Helping out stops at reaper's door - Appreciation for firefighters

As the line goes, “a man’s got to know his limitations.” I like to think of myself as a person who looks out for his fellow human beings as much as he can. I could very easily be one of the people in that Liberty Mutual commercial, helping a random stranger unload a sofa or stopping someone from crossing against a light so they don’t get hit by a car. I’m a firm believer in random acts of kindness.

I draw the line at mortal danger, however. My “fight or flight” response is so well developed that if I’m faced with a life-threatening situation, there is no question in my mind which of those two instincts is going to win out. I know I could never be a doctor because I’m squeamish. I also know I could never be a firefighter because as a guy who values his life, running headlong into a burning building is essentially illogical to me. The fact that I would be moving away from trouble as fast as I possibly could gives me a profound sense of gratitude and respect for those who wouldn’t – like firefighters.

They’re incredible human beings and you can find them anywhere people live. You can find them everywhere else, too. Wherever there’s a fire, there are firefighters risking their lives to put it out. They spend days on end training and preparing to deal with a disaster they hope never comes, but they know eventually will. Sometimes they’re not even paid, just volunteers who put it on the line to protect others. These are truly special people and they deserve better than what they’re getting.

The 20,000 troops Californians have in our National Guard are supposed to be standing by for exactly the kind of situation we’re dealing with now: local first responders overwhelmed by disaster. But because our regular Army is stretched thin, our President needed one of about every three of those troops for overseas deployment. He’s also diverted half our available equipment so California’s Guard is short more than 1,500 Humvees, tactical vehicles, and lifter trucks. This is a classic “opportunity cost”. Our President is basically telling Americans living in southern California and on the Gulf Coast that our government cannot attend to their needs because it must attend to the needs of people in Basra and Mosul – and there’s only so much money and material to go around.

In another life I sold real estate. We used to call it the “dirt business” (Malibu would be really nice dirt, for example) because the dirt underneath is always way more valuable than the houses built on it. Also because you always have the dirt, even when the house is gone. In the coverage of these fires, I’ve been hearing a lot about the Malibu homes of people like Geoffrey Katzenberg, David Geffen, and Tom Hanks – people who can wait it out at one of their other homes and can certainly afford to rebuild if the dirt is all that’s left when the fire is put out. I can appreciate that the Hollywood mogul is one of southern California’s greatest natural resources, but let’s not forget about the Angeles, Cleveland, or San Bernardino natural forests. It’s not Jennifer Aniston’s house, but it’s dirt we should value anyway.

I’ve grown to love that special breed of human being that is the First Responder. Firefighters, EMT’s, and even police (except the ones who become cops because they were picked on) have a Good Samaritan gene that, in my experience, the rest of us just don’t have. I saw it in New York on September 11, 2001 when firefighters raced into the World Trade Center, knowing they might not come out. And I’m seeing it now in Los Angeles and San Diego as fire crews from all over the country battle hundreds of thousands of acres of hot death without concern for their own safety – knowing it will happen again.

These phenomenal people show us the very best of what’s possible in the human condition and, as much as I admire the men who do this work, I have a special reverence for the women. Not as physically strong as their male peers, these women still carry the load (literally and figuratively) and do the same jobs.

When disaster strikes, it doesn’t matter who you are, what you do, who you vote for, or how much money you have. When the waters rise or the fire burns, we are all the same: helpless and in need of a hero. New York’s fire department refers to themselves as, simply, “the Bravest”. After watching the events of the last week, there is no question in my mind that the title that applies here, too.