Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, May 21, 1995 TAG: 9505200010
SECTION: HORIZON PAGE: G5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: SARAH HUNTLEY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
We've changed. Just listen to the old-timers.
They remember the days when they parked ambulances at home at night, when families stayed put and crews responded to crises in neighborhoods they knew firsthand.
"When you settled in to a community, you stayed there," says Doug Wirt, who joined Cave Spring Rescue on Nov. 5, 1966 and has been an active member ever since. "Like me, I joined the crew and stuck with it."
That time has ended for Roanoke County's fire and rescue squads - obliterated by an evolving culture. Gone is the prestige, the corporate commitment, the simple society without competing demands. And some say volunteer staffing is only a few steps behind.
"It's going to happen eventually," says Lindsey Arnold, Cave Spring's volunteer rescue chief. "We'll go to all-paid someday. They're nibbling away."
Randy Wimmer joined the Bent Mountain rescue crew in October, 1976. He was 17.
The spark came from a common source - his father, the firefighter.
Even as a kid, Wimmer knew about the calls and their lack of regard for day or night. He'd seen the adrenaline rush and the pride that comes from helping a neighbor. He wanted in.
"My dad used to accuse me of being a tag-along," he recalls. "I always wanted to go out on calls, and from the time I had my driver's license, I'd follow him."
These days, you'll find Wimmer on duty once every eight nights at the small Bent Mountain station, where he's chief.
"I'm not trying to be macho or nothing," he says, "but if I can go out and help someone, it makes me feel good."
If that legacy didn't come from a family member, it came from the community. Volunteers were the courageous few who ran into Mr. and Mrs. Jones' home, swallowed by flames; the lifesavers who kept little Susie breathing after a car plowed into her bike. They were the heroes down the block.
"Yeah, I think it was more prestigious then. You were looked at as a servant to the community and the community respected you for that," says Tommy Fuqua, who started as a volunteer in 1961 and now heads the county's Fire and Rescue Department. "There was something about [the volunteers] that fascinated me.
"People are taking fire and rescue more for granted now."
The volunteers also look to corporations, saying businesses have become more committed to boosting their coffers than investing in their communities.
"It's changed because of the economy," Fuqua says. "We used to have people who could respond during the day: Vinton Motor Co. car salesmen, real estate agents, people who owned their own pharmacies and filling stations. When a call came in, they could leave work."
Not anymore.
"Finally it came down to money," Fuqua says. "They said 'Hey, we just can't afford this anymore,' and businesses went from being a community-oriented base of employment to corporate."
Then there's the proliferation of volunteer organizations. Feeding the hungry. Reading to the blind. Tutoring schoolchildren. So many choices for too few people.
"Volunteering for the fire department is still a good thing, but there's so much going on these days," says Woody Henderson, Fort Lewis' volunteer fire chief. "It's hard to ask a young person to give up 110 to 130 hours of training in the first year alone without any compensation."
New recruits must obtain "Firefighter I" status within the first 18 months. That's 120 hours of classroom time, not to mention duty nights and crew meetings. The county requires ongoing members to maintain a minimum of 20 hours of additional training each year, but almost every volunteer exceeds that figure.
It requires a significant commitment, and that bucks the current trend.
"We are finding most people want short-term service opportunities," says Jennie Sue Murdock, director of the Voluntary Action Center, a nonprofit organization that helps find manpower for volunteer initiatives. "It's hard for them to give as much time."
Enter Amy Shelor. She's the county's new volunteer coordinator, charged with recruitment.
Her position was created last October, to the chagrin of critics who argued the money - $25,000 in salary and $11,000 for recruitment efforts - should be spent on hiring. But the county sees Shelor as an investment: Spending a penny now to attract volunteers saves salary dollars later.
Shelor's expertise is working with volunteers, gained through an internship with Big Brothers/Big Sisters and 2 1/2 years with the Southwest Virginia branch of the American Diabetes Association.
Seven months into the job, Shelor has helped squads hold open houses, created advertisements for the county's cable programs, and worked with real estate agencies to draw in the valley's newcomers. But it's too early to tell how much impact she's made.
"It'll take more than six months," she says. "The results have not been overwhelming and I've been kind of disappointed, but I've learned a lot about the organizations and their dedication."
She learned early not to set a numerical goal for recruiting volunteers.
"The situation changes every day," she said. "I really can't set a goal because I could have 10 people leave a station one day and a waiting list the next."
by CNB