Fire update

As I continue to work on editing and revising my Fire Alarm Story for telling, I am thankful to all of my friends and colleagues for all of the suggestions that they have given me. Here is the latest update:

I was always the shortest kid of anyone my age. This was not a trait that I desired. My goal in life was to be tall enough to either look people in the eye or to look down on them. It didn’t have to be everyone, but I did want a higher perspective on life. Since I didn’t have any control over my genes as to how fast and far I was going to grow, I took the next best remedy by seeking ways to gain a higher perspective.

And how would I do this? I would climb on anything that I had access to. There were large rocks on a hillside on one side of the park adjacent to our apartment building. These boulders weren’t very steep, but they were steep enough for me to climb.

My parents and sisters needed to use a stepladder to retrieve things from cabinets in our kitchen, but not me. By hoisting myself onto the kitchen sink, I could climb onto the counters nearby to retrieve what I wanted. The counters and sinks easily supported my weight. I loved to climb. It was a great feeling looking down on things, being able to do things others couldn’t. I felt powerful.

Though I never got hurt while climbing, there were times when getting a higher perspective wasn’t the best choice.

When I was 5 years old, my father took me on a venture to the local branch of the Chemical Corn Bank. Just to be able to go somewhere with my dad was a treat. Since the bank was less than a ½ mile away, my father decided we would walk. The trip was all up hill. It was a pleasant walk, with not much conversation going on between us. We crossed a few local streets and finally a big boulevard, Riverdale Avenue, to the bank.

When we got to the bank, my father had to wait on line to make his deposit. My father had come to the U.S. from Germany prior to World War II. And like most men of his time and upbringing was strict and demanding. Yet at times, despite his stern façade he could also be disinterested and forgetful. While he was waiting, lost in the moment, I roamed free. Free roaming the bank meant that I could go inside or outside the bank and just hang out until he was finished. My father didn’t appear to be concerned. I think he saw me as I left the bank and went outside.

Safe or not, I decided to explore the area immediately outside the bank. It was there, in front of the bank, that a tall red structure, over two feet taller than I was and similar in shape to a queen’s chess piece, with a black handle near the box-like assembly on its top, stood challenging me to make an attempt to reach its summit. I needed that higher perspective.

I couldn’t help but notice that I could climb onto the red structure at its base, possibly shinny up and reach the top. This was a worthy endeavor for any 5-year old.

I got a foothold on the edge, wrapped my arms around the structure, and slowly began my ascent. As I neared the top I grabbed onto the handle for support. Unfortunately the handle wasn’t locked in position and my weight released it from its upright position to a horizontal one.

The resounding high-pitched alarm bell that went off when that fire alarm was pulled was enough to send me screaming. People came running out from the bank at the sound of the alarm, including my father. It didn’t take him long to surmise what I had done. He was not pleased.

“What were you thinking? Did you think it was a mailbox?” he shouted at me. To this day I remember him putting that question to me in a way that I realized was the only way out of what I had done. I still had no idea what the thing I pulled was but knew I had done a bad thing. Flowing with tears, I just nodded my head in agreement. “Yes I thought it was a mailbox.”

Surprisingly, my father decided that he and I should leave the bank area and start walking home, before the fire trucks came. I never knew why my father did this. Was he afraid that he would be held responsible and jailed, or fined? Was he embarrassed and didn’t want to face anyone? We crossed Riverdale Avenue and were about a half block from the bank, when either conscience or the thought that we couldn’t get away with it, changed my father’s mind. He had us turn back and talk to the firemen as they arrived. One of the firemen gave me a short lecture about why one shouldn’t pull false alarms. My five-year-old self was glad that I didn’t pull these firemen away from a real fire that day.

It was a long downhill walk home with my dad. On a positive note I did notice a lot more of those red boxes attached to poles. Just as we reached the steps to our apartment building I hesitated. I did not want to face my mother with the news. I asked my father if he could go in first and break the news to my mom. I don’t remember my mother’s immediate reaction, but I know that later she did enjoy telling the story to  relatives and friends. The event was written up in our local newspaper, The Riverdale Press. I still have the clipping.

July 16, 1956 – Riverdale Press

FIRE-FIGHTERS who swarmed to the Riverdale Branch of the Chemical Corn Exchange Bank the other day were called out by accident. A customer transacting some business left his young son unattended for a moment. Junior climbed up to the fire alarm, pulled it, and really started something.

I continued to strive for higher perspectives growing up. Getting in trouble didn’t stop me. But getting a higher perspective sometimes means being able to see things for what they are. And one thing I know for sure: always make certain that you know what something is before you climb it.