Hail to the (fire) chief
Is there anyone who doesn’t love firefighters?
They got rock star status after the World Trade Center disaster,
but generations of little boys and little girls have had a fling
with the idea of wearing that blue sarge uniform.
Hail to the (fire) chief
Is there anyone who doesn’t love firefighters?
They got rock star status after the World Trade Center disaster, but generations of little boys and little girls have had a fling with the idea of wearing that blue sarge uniform.
It’s an interesting job for a lot of reasons, but what really defines it is that it’s either full-speed or idling.
While most of us slog along at about the same pace five days a week, firefighters do maintenance chores and just hang out until that page comes. Then the adrenaline starts pumping.
Back when Hollister was one-fourth the size it is today, things were a lot simpler. Firefighters and local volunteers had lots of time between calls. I used to drop by the station during the evening to stake out a place on one of the overstuffed easy chairs and watch TV on the biggest screen I’d ever seen. They were a nice bunch of guys, and we both liked the same TV shows.
Back when I was dropping in, the department was already more than 100 years old. It was founded in 1875 and began operation with one hand-drawn hook and ladder cart and two hose carts. The relative lack of equipment was offset by a crew of 69 volunteers.
Hollister’s bigger now of course, and the department is housed in two buildings on opposite sides of town. There’s a new dedication to professionalism and it’s been decades since the staff has had the time or the inclination to invite me by for a Coke and a little TV time.
One of the people most responsible for transitioning the department into the 21st Century, the one who stood watch on the opening of the city’s second fire station on Union Road, is Chief Bill Garringer, a barrel-chested man whose dedication to the community shows in his volunteer work.
Garringer’s about to punch out from his last shift and begin retirement.
His has been a good watch.
Speaking of the old days
A few of us spent several hours in a car with county Planning Commissioner and former Hollister Councilman Gordon Machado last week. On the long drive back from Paso Robles, Machado apparently felt loquacious and began telling stories about everything from his high school days to the state of the city in the 1970s and ’80s.
Machado went to high school with a rare group of people, many of whom went on to leave their mark on the community. Former City Manager Roger Grimsley was among them. So was Bob Valenzuela, who gained notoriety for being, well, Bob Valenzuela.
Machado recalled that when Grimsley was the city’s top administrator, he liked to get a jump on the day by showing up before dawn. That was good for Grimsley, but not so good for anyone on the city staff not attending to business.
If Grimsley noticed a park bench that had been broken up over the weekend, people could count on arriving at the public works department in the morning and finding a message that the bench needed repair. That meant today, work orders and paperwork notwithstanding.
When sandwich board signs began proliferating downtown, turning sidewalks into obstacle courses for people with limited mobility and giving the area a down-at-the-heels atmosphere, Grimsley did not call business owners. He called the police chief.
Minutes later, a black and white would canvass the area, and the signs would get loaded into the trunk for transportation to the city yard, where they were held until business owners asked for them.
That’s when the intricacies of local sign ordinances were presented to them.
Machado recalled the time when the city staff had expanded to the point that the City Hall basement was needed for offices.
City Hall is located in the former city library, in a historic Carnegie Foundation building on Fifth Street.
The basement was still a shell, resembling the storage area that it was rather than the offices it would be.
Grimsley placed a call to Machado and the two spent the weekends hanging sheetrock and converting the space that would morph into the planning and engineering department for years to come.
Machado’s stories went on for most of the space of two hours. But there was one overriding theme: things worked. I guess that’s why they’re called the good old days.
Mark Paxton is publisher of The Pinnacle. His e-mail address is mp*****@pi**********.com.
