The Murder of the Newton Fire Department: Part One

In August of 2006, a friend living in nearby Newton, Massachusetts sent me a newspaper article outlining the terrible conditions that existed in the firehouses of that city.

Knowing that Newton is one of the wealthiest cities in the country, I thought, "What a bunch of whiners. They haven't seen terrible conditions until they've seen New York City firehouses."

I felt I should at least check into it, since my guys in the FDNY had suggested that I might be able to assist at fire departments here in the Boston area. I told them it was unlikely. I was mostly involved in offering bodywork, and without an event like 9/11 to justify my presence, I would never be allowed inside the local firehouses.

Over the years, I have been successful in securing donations of beds, dishwashers, ice machines, sheets, etc., for NYC firehouses which desperately needed these items. It seemed that I could probably do the same for the Newton firehouses as well, if indeed things were as bad as my friend believed.

Back to the article, which mentioned that the firehouses lacked screens for their windows. I called the local hardware store in Newton to ask for a donation, and the owner said, "What do you mean, they don't have screens? Doesn't the city provide screens?"

I said I didn't know why there were no screens, but the bottom line was that firefighters shouldn't have to deal with mosquitoes. Would he help? Yes. He would donate the screens. I only needed to provide him with the measurements.

I proceeded to Station 1 in Newton, thrilled to be the bearer of good news. As I drove up to the building, I noticed it lacked aesthetics. New York City firehouses have exquisite details and charm; "character" the men there would say. They were full of architectural detail, wrought iron spiral staircases and, as run down as some of them are, they still exude a pride, and carry the magnificent energy of the men and women who have worked there.

This building was a squat, square, boring brick building. The glass door offered a view of an interior hallway which reminded me of a nursing home or hospital. It was very depressing, and I had a hard time believing it was a firehouse.

A young firefighter answered the door, and when I told him of the new screens, he called for the captain. The captain was gracious, but professional. He said he appreciated my efforts, but that I would need to speak with the president of the union in order to move forward.

He gave me the phone number, and I left, wondering what issues could possibly get in the way of a simple donation of screens for some windows?

I called the union president and arranged a meeting. That meeting would change the course of my life.

(To be continued…)