Fighting fires, saving lives

When I was growing up, a police and fire scanner was always on in our house. But, I had a love/hate relationship with it. I remember nights when I would go to sleep, scared because my dad had gone out on another fire call. Yet, I can recall times when it would bring excitement when my sister and I would get to ride with him to an accident that happened nearby when he was off duty.

In high school, I remember chasing fire trucks with my friends, adrenaline pumping as we raced to find out what was going on. Ironically, as a journalist I’ve had the chance to chase fire trucks but have unfortunately been a witness to many house fires.

Now, my brother has carried on the legacy and is a firefighter in Kalamazoo. His children have even picked up on the family tradition by making fire trucks their toy of choice and dressing up in his uniform.

On Saturday, I had the pleasure of attending Comedy Jam 4, a fundraiser for the Michigan Firehouse Museum at 110 W. Cross St. in Ypsilanti.
Coming from a family of firefighters, this event may have been more personal for me, but I feel it’s important for everyone to know about the importance of firefighting in our community.

Honestly, I never knew a lot about the history of the profession until I went to the museum. Throughout the three-story building, display cases showcased years of history ranging from Smokey the Bear memorabilia to whistles to old comics from Smokey Stover. There was also a special case devoted to 9/11.

Many communities throughout the state have considered cutbacks on police and fire protection. Budgets are tight and times are tough, but I think the museum manager, Steve Wilson, put it best when he told me that money may be tight, but fires are still going to happen. Firefighters are still going to be needed.

I encourage everyone to tour the firehouse museum and learn about the history of a profession that should be regarded with the utmost respect. After all, firefighters risk their lives to save ours. I’d say that’s worth something, wouldn’t you?

Growing older, gradually Part 2

The following was submitted by The View staff reporter Jerry LaVaute:

Editor’s note: this is the conclusion of a two-part column.

My behavior, in addition to my appearance, has also changed a bit.

I drive more slowly than I used to, and my wife says that my driving skills have deteriorated some.

On the freeway, I find I’m content to drive at 60 miles per hour. The speed limit says 70, and I push it to that speed using cruise control, to avoid being a hindrance to surrounding traffic, which often whips by me at a considerably higher speed than mine.

If I pass a radar trap, I check my speedometer to confirm my speed is at or below the limit. In the past, I would normally find I was speeding, just a bit. Now, I’m consistently at or below the speed limit.

When I watch Fox News, I find I’m now part of a demographic that is being invited to join a class-action lawsuit about faulty hip replacement.

My toes are frequently cold, despite my beginning to wear slippers and socks around the house.

I used to take televised violence in stride. I was watching the TV show “The Sopranos” the other day, and I recoiled at the brutal beatings meted out by Tony and his guys. I really felt bad for the victims.

When I decide to write a column, I begin by making notes on thoughts that I have about the subject, so they may be included in the column. The other day, I had what I thought was quite a good thought to share in this very column.

I walked to the kitchen, grabbed my notepad and a pen, and as I began to write, I’d forgotten what the thought was. Aaaaaargh.

I’m becoming more a grandfather. I dote on my grandson Noah. I see him about once each week, and I look forward to our visits. He discovers something new every day, including bananas, and he is changing and growing rapidly.

I want desperately to retain my sense of curiosity about the world around me. I hope my views on anything and everything don’t get stale and ossified.

I was pleased to see Lady Gaga as a guest on the Tonight Show the other night. Mind you, I don’t stay up until 11:30 p.m. to watch the show; I tape it and watch it the following day.

I thought she was interesting. It was encouraging to this veteran of Woodstock over four decades ago that I’m still open to some aspects of today’s counterculture.

I told my daughter Kelly the other day that I enjoyed watching and listening to the Black Eyed Peas, although Kelly dismissed them as mainstream.

As I begin to wrap up my thoughts about this column, I am driving south on Haggerty Road. There is little traffic, and I’m cheerfully winding my way home.

The iPod is playing “Watch Her Ride,’ by the Jefferson Airplane. It is a great song, a great love song played by one of the classic counterculture musical groups from the 1960’s, one of my all-time favorites.

The sun is shining, the snow is melting. There’s a faint hint of spring in the air, although I’m much too wise to think that winter is over – yet.

But I’m in a good mood.

The group is harmonizing in very sweet fashion, as Jack Casady’s thundering bass guitar alternates between driving the song forward, and carrying you along with its enchanting melody and rhythm.

I feel young at this moment, and that’s key. Forget the frog and the water - full speed ahead.