MCF LI 1: Fire Department Parades

While watching Clerks II this past weekend, I thought about how much Kevin Smith loves New Jersey. It's no secret that all of his movies take place in and around the places he grew up, and the setting becomes another character. Mind you, I later read that parts of it were filmed in California, and some viewers noted palm trees in the background during the go-cart scene. Still, he's a filmmaker that's proud of his roots, likes where he's from, and in his heart will never leave. In the same vein, I'm introducing MCF LI, a semi-regular segment in which I'll paint a verbal portrait of some aspect of growing up on Long Island, from malls to parks to beaches and more. Today's installment focuses on fire department parades.

It's a typical scene on a Saturday night around 6 PM. Side streets in some suburban neighborhood have been marked with temporary “no parking” signs even as firetrucks, polished and shiny, line up from various neighboring towns. Fire fighters gather before coolers, sharing beers, laughs, and sandwiches. Nearby, a pretzel vendor walks by, pushing a shopping cart. The wheels squeak and turn in opposing directions on the pavement, even as the air distorts above the tray of charcoal briquettes. The freshest pretzels are toward the top. Other vendors sell balloons on sticks, often distorted stout renditions of superheroes like The Amazing Spider-man or The Incredible Hulk. Cardboard boxes lined with black trash bags stand at attention every few feet on each block, ready to catch cans and other wayward recyclables. Noise is heard as various brass, woodwind, and percussion instruments are fine tuned in preparation. Judges, overweight men with clipboards and baseball caps, take their position at various points along a 1-2 mile route. Soon musicians and fire fighters alike line up, uniforms neat and shoes shined, and move out in formation, one division after another. Some departments may wait as much as an hour to play, but marching the actual parade will take even less time. Most adopt the motto, “Hurry up and wait.” At the end, a reviewing stand oversees with politicians and more judges, as one final strong song is played and an announcer reads off the name of the department. As the sun sets, some remain in the park, picnic area, or school ground where the procession ends and barbecues begin. Others, weary from their labor, head home for a well-deserved rest.

Be it Nassau or Suffolk, North shore or South shore, at one time or another various communities host events such as these throughout the Summer. Some are standard, held in the same city each year, such as Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, or Colombus Day. Others are battalion parades, hosted by different communities within each set of cities and towns each year. While as the son of a musician and later a musician myself I'm most familiar with the two or three hours on a Saturday night dedicated to the parade, these battalion competitions are often all day events for the departments. They gather early on for competitions to see how well the equipment works, who can scale walls the fastest, or how quickly fires can be extinguished. Just as the officials, trucks, and musicians are judged on their appearance, so too are the fighters judged on their performance. At the end of the day trophies are awarded to the departments with the highest scores in various categories.

Very little can stop a parade. I've played in rain short of torrential downpour. The one parade that was called on account of rain this year almost happened. We stood in the rain for a half hour before an official decision was made and we were sent home. I don't think I've watched a parade from the sidelines since my dad got me into the first fire department band I used to watch him play in. I see infants in strollers, and small children blowing obnoxious neon plastic “trumpets” purchased from the many vendors wheeling their merchandise along the sidewalks. Some of the older, mischievous kids spray Silly String, but many of the younger ones gaze in wonder at the instruments. Sometimes a parent will hold a child up and a drummer might let him or her hit the drum. Sometimes we'll play a few notes to a toddler of a children's melody, prior to the start of our actual performance of course. Once on the street there's no deviation from the program, marches played in time while we maintain rows and lines with military precision, staying in sharp step with the drums. Left, right. Left, right. At the aforementioned judging points, lines are painted across the street. Every person in a row has to hit these lines with the same foot at the same time, or lose points before the watchful eyes of the parade officials.

There are the occasional tragedies. Ten years ago, it wasn't uncommon to see band members standing on the back of a truck, hanging on to a rail for dear life as they hitched rides back to the beginning of the parade where their cars were parked. Even fire fighters rode outside the trucks. it was dangerous even if the drivers rolled along slowly. One year someone fell off a truck and died, leading to new regulations. Many trucks now have internal cabins for up to eight people. When they respond to a fire, no one is hanging on the back of the truck. Everyone is seated inside. The bands meanwhile are provided buses by their respective departments. Five years ago, an annual Labor Day parade was dissolved after an old set of bleachers near the reviewing stand collapsed under the weight of the spectators. That parade has not taken place since. Finally, this past weekend, tragedy struck at the most recent department we've been playing for. While working on the ladder inside the firehouse, routine maintenance on a truck, a fireman slipped and fell. Another fireman, pulling in with a second truck and unaware of his comrades plight, ended up pinning him between the two vehicles. He'd later die from the extreme trauma. Naturally we got a call this week from our contact in the department saying they would not be participating in an upcoming parade this Saturday, mourning the loss of one of their own. With a six hour feast with one band in the morning, and a job with a catering hall in Queens with a third band in the evening, the loss of the second gig was fine though the circumstances awful. Every day these men and women are on call, ready to risk their lives and rush into burning buildings. To die in such a random and meaningless fashion is tragic, and I can't imagine how the driver of the truck must feel about his buddy. It's a horrible thing to live with.

The life of a fire fighter is fraught with danger. On Long Island, the most action many seem to see is the occasional false alarm. Just the other day a few trucks responded to a drill at my office. Some people may see them drinking and laughing on the weekend, and think that's all there is to it. Yet they're always on call, and the sirens are a welcome sound when they're truly needed. The parades and competitions may keep them sharp and in practice. By competing against one another, they have incentive to be better, and ready for the next emergency. Most of all, the parades entertain and inspire children, who see the uniforms or the shiny trucks, who hit the drums or clap with glee at the music, who see some of the things we adults do and accept the seeds of, “When I grow up I want to be....” I march down the street, and recall a time when I was on the other side watching, thinking the same thing.