Phil Reisman Recalls His Days As A TMFD Bravest

[Guest]

Phil Reisman recalls his days as member of Mamaroneck town's bravest

(Original Publication: March 29, 2007)

LoHud.com

For a very brief time, I was a volunteer firefighter in the town of Mamaroneck Fire Department. This was when I was young and in a transitional phase of life, which is a nice way of saying I was unemployed and living with my parents.

My limited community service tested the limits of my parents' patience. More than once, they were awakened from a sound sleep by the bone-rattling alarm of my fire-call beeper that frequently went off in the middle of the night.

The beepers were issued as an alternative to the infamous Weaver Street fire whistle, which was a political issue back then. The whistle was like an Old Testament thunderclap; it was violent and punishing. When it went off in continuous coded blasts, all normal activity was put on temporary hold. Television shows were drowned out and living room conversations ceased within a 10-block radius.

Dogs and babies suffered most. I remember Halloween trick-or-treating as a 4-year-old and walking past the firehouse when the whistle sounded twice to signal the time was 6 p.m. - this was known as the dreaded "6 o'clock whistle." Startled out of my shoes, I ran home in terror. Candy be damned.

My stint with the TMFD didn't last long because a few months after I joined, I landed a job in the city and then quickly after that got another job that took me out of state.

Guilt followed me out the door. I knew how hard it was to get and keep volunteers, especially youthful volunteers who could presumably run and up down stairs without getting winded.

Not that the town had many tall buildings. There were no towering infernos. I saw mostly brush fires and gasoline spills on the Thruway. False alarms and oven mishaps were common. The veteran firefighters were wise, practical men; they knew all the intricacies of household wiring and knew what to turn off and how to do it so that novices like me wouldn't get blown to bits.

Memories fade. But I remember how fun it was to ride on the back of the fast-moving firetrucks, a dangerous practice that is not allowed anymore. I remember the warm, waterproof boots, the heaviness of a fully charged fire hose and procedural rules of wetting down a working fire. And the thick smoke, too. I remember that.

I remember marching in the Memorial Day parade, but I didn't have a uniform of my own. Gordon Albert, who lived across the street from where I grew up, let me borrow his spare hat and coat.

Gordon was my sponsor when I joined the volunteers. He was one of those smart, veteran firefighters I was talking about. He and his wife, Jackie, built their house on a small wooded lot on Edgewood Avenue that was owned by Jackie's father. They raised their family there.

Gordon died last year at the age of 71, but he seemed younger than that. Possessed of strong convictions, he had served honorably in the peacetime Army as a conscientious objector in the medical corps. He was a member of the Fire Department for 40 years and served as chief.

"The volunteer fire service was a major aspect of his life," his obituary said.

Gordon was the type of guy with whom you'd gladly share a foxhole. He had your back, is what I mean.

I recall these things because I recently returned to the neighborhood on some personal business and noticed a banner outside the Weaver Street fire headquarters that said this year marks the TMFD's 100th anniversary. Although my aborted volunteer service represents less than a nanosecond of that history, I was nevertheless reminded how the firehouse played such an important role in the community and in my childhood.

The sprawling, unincorporated piece of the town was originally just farms and never had a central business district. Built in 1923, the stately firehouse with its distinctive copper cupola was the center of civic life for those who didn't live in the livelier stepsister villages of Larchmont and Mamaroneck. For generations, town business was conducted in the firehouse.

As children, we caught fireflies and played football on the lush, immaculate lawn, until we were chased off by the paid firefighters who maintained the trucks and building and always kept vigil.

Ellen Fentas, who grew up in the house next to mine and is now a reference librarian at the Larchmont Public Library, reminded me yesterday how the kids in the neighborhood would go to the firehouse on the hottest summer days to get a drink from the water fountain because it was always ice cold. The firefighters got a kick out of us, as long as we didn't mess up their grass.

My Little League team was sponsored by the Fire Department, and the firefighters threw us a party when we finished in first place. They served dinner and showed us New York Jets highlight films.

Annual class trips were made to the firehouse, and the crew on duty would give lectures on the trucks and equipment and let us wear the helmets. These trips added symbolic importance to the firehouse, that it was a place of warmth and safety. The firefighters were our protectors, even as the fire whistle in its notorious heyday was a waking terror on a par with the wicked witch and flying monkeys in "The Wizard of Oz."

I am told that Peter Perciasepe, who was chief and is among the stalwarts, is putting together a TMFD history for the anniversary, but I failed to reach Pete yesterday.

There are old photos, of course. One of them that hangs on the wall at the Larchmont Tavern shows Fire Company 1 in 1918, posing in front of the entrance to Larchmont Gardens. One of their members, Harry Dudley, was killed that year fighting in World War I.

The following year, a tree was planted in his name outside the original firehouse. A metal plate said Dudley "died on the field of honor."

It's possible that the tree has died. But that plate is still there - and it's nailed to a tree, if not the one that put in the ground 88 years ago.

You have to squint a little to read it, but it's still there.

[TheBuff376 8]

What is he looking for?????SAP!!

[Grumpy 1]

What is he looking for?????SAP!!

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I don't think he's "Looking" for anything. Just talking of nostalgia and local FD history! A lot of people can identify with his story in many other communities.