The Day I said “NO” to the California Highway Patrol

In the summer of 1992, we received a call for extrication. “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, we need an extrication crew and fire response on Hwy 395, South of Warm Springs Road, Please respond.”

Extrications always added a greater sense of urgency. There was at least one victim trapped and at any car accident there was always a chance the fuel was leaking and could catch fire. That is not a good combination when someone is trapped.

I arrived at Station 1 and was the 3rd or 4th in the door. Engine 10, our quick response truck, was already warming up and was close to responding. I got into my turnouts and grabbed my coat and helmet. I jumped into the driver’s seat of Engine 5 and fired her up. This was our rescue rig and it carried all the equipment needed to complete the extrication. Another firefighter climbed into the passenger seat and when the back compartment had 3 more men, I hit the air horn and headed out south of town.

We arrived on scene and found there was a victim trapped in a car that was badly mangled and resting in the dirt meridian of 395, the major (translated to “only”) artery through the area. Traffic was all but stopped as they were rerouting it onto the dirt shoulder. The fire equipment, my truck included, was in the paved lane closest to the meridian.

After about 25 minutes of work we were making great progress to get the victim out of the damaged vehicle. It was then that a particular California Highway Patrolman came up to me and asked if I was in charge of “that rig”, as he pointed to Engine 5. I looked up and said, “yes, that’s my truck.” He responded by saying, “Great, I want you to move it to the other side of the roadway so we can get this traffic moving.” Now, keep in mind I still had men working to return equipment back on Engine 5. If I moved it then my men would have been crossing 2 lanes of traffic to accomplish the task and I didn’t feel it was a safe thing to do.

I looked back at him and said, “No”. Needless to say he was caught off guard and said, “what did you say?” I replied, “I’m not moving that truck.” He quickly retorted, “you’ll do as I say’, to which I replied. “See that man over there in the white helmet….Well that is the Fire Chief and I work for him. I’m not moving this truck.”

Completely steamed he marched off to have a word with Chief Phil Moxley. After 3 or 4 minutes of what seemed to be a disagreement, the officer stormed off in another direction.

A few minutes later the Fire Chief motioned me over. “Perkins” he said, “did you refuse to move Engine 5?” I responded, “sure did.’ To which he replied. “Good job…wait about 10 minutes and move the truck on the other side of the road.”

Stay tuned for my next post regarding another interaction with this same officer years later.

First Fire Response

I thought I should tell the story of the very first fire call that I ever responded to. I joined the fire dept in the summer of 1984. Because of insurance, etc I could not respond until after the 1st of July when the insurance would kick in.

Fortunately this was “fireworks” season. Fireworks were and are illegal in California. I don’t know how the law reads today but then it read something like “if it explodes, leaves the ground or flies through the air, it is illegal”. Well, we had an Indian reservation next door to the city limits and the sale of this contraband went forward without a hiccup.

On the 2nd of July 1984, my pager went off, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, we have a report of a tree on fire on the 1500 block of Lazy A Drive, please respond.”

I was working in my retail store The Phone Booth at the time and before the firehouse siren sounded I was out the door and making my way through the back door of Bishop Rexall Drugstore. This would give me access to Main Street and a clear shot through the parking lot of Joseph’s Bi-Rite Market directly to the side entrance of the firehouse. As I ran the final 50 yards or so, I already had my door keys in hand.

As I entered the firehouse I could see that Engine 3 was waiting for a full compliment of firefighters to show so I kicked off my shoes and worked my way into my ‘turnouts”. Turnouts were assigned to each person so that we could jump in them, pull the pants up, buckle them and then slide under the red suspenders. I put on my turnout coat and grabbed my helmet. It had “Perkins” stenciled on the back and I couldn’t wait to put it on.

By the time I reached Engine 3 the cab was full and there was only one man on the tailboard so I joined him. Back then we could actually ride the tailboard on the back of the truck, strapped in and safe, but riding on the back of the Engine. That was the most fun, unless it was raining or snowing. This particular day was warm and we hit the siren and turned east on Line St towards the intersection of Line & Main St. Turning north we picked up our speed until we were about 40 mph on Main St. Sirens and air horns blaring I was having the experience I had dreamed of since the early 60s and my trusty Schwinn Stingray.

As we round the corner near “the Y”, my tailboard partner, Mike Holland turn to me and said. “Hey Steve, I know you’re having the time of your life, but you’ve gotta wipe that smile off your face. I’m not sure the locals want their firemen smiling that much when something is burning.”

Well, I wiped it off, but I must say I enjoyed that response and each one after that. There was an unofficial motto that we had in the fire service. It went something like this, “We don’t want your house to catch fire, because that would be a tragedy, but if it does….I’m gonna enjoy trying to put it out.”

A Snake and a Worm

Well... before I begin this story I need to give some background. From 1986 to 1996 I worked at Mammoth Mountain Ski Area, a period of time that brings many memories to mind. In those early days the company provided a couple of 15-passenger vans that went from Bishop up to the resort, a distance of about 47 miles. This “carpool” became an interesting part of our day, filled with many characters and even more ridiculous experiences.

For some reason during this period many nicknames were handed out. Names such as Eric Bocanegra became simply “Broken Eggroll” and Don Brickell became “the Brick”. I know this may surprise you but my nickname was “Workin’ Perkins”, presumably for the number of long days I worked without taking time off. (Heck I was younger those days and had a young and growing family, OT was always welcomed.) Anyway, on the van was a guy named Joe Parsley, who became known as “Snake”. Snake often talked about his son Clint and it didn’t take long for us to start referring to Clint as “The Worm”.

Now that is all set up, here is the important story. Clint was Charlotte’s age and went to the same school. When Charlotte was in 4th grade there was a particular boy who picked on her. You know, took her books, kicked her, hit her in the lunch line, etc. I did all I could to contact the school and complain but there was never any resolution. It went on for many weeks.

One day while talking to the Snake I asked him if would have the Worm talk to this one boy, explaining that he was Charlotte’s friend and she shouldn't be picked on…..and that no girls should be hit for that matter. Snake went home to ask the Worm to step in.

The next day the Snake sat next to me on the van. I said, “So, how did it go?” The Snake said that the Worm had agreed to take care of the problem but that Snake was to deliver a message to me. I looked at Snake quizzically. “The Worm told me he’d take care of it but if he had to throw a punch it was gonna to cost Perkins 10 bucks”.

Problem resolved. 10 bucks was never paid to the Worm.

99 bottles of beer (root) on the wall

So, one day I was out grocery shopping with Melodie. My job is to drive the cart, follow her to and fro, and when she isn’t looking toss a box of butterscotch pudding in. It must have been a hot day, one of about 20 we see here in Seattle, because instead of pudding I put a bottle of cold root beer in the cart. I had it polished off before we got home.

What came next was a turning point. I could have easily tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin and been done with it. For some reason I was pretty impressed with the label on the bottle. I wish I could remember what brand it was, but since I didn’t know where this story would end up I didn’t notice. I simply put the bottle on the window sill in my office.

It wasn’t long before I picked up another bottle, albeit a different brand, of root beer; drank it and it too went into the window sill. Before I realized what was happening there were probably about 6 or 7 different bottles sitting there “on display”. Without any forethought or any planning I had unwittingly become a root beer bottle collector.

Within months my collection was too big for the window so I had to find more room. Finally I found shelving and put up enough to display 48 bottles. Well just the other day I had to double that shelving to accommodate as many as 96 bottles. Currently I have 59 different bottles on display and probably about 6 or 7 more in my fridge waiting to be consumed.

I have purchased bottles as far away as Hawaii, Alaska, Texas and California. One or two people have brought me bottles as well. All except for 1 I have consumed myself. The next question you might ask is “which brand is the best?” Well that is like asking someone to decide which BBQ sauce is best. There are too many tastes and preferences to come up with one winner.

We have had some taste offs, but I’ll save that for another post.

Volunteer Firefighter vs. Career or Professional Firefighter

Ok…I don’t mean to start this post with a rant, but it seems like I need to get something off my chest. It’s not uncommon to see stickers on a car or pickup that say “Professional Firefighter”. That’s great on the surface except for the fact that us Volunteers know that it is a dig at us. The implication is that the Volunteers are not professional. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Granted, volunteers are not career firefighters because we do hold down other jobs or businesses, but we take our “job” seriously and have been through hundreds of hours of training.

Even more relevant, is that according to the National Volunteer Fire Council, 73 percent of firefighters in the United States are members of VFDs. I can’t tell what year this was true but even if the data is 10 years old, I’d bet the percentage was still well above 50 percent.

Ok, ok….. movies such as “Roxanne” starring Steve Martin and Daryl Hannah do help to paint the volunteers as bumbling idiots that rush to a fire and then realize no one brought a fire truck with them. I guess it’s enjoyable for city folks (movie writers and producers) to poke fun at country bumpkins, towns where the population and financial resources dictates the need for volunteers over career firefighters.

Now all that being said, there are some times when the small town atmosphere provides a few chuckles. My favorite fire call, at least in its delivery, went like this. “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, we have a report of a large brush fire in the field next to Bobby Barren’s cousin’s house.” Well, that might drive the “professional” firefighters nuts because the call didn't include an address with a major cross street, but we knew where it was.

Vehicle Modifications – Free of Charge

I don’t recall what year it was but it was a fairly nice spring or early summer evening. I was at home and my pager went off. “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, please respond to a vehicle vs. power pole accident on North Sierra Highway, approximately ½ mile north of the “Y”.”

I drove to the firehouse, only to learn that Engine 10 and Engine 5 had already responded and that I had missed the first run. Shortly thereafter enough firefighters showed at the firehouse to where we could man Engine 3. Even though Station 3 was close to the scene and would likely have an Engine company there, we went anyway. Volunteers love to serve and look for every opportunity to do so, but I must be honest a big part of this service is about driving Code 3 (full lights and siren) down main street. It’s a rush you have to experience because no description can do justice.

Eventually I, along with others, arrived at the scene on Engine 3. There was already much action going on. The car had indeed hit a power pole just east of Lee & Holly Tatum’s place and the victim was trapped inside. Her injuries were not life threatening but they were severe enough that we needed to extricate her with the “Jaws of Life” in order to have her transported to Northern Inyo Hospital.

The equipment was running and men were working to release her. Usually the two most common efforts are to “pop” the door so that the individual can be released or to remove the roof of the vehicle for the same purpose. Typically when removing the roof, you cut on both sides of the vehicle the first pillar which is designated the A post, then the next one, (B post) and so on until you can fold the roof back towards the rear of the vehicle allowing access.

This victim was pretty trapped and one of our smaller firemen Donny Kunze had wormed his way in so that he could hold her hand and talk to her while the others continued to work. I came closer to see if Donny needed anything and before I could ask him I heard him say to this young lady. “Ma’am, you just need to relax and let us take care of it. We are going to turn your car into a convertible and there will be no charge.” There was a short chuckle from her and within minutes she was free and on her way to the ER.