Deborah Heart & Lung Center in Browns Mills, New Jersey. If that wasn't life-changing enough, all I could think about in the days that followed was when I would be able to get back on the fire truck and be a fireman again.
I ended up spending three weeks in the hospital due to post-operative complications. Despite the internal bleeding and infections, my main question to my cardiologist was about returning to the fire department. He said that I would never return again because I will be taking an anticoagulant medication the rest of my life which would make me more prone to internal bleeding if I was ever injured bad enough. Needless to say, I was not at all happy. Three months later, during a followup visit, I asked a doctor who was examining me if he could write a letter giving me permission to be an active firefighter again, even though I was aware of the risks. He did, and I could feel myself rising up to Cloud Nine again. As soon as I got back home, I brought the letter to Chief Schaffer. But Chief Schaffer wasn't so agreeable.
A friend of mine named Matt, who was a fireman with the city's rescue unit, said to me, "Maybe you'll be allowed to work on the ambulance instead." So I started approaching things from that direction. Why not? At least I can still be of help in some way. I can still help out in emergency situations. I would be saving lives. I would be very happy if I could do that! When I approached Chief Schaffer again, he said that I would have to talk to the city's examining physician. So the next day I did. Lo and behold I was jumping for complete joy when Dr. Hassel approved and I was granted a city license to work on the city's ambulance squad. WOW! I took that license right down to the Keystones, which is where one of the city's ambulances was housed. A few minutes later I was riding on my very first ambulance call ever.
Upon returning to the station, I received a phone call from the deputy chief, William Rehr. He told me that that was not acceptable because in order to be able to ride with the ambulance, I had to be able to perform ALL the functions of a firefighter. That's when I knew I've been railroaded. That's when I knew that the REAL situation was that nobody wanted me around -- period. That was in March of 1982. I walked out of a Reading Fire Department station for the last time as an actual member.
I think to this day that if the guys at the Oakbrook Fire Department would have explained their reasons for not wanting me to transfer to another station I certainly wouldn't have done it. I was told that they were protecting my status as a firefighter because they are an independent annex of the city. Well, it was a little too late for explanations now! Now I could only sulk and be very bitter. I still continued to hang out with my friends at the "Oakies," even though I couldn't go to the emergency calls with them. I was glad to be able to help out in the cleanup work after they got back to the firehouse.
Then one day I met my friend Matt again. He said to me that if the doctors did indeed allow me to work on the ambulance, then there was a sure chance that I could work for the neighboring volunteer ambulance service -- the Governor Mifflin Area Ambulance Service. That was in July of 1982. The president of the ambulance service was a guy named Larry. Larry and my mom worked for the same company, so they knew each other well. My mom explained the situation to Larry, and Larry showed me around the ambulance station. After becoming a member there in August of 1982, I went on to spend the next ten years as an ambulance attendant. I had FINALLY found a place where I felt welcome and where I could really make a difference!
But that's not the end of the story. On weekends I continued to hang out with my firefighter friends at the Oakies and the neighboring volunteer fire department in Kenhorst, PA. That's where I learned about Fire Police. Fire Police are called Reserve Police Officers in most municipalities in the U.S. In states where fire departments are mostly volunteer, they are called Fire Police instead. When I realized that my heart condition did not prevent me from becoming a Fire Police officer, I just had to sign up. That was in September of 1986. Over the next six years, I went on to serve as a Fire Police officer in five different municipalities. One of them was in Cumru Township as a member of the Cedar Top Fire Department.
Now I had TWO fantastic ways to be of service to the community -- as an Emergency Medical Technician on an ambulance, and as a volunteer Fire Police officer. Fire Police, just like Reserve Police officers, function as police officers during times of emergencies or special events. Duties include setting up road detours during emergencies, crowd control, commencing evacuations, and more. It was quite an honor to be given such a responsibility! At the time, my squad Fire Police captain with the Cedar Top Fire Department was Ron Gehman. Cedar Top was a small community, and the Fire Police squad consisted of only four men. A few months after joining Cedar Top, Ron passed away. The fire chief, Richard Trostle, appointed me to be the new squad captain since the other men didn't want the responsibility. I gladly accepted. That was in February of 1992.
One day, on August 30, 1992 to be exact, the Cedar Top Fire Department was called to stand by at a routine training that the Cumru Township Police Department was conducting. They were training that day with highly explosive materials. The firefighters' job was to go through the surrounding woodlands around the training site to hose down any fires that would start after the incendiary devices were deployed. Later in the day, some of the firefighters were getting tired, as it was a very hot day. The police had just set off a very large bomb that shook the whole area. Burning embers were flying everywhere, and we knew that there would be a lot of ground we had to cover. That's when Chief Trostle called me over to talk to him. I wondered what on earth he would have different for me to do. He handed me an Indian Tank, which is a vest full of water that is used for fighting brush fires, and told me to get geared up and go fighting fires. In that instant, I was once again a fireman. This moment in history was captured in this picture that you see. But what the camera could never capture was how high and how far my heart jumped for joy. And that was the last call.
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