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SHartland Winters

 DO YOU KNOW
ABOUT FIRE TOWERMEN
FROM A WEB SITE
Each year in Ontario alone there are on average 1,400 forest fires, many of which go unheard of in the south. Most of these are caused by careless smokers and campers.  The single best way to stop a forest fire is to never let it start. Before our modern aerial fire detection system was organized, most fires were reported by the public and by Ontario's fire towermen.

The first fire tower lookouts across the province were wooden and erected at the turn of the century and after WW1. Most of these were about 35 ft. high. As the forest trees grew in height many of these were abandoned and 80 ft. steel towers were put up in their place in the 1920's and 1930's.  Towers were arranged over the years in specific spots to get the most view possible between each tower. The Department of Lands and Forests (the MNR since 1970) would place cameras on 100 ft. poles and take photos at a 360 degree radius to get a look at the area that could be seen and then they could determine where to erect a tower. Usually the best bet was to put an early warning tower on top of a naturally high elevation like a sloping hill. DLF employees would then build each in the span of two weeks. This was not a job for the faint-hearted or those afraid of heights.

Being a towerman was seasonal work starting May 1st and ending at Oct. 1st depending on weather conditions. They worked long daylight hours, especially in the summer months when there was a high fire index.    "Most fires were located by using two towers giving the location of a fire on their map based on a 360 degree radius and we could pinpoint the degrees given to us by several towers to get the exact location of a fire." The tool they used to spot a smoke was called an alidade. It was mounted on a circular table with a map of the area and a degree ring to plot fire direction. The tower was plotted exactly in the centre of this map. The observer reported the compass direction, distance and size of the fire to headquarters by 'bush phone lines' in the early years and by two-way radio in later years. If other towers reported the fire then a 'fix' could be plotted on the map at headquarters. At headquarters there was a larger map of their assigned area and every tower was marked by a point which were circled by a larger compass index.

Most towermen were supplied with ham radios and live-in bunkhouses where they lived all summer. The towers were often so far back in the bush that commuting wasn't an option. It goes without saying that being married or raising a family was not always a part of a towerman's life during their tower tenures. Recently, however, I had the chance to talk with the wife of an ex-towerman. According to Mrs. Gloria Weight, who's husband ran the Lutterworth Fire Tower at Moore Falls, Haliburton,  "As far as I know I was the only wife who got to spend the summer at a fire tower. I cooked on a little gas stove and met visitors to the tower. We raised our son there in the summer and he climbed the 85 ft. tower by the age of one. We only got to go into town for food and paycheques once a month during a rainfall."

Towers were erected by Dept. workers and the towermen. Some pieces were dropped in by plane in the winter and others were brought in and hauled up hills by horse in the spring. It would take about 2 weeks to assemble from the ground up starting at the cement block base. The steel pieces weren't especially heavy and were bolted at each level. The top cabin or cupolas were hoisted up piece by piece and bolted at the joints. The heavy steel type were certainly well engineered considering the fact that during high winds they would never shift. Earlier light steel models had a tendancy to sway and shift in higher winds and the odd one that wasn't bolted properly blew over, like the one at Lumsden Twp. in 1941.

The job could become boring at times, so many towermen I am told would play musical instuments- the most popular being the fiddle. During low fire index's, some towermen would play for other towermen in the area over their radios. One story has it that a certain fiddler was playing to all the towers across the province because he had depressed the wrong switch. This was a theme used in an episode of "The Forest Rangers" when Chub plugged his guitar into a radio and all the other ranger and tower radios in the area could hear his deafening screaches without his even knowing it.

Around 1970, many towers were no longer needed or manned but they weren't all abandoned. For a while they used a combination of fixed detection (towers) and aerial detection (planes) to pinpoint fire locations. Another reason towers became obselete was because conditions during a high fire hazard produce haze that towermen had trouble seeing through especially if a fire was in it's early stages.

Towermen were expected to keep logbooks of their daily events and also had books for guests to the tower to sign. These were handed to headquarters in Toronto at the end of the season.

Men and women could climb up the tower if they wished, even when the towerman was on duty. It wasn't an easy climb though. Going up was the easy part, but when one came to the opening of the cupola (the tower's top housing) things weren't so easy when one tried to manoeuver through the bottom opening. For many, the hardest part was the fear of going back down. The towerman would have to use a long rope to tie around the person's waist to lower them back down to the ground. This was the theme used in one of the old episodes of 'Adventures in Rainbow Country' where Hannah (played by Susan Conway) got scared and was trapped in the old Willisville Fire Tower. Pete Gawa had to rescue her with a long rope.

*I have become fascinated with the idea of the loneliness that each towerman must have faced each year. I am sure many would say that they couldn't have handled such remoteness and received pay for it- not even for one summer. My sentiments would be similar except that I have a theory that might have lessened the sheer madness that must have entered the thoughts of each towerman at some point. The truth is that they really were not all that alone afterall. I think it's kinda cool to remember that there were 320 other towermen in Ontario doing the exact same thing and that in reality each tower was connected to the next closest one, and so on. I mean, you could actually see at least one other tower from each location, and the next guy could see one, and so on, and so on. This even continued out into each province; not to mention the fact that there were 1000's of other men doing the exact same thing around the globe. To me this was the romance behind the idea of actually being a towerman.

MAKE SOMEONE SMILE TODAY
WAYNE

DO YOU KNOW
ABOUT FIRE BUFFS

It's been a long time since Vito Maggiolo had to clean the pots after dinner at the firehouse. He's been at Rescue Squad 1 in downtown Washington long enough to do the more interesting chores, such as checking the equipment or racking the hose.

     He's always ready jump on the truck in response to a call, but during downtime, he's just as happy to sit around and shoot the breeze with the guys from 2 Platoon.

     As much as Mr. Maggiolo is one of the guys, however, he's not technically a fireman. He's what's known as a fire buff.

     Ask any fireman if his house has a buff, and he'll know what you're talking about. Buffs are the rock groupies of the firefighting world. They have encyclopedic knowledge of firefighting history, equipment and techniques.

     Most carry scanners, to know where the fire is at all times. They carry pagers tapped into elaborate buff-run nationwide networks that alert them to fires all over the country.

     For whatever reasons, they've not been able to become career firefighters, but since the first time they saw a red engine speeding down the street, they've been hooked. Some will know the history of a particular firehouse better than the actual firefighters working there.

     "I've been a buff as far back as I can recall," says Mr. Maggiolo, 51, whose eyesight wasn't good enough for him to join the department. He remembers his mother carrying him to see the firetruck at Engine Company 62 in the Bronx when he was 8 years old.

     "Initially, it's just the visuals. The young kids come to see the truck and the lights and they hang out. Some of them grow up and move on. But there are a certain percentage, like myself, who don't."

     And for that percentage, there is, of course, a club. Mr. Maggiolo, a CNN assignment editor by day, is a member of the Friendship Fire Association. The Washington-area group aims "to perpetuate the international hobby of Fire Buffing by educational and social endeavors." It also operates a canteen wagon at the scenes of fires, providing refreshments and shelter to firemen while they battle blazes.

     Buff clubs are common in urban areas where there often isn't an opportunity for firefighting enthusiasts to become volunteer firefighters. Still, many volunteer firefighters are buffs, and vice versa.

     "Buffs have what I like to call 'the romance of firefighting' in the blood," says Keith Franz of the International Fire Buff Association, an umbrella group that includes 90 buff clubs across the U.S. and Canada, and various individual members in Great Britain and Germany.

     He estimates that among the IFBA's 5,000 members, there are electricians, plumbers, lawyers, tailors, ministers and journalists. It is often said that former New York Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani is the biggest buff around.

     So while most people would run away from a fire, why do these guys run to it?

     "There's a certain excitement and spontaneity," says Mr. Maggiolo. "The real interest is watching the firefighting. It's like watching this primeval battle between good and evil."

     "The activity and action can carry a certain amount of intrigue," says Mr. Franz. "Buffs at a fire scene are usually discussing strategy. 'How are they attacking a fire? Where is ventilation needed?' That sort of thing."

     To an outsider, all of this may seem not too far removed from pyromania.

     Mr. Franz and his fellow buffs have heard that accusation a number of times. "It's the furthest thing from the truth," he says. "Buffs are interested in fire safety. People maybe think buffs are just overgrown kids chasing a fire engine, but we don't have any problems. Our energy is directed toward community projects."

     The IFBA, which celebrates its 50th anniversary this year, raises money for burn centers and sponsors smoke-alarm campaigns. Many buff groups are involved in advocacy programs for families of fallen firefighters.

     And not all buffs chase fires. For some, the hobby means collecting paraphernalia, including hats, antique equipment and patches from firehouses around the world. Some like to visit firehouses in other cities when they travel, just to meet the firemen and see how things are done there.

     The term "buffs," according to popular buff lore, comes from the days when fire departments used horses. When the weather was cold, buffalo- skin coats were used to keep the horses warm. Guys who hung around at the firehouse but weren't actual firefighters would often help by putting the coats on the horses. Thus, the shortened term for "buffalo" got applied to them.

    But while a buff just used to be the guy who hung around a particular firehouse, the modern trend is for them to be organized and belong to clubs such as the Friendship Fire Association or the IFBA. But that doesn't mean that the tradition of the house buff is dead.

     Jarrid Gaston has been at 16 Engine on 13th Street NW longer than some of the firefighters who work there. He started hanging out as a little boy in the 1980s, some time after he'd witnessed his own father's murder and been placed in foster care. "We pretty much took him in," says Lt. Jeff Wright.

     Mr. Gaston would help out around the station, sweeping and mopping the floor, or washing the trucks. Some nights when he had nowhere else to stay, he slept at the firehouse. He got a uniform with his name on it. "Now he helps us with the journals and the computer stuff," says Lt. Wright. "He's like the mascot."

     Maybe he's a bit more than that. The guys of 16 Engine tried for years to help Mr. Gaston get his general equivalency diploma, or GED, pushing him to study and punishing him when he didn't.

     And even though that goal never materialized, he's still very much a fixture in the house. He even got the ultimate nod of acceptance from the firefighters â?" a nickname. They all call him "Old Face."

     "Ever since he was about 12, he's looked 40," says Lt. Wright. "It may sound derogatory to other people, but to us it's a term of affection. If we didn't like him, he wouldn't be around. He's like part of the family."

     And while buffing might seem a strange hobby to some, firefighters do seem to appreciate the interest. "Look, these guys come out in the freezing weather in February to run canteen service for us," says Lt. Wright. "And we figure as long as a visitor doesn't make a pest of themselves, we're glad to have them. Sometimes, it's as interesting for us as it is for them."

     Probably the person with the most reason to complain about fire buffing is Mr. Maggiolo's wife, Colleen. She's learned over the years to sleep through a cacophony of pagers going off in the middle of the night. "She tolerates it," he says with a laugh. "My wife knows every couple of days, it's firehouse night. It's certainly my second love."

MAKE SOMEONE SMILE TODAY...................IF YOU SOLD WOMENS SHOES AT SEARS FOR A LIVING, INSTEAD OF BECOMING A FIREMAN, YOU WOULDN'T BE SMILING AND ALSO THERE ARE NO
                                                                                      " WOMEN    SHOE  BUFFS" THAT I KNOW OF.
 
WAYNE

DO YOU KNOW 

WHAT A FIRE MATRON WAS.
 

FROM A WEB SITE
 

Last of the Fire Matrons
FDNY housekeeper celebrates 100th birthday
 

  It was a Catholic priest who spilled the beans, several weeks ago when he took Communion to the apartment where Georgiana McMenamin has lived for the past 69 years. He told her he was sorry he could not go to her big party, because he was returning home to India.

It was okay. McMenamin had been around long enough, seen and heard enough, to suspect that something special was coming up.

And it was — the city's only surviving fire matron, an extraordinary, now extinct profession dating to about 1865, celebrated her 100th birthday Saturday.

Cheers rang out and cameras clicked away as the tiny, frail great-grandmother entered a reception room at Durow's of Glendale, in Queens. Among the guests were 25 firemen, a few old enough to remember fire matrons, the rest mature enough to appreciate what they were.

It was an honorary title, with real duties, and a salary paid by firemen, who imposed a weekly tax on themselves to help the widows of colleagues who died on duty. The idea, in the days before Social Security, was to augment modest pensions paid to firemen's beneficiaries — in 1932, when McMenamin became a fire matron, that pension was $50 a month.

"[Her job] was like housekeeper, really," said McMenamin. "The boys cooked their own meals and polished their own brass, but I washed and ironed and sewed and dusted."

There were fewer than 100 fire matrons over the years, according to department historians, but by the time she retired, in 1991, there was one — and she was it.

She spent 60 years as housekeeper for Engine Co. 40 and Ladder Co. 35, on Manhattan's upper West Side, about 20 blocks up from her apartment in Chelsea.

McMenamin took the job shortly after her husband, James, died of an allergic infection. His pension was her only income, and with three children — ages 2, 4 and 7 — to raise, it was a struggle.

In keeping with a tradition that, as far as history shows, dates to the Civil War, she was offered a job as fire matron by James McMenamin's firehouse colleagues.

It was no sinecure. Georgiana walked or rode the 10th Ave. trolley to the firehouse five days a week, doing laundry, repairing torn curtains and linen, ironing, cleaning and making the beds. Her mother baby-sat the children when she was at the firehouse.

"I remember her saying the hardest job was cleaning the towels firemen used to shine their boots," says daughter Dorothy Donohue, 77. Her brother James, 75, a retired mailman, and sister Josephine Rella, 72, remembered other things.

"She was paid $12 a month," Rella said.

"No, it was $13," McMenamin said.

By the time she retired, firemen were doing many of her chores — folding linen, stripping beds, etc. — but, she still dropped by the firehouse to perform a few light chores.

The daughter of a Bronx brass fitter, Georgiana met James McMenamin at a basketball game in Madison Square Garden — "the old one," she said. They had been married only eight years when he died.

The party at Durow's lasted four hours, with tributes that included a letter from the mayor and a second birthday bash — for McMenamin's niece, Jean Blanchard. "It really is her birthday," McMenamin said. "Mine isn't until June 17."

The guys at Engine Co. 40 and Ladder Co. 35 never have forgotten, and in appreciation for her long service, they continue to tax themselves — to pay her a pension, $100 monthly, since her retirement.

"It's only a couple of bucks a month," said retired Capt. Bob Wolyniec. "Everybody kicks in, and one guy takes it to her. She is really something."

A SECOND ARTICLE ABOUT HER WHEN SHE PASSED AWAY


For six decades, she washed, ironed, sewed and dusted for an upper West Side fire crew - a spunky widow who rolled up her

 sleeves to feed her children and pay the bills.


 

DO YOU KNOW
ABOUT SMOKE JUMPERS
FROM A WEB SITE
 

DO YOU KNOW
THAT "NATIVE AMERICANS"

CALLED "CHEROKEE  FIRE DANCERS" FIGHT WILDFIRES IN

 OKLAHOMA

DO YOU KNOW

"SHAG RAG" WAS THE NAME OF THE FIRST FIRE ENGINE

 THAT PHILADELPHIA BOUGHT IN THE YEAR 1718

DO YOU REMEMBER

WHAT YOU CALLED A FIRE THAT YOU RESPONDED TO A SECOND TIME

YOU WERE THERE BEFORE AND EXTINGUISHED THE FIRE BUT AFTER YOU LEFT, A SMALL FIRE STARTED

 AGAIN

TWO QUESTIONS "OLD TIMER"
 
(1) WHAT DID YOU CALL THAT SECOND FIRE

                AND
(2 WHAT DID YOU CALL THE PLACE THE SECOND FIRE STARTED

(1) REKINDLE

(2) NEST

DO YOU KNOW

THE BACK OF OUR FIRE HELMET WAS , AT TIMES, CALLED A

DUCKBILL
           OR
BEAVERTAIL

DO YOU KNOW
 
THAT THE FIRST 911 CALL WAS MADE IN HALEY, ALABAMA

 IN 1968,

IT WAS A TEST .

THE FIRST CITY TO ACTUALLY USE THE SYSTEM WAS

NEW YORK CITY IN 1972

DO YOU KNOW

 That the first "professional" firefighters, from the French Army,

were known as Sapeurs-Pompiers.


DO YOU KNOW

SOME COMMUNITIES  HAD FIRE WAGONS, LOADED WITH BARRELS OF WATER, PULLED BY HORSES,

 AS A WATER SOURCE.


DO YOU KNOW

IN LONDON, THE FIRST FIRE BRIGADES WERE RECRUITED FROM THE RANKS OF SEAMEN

NOTE: IN RESEARCHING THE WORD "DECKIE", I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO FIND ANYTHING ,ON THE

 WEB, TO INDICATE WHERE OR WHEN THIS TERM CAME INTO BEING, TO DEFINE  DETROIT  FIREMEN.

A CONJECTURE, ON MY PART, WOULD SEEM TO INDICATE IT CAME FROM THE TERM "DECKHAND" FROM THE RANKS OF THE SEAMEN.

MANY ARTICLES INDICATED THAT FIREMEN WERE RECRUITED FROM THE SHIPPING INDUSTRY

THEY WERE USED TO WORKING UNDER HARSH CONDITIONS, WORKING AS A TEAM ,

BEING ABLE TO THINK ON THEIR FEET AND ADAPT TO CHANGING CONDITIONS .


MAKE SOMEONE SMILE TODAY
WAYNE
 

      Watchmen on the bridge kept buckets of water handy to douse the small blazes set off by cigars and cigarettes discarded on the creosote blocks used to pave the bridge.

      "We often have fires, I have put out as many as six a day," said watchman James Kearney.

      Kearney wasn't too concerned that warm morning on April 27, 1915, when a steamroller lumbered by towing a steel cart filled with hot coals to heat irons used for asphalt work on the island. The swaying cart spilled hot coals in several places on the bridge.

      "There was no wind and I swept them up before any damage was done," Kearney said.

      As the cart returned to the mainland that afternoon, Kearney and fellow watchman, Isaac Cohen, spotted a fire on the draw of the bridge. The pair grabbed their buckets and ran to put out the fire. Then they saw it -- a trail of fire all the way back to the island.

      They ran to turn in the alarm. Engineers at the draw section of the bridge, which could be swung back to allow ships to pass, stayed at their posts until the flames forced them to flee.

Detroit firemen battle the blaze from boats below the bridge span. At right is the fireboat James Battle. At left firemen train their hoses on the fire from the decks of an island ferry boat.

      Two fireboats and 13 fire companies responded to the alarm, but their efforts weren't enough to save the steel and wooden bridge built in 1889. It collapsed and burned to the waterline as thousands watched on shore.

      But Detroiters would not be separated from their beloved island for long. The next year a temporary bridge was completed west of the destroyed structure. Costing $100,000, it remained in use until Sept. 1, 1923, when the present bridge was opened.

      The new bridge cost $2,635,000 and the lives of five workmen. The subway approach under Jefferson from East Grand Boulevard cost $467,000. It had signs warning motorists not to honk their horns underneath, which were loudly ignored.

      More than 25,000 celebrated the opening of the bridge. Anne Campbell, The Detroit News poet, read her poem for the occasion:
 

MAKE SOMEONE SMILE TODAY........UNLESS YOU WERE ON THE BRIDGE

WAYNE                                                                   WHEN IT CAUGHT ON FIRE
 

DO YOU KNOW

Of all disasters which can happen to a ship, fire is the most terrible. On shore, the occupants of burning buildings can hope for rescue by fire truck and ladder which may arrive within minutes of the first alarm; a ship at sea, on the other hand, must be self contained in firefighting as in all things and, from the first warning of fire until the last desperate retreat or victory, there may be no chance of escape by boat if the weather is bad.

In the days of sail, the only flame in the ship was in oil lamps or in the galley; in merchant ships the latter was usually a small box-like structure in the waist containing a coal burning range. In case of accidental fire the cook, or a burning pan, could be removed without difficulty and a few buckets of sea water would do the rest. The main risk to a sailing ship lay in spontaneous combustion of the cargo, particularly coal, cotton and jute when the treatment was to cut off all ventilation and hope for the best. One of the finest sea stories in the English language, Youth by Joseph Conrad, tells of the ordeal of a wooden barque which smouldered for weeks before her cargo of coal erupted and blew the decks and masts from the charred hull.

With the coming of steam, the danger was greatly increased and numerous tragedies occurred in Canada, as elsewhere, from an almost total lack of knowledge as to causes and prevention. While the various steamboat acts called for pumps and fire buckets, the construction of most vessels was such that, even in iron or steel steamers until quite recently, the use of wood decks and minor bulkheads, combustible paints and furnishing, and the presence of long alleyways and staircases which acted as chimneys, practically guaranteed that any fire, once started, would sweep the vessel with the explosive force of a blowtorch.

In some ways, a ship in port is more vulnerable to fire than when at sea. If working cargo, there is always the danger of someone starting a fire by careless smoking in the holds or elsewhere and, if under refit or repair, the presence of numerous electric cables for welding is a hazard at a time when normal shipboard routine is suspended in favour of the work in hand. Under all operating conditions a modern ship is a maze of powered arteries of one kind or another; some ships, such as tankers, work under risks which require special safeguards.

Successful ship firefighting depends on the discipline and training of the crew to a standard which is sometimes difficult to attain in merchant ships. In this respect they are but floating industrial or residential units manned, in some cases, by temporary or casual employees.
 

MAKE SOMEONE SMILE TODAY
WAYNE
 

FROM A WEB SITE
 

HISTORY OF THE LEATHER HELMET

Jacobus Turck of New York City is credited with inventing the first fire cap around 1740.  It was round with a high crown and narrow rim and was made of leather.  Improvements on his design were made by Mathew DuBois, who sewed iron wire in to the edge of the brim to give the helmet shape and strength, and provide resistance to heat, moisture, and warping.  The leather helmet as it is known today came from a very modest and non-fire related beginning.  Although the year the traditional fire helmet was invented is mired in speculation and debate, it is generally agreed upon as sometime between 1821 and 1836.  The gentleman credited with its founding was named Henry T. Gratacap.  Gratacap was a volunteer fireman in New York City, but made his living as a luggage maker.  He had made quite a name for himself because of his innovative luggage specifically designed for ocean transit.  It was made of leather that was specially treated, which offered unparalleled durability and withstood wetness without rotting.  These qualities were very desirable in a fire helmet as well and Gratacap designed the first “eight comb” (a design composed of eight segments) fire helmet.  It was named the “New Yorker” and originally adopted by the New York City Fire Department (FDNY) in the late 1800s.

The New Yorker helmet has remained virtually unchanged through approximately 168 years of faithful and steadfast service.  The New Yorker helmet retains the same look and quality that generations after generations of firefighters have relied upon.  They are made of stout tanned Western cowhide, a quarter of an inch thick, reinforced with leather strips which rise like Gothic arches inside the crown.  The long duckbill, or beavertail, which sticks out at the rear, is to keep water from running down firemen's necks.  Originally, these helmets were sometimes worn backwards so the beavertail would protect its wearer from the intense heat of firefighting.  Additionally, some tillermen (a name for the driver of the rear section of a tractor drawn aerial truck) would also wear them backwards to protect their faces from rain and snow.

During this time, two brothers named Cairns were operating a metal badge button and insignia business in New York City.  The Cairns Brothers are credited with the idea of mounting an identification badge to the front of Gratacap’s helmets; today these are known as front pieces.

The two companies operated cooperatively until Gratacap’s retirement sometime in the 1850s, when the Cairns & Brother legacy was born; Cairns & Brother has pioneered firefighter helmet technology ever since.  Cairns & Brother's commitment to protecting lives is evident in their "systems," where engineered components synergistically work together for unparalleled protection in harsh environments.  The original OSHA compliant leather helmet, it is individually hand shaped, hand trimmed, and hand stitched to meet the strenuous demands of today’s most dangerous profession – firefighting.

The Leatherhead is a term used for a firefighter who uses the leather helmet for protection from the hazards we face everyday on the streets.  The Leather Helmet is an international sign of a Firefighter, a symbol that is significant in not only tradition from the early years of firefighting, but one of bravery, integrity, honor and pride.  This helmet is a sign of who we are, not what we are.

The leather helmet of choice for Salisbury FOOLS is the Cairns & Brother New Yorker N5A.

Although not a required component of the helmet, those of us who truly live the tradition wear a brass eagle adornment that graces the top of the helmet and secures its front piece.  In our simple, childish way, we always believed that the eagle adorning our helmet meant something special, maybe the spirit of American enterprise, or onward to victory.  We were wrong.  The eagle, it seems, just happened, and has no particular significance at all.  Long, long ago, around 1825 to be exact, an unknown sculptor did a commemorative figure for the grave of a volunteer fireman.  You can see it in Trinity Churchyard today; it shows the hero issuing from the flames, his trumpet in one hand, a sleeping babe in the other, and on his helmet, an eagle.  Firefighters were not wearing eagles at the time; it was a flight of pure fancy on the sculptor's part.  But as soon as the firemen saw it, they thought it was a splendid idea and it was widely adopted.  It has remained on firemen's helmets ever since, in spite of the fact that it has proved, frequently and conclusively, to be a dangerous and expensive ornament indeed.  It sticks up in the air.  It catches its beak in window sashes, on telephone wires.  It is always getting dented, bent and knocked off.  Every so often, some realist points out how much safer and cheaper it would be to do away with the eagle, but we who live the tradition always refuse.

 Leather Forever!
 

MAKE SOMEONE SMILE TODAY
WAYNE