THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, March 23, 1996 TAG: 9603230256
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Charlise Lyles
LENGTH: Medium: 65 lines
My little friend Dante Barr isn't having any second thoughts about his career choice.
Yes, the 10-year-old has seen the television news video of the blazing fire that took the lives of two Chesapeake firefighters this week. The Portsmouth youngster now knows what can happen to a man who rushes into burning buildings for a living.
``They died because the roof fell in,'' says the sturdy, handsome child, blinking curly eyelashes. ``I felt sad.''
But Dante still races through the living room with toy firetrucks. The walls still ring with the sound of his make-believe siren - ``Urrrrrrnnnnn.'' And he still talks to his mom about attending the fire academy someday.
``I still want to be one to save people,'' he says. ``I don't like to see people die.''
I wrote about Dante several weeks ago. There was a question about whether he had fantasized about rescuing a baby from a burning house in Portsmouth's Fairwood Homes where he lives, or had actually saved the infant.
Fantasy or not, what's intriguing is the lad's acceptance of the dangerous reality of a career in firefighting.
I guess dauntless Dante is possessed of the right stuff, the peculiarly benevolent nature of those who choose to fight fires for a living.
In 1994, 45 firefighters died in the line of duty, according to the U.S. Fire Administration. Must be something in the blood and breeding of firefighters. They're just born willing to rise at the tone of a bell and march into pure hell. Every day. Call it a case of congenital compassion.
In Eastern philosophies, the common man who exerts himself extraordinarily for the sake of others is known as the Bodhisattva. He is a step above most on the ladder to enlightenment.
Frank E. Young, 38, a 15-year Fire Department veteran, and John Hudgins, 32, a 10-year firefighter, might have spent their childhoods playing in the living room like Dante.
The men died beside each other Monday in a burning auto parts store. Theirs were Chesapeake's first on-duty firefighter deaths in 20 years.
The passing of public servants of this caliber can't be overly acknowledged. Our expression of gratitude can't be too great. Most of the time they receive no attention from media or residents.
Sure, they get paid for doing what they do. Young and Hudgins earned about $30,000 or so a year each for risking their mortality. But their commitment was about so much more than a living wage.
And what about the backups for these Bodhisattvas, the families and friends who support them in their crazy, but oh-so-crucial careers?
For them, there is an everydayness to the possibility of death. They shop, wash dishes, wash clothes, water the lawn, all the while knowing, more keenly than you or I, that the ``thief'' could come at any mundane moment. And in bright daylight.
There is really nothing to extinguish their fear. Nothing to douse it, cool it, except the love they feel for the courageous one.
The other night, I riffled through anthologies of high poetry, sonnets, lyrics and other verse. There were elegies to athletes, elegies to soldiers and to friends who died young. But for firefighters I found none.
May this be one. by CNB