HARRY R. CARTER, Ph.D., MIFireE

Many times my inspiration for a particular bit of commentary comes to me as I sit in church, mulling over the Pastor’s sermon. Those of you who have shared my words for the past 25 years have probably sensed that there was a certain faith-based approach to serving the fire service that underpins all of my actions. Some appreciate my words, while others do not. Such is the way of the world. And such was the case this week.

A funny thing happened to me as I was leaving church this week. I saw two things that were totally out of place. And they caught my attention. Bear in mind that I have been attending this particular church for the better part of two decades, so I get to see what is going on with great regularity. And as most of you know, I try to observe what is going on around me. It helps to sharpen my focus.

Anyway, as I was leaving the parking lot after the service this past Sunday, I saw a fairly large rock lying on the macadam at the edge of the parking island on the way out. Since we have recently re-paved the parking lot, and there are no rocks anywhere in the lot anymore, this attracted my attention.

While I was pondering this, I came to the end of the driveway. At the end of the driveway, I saw a dirty old basketball laying in the gutter, right next to our driveway. Since our lot empties onto a very busy county highway, the fact that anything could just lay there struck me as sort of odd.

One thing led to another, and I began to wonder about these two things. Maybe I tend to read too much into things, but what better time to ponder the world then after church. In the world of religion we frequently see the rock as a point of strength and resolve. That was not a tough analogy to form in my mind.

It was the lost ball that caused me the most consternation. What could a lost ball possibly mean? Might not the lost ball stand for the loss of hope that so many people within the fire service face on a daily basis? Heck I was leaving Hope Lutheran Church. I had just had my faith and hope renewed for another week. What better time to ponder such expansive thoughts

Was this a sign that my little bit of a contribution through my writings to you had a greater significance? Maybe it is a leap of faith, but this is just the way that I took the sign of the rock and the lost ball. I literally raced home to my office to jot the thoughts down before I lost them.

Was it all a mirage? Did I really see what I saw? I literally pounded the keys into submission as I raced to gather my thoughts. I then called my web master at his home and asked him to go on standby for my next column. The one that I had crafted only hours earlier was quite negative, and he had suggested that I spin it a different way. What a spin it was now taking.

Not wanting to think that I was dreaming something, I jumped into my trusty car and raced back to church. Would both of those items still be where I last saw them? I dearly hoped that they would.

Sure enough, there was that same ball sitting in the exact spot where I had seen it. I got out of my car, walked over, picked it up and placed it on the floor of my car. I moved up the driveway, and saw that the rock was still where I had seen it. That item also joined the ball on the floor of my car.

I must have seemed like a young kid at Christmas, as I raced into the church to share this story with my Pastor. She too seemed taken by the coincidental interaction of these two items. Funny, she said, she had meant to pick up that dirty old ball and dump it into the trash. Another friend who was listening to me babble on said that she too had meant to fetch that ball and dispatch it to the dumpster. Neither could explain why they had not acted out their initial impulses.

Pastor then told me that she and one of the other members of the church had been bemoaning the fact that there were so many rocks among the fill that had been used to level out the grassy areas adjacent to the new parking lot. Apparently one of those rocks had been found when last the lawn had been mowed. And that was the one I saw. Someone had meant to move it but …

However, how had that particular rock come to move from the fill to the pavement of the parking lot? We were at a loss to explain that. I guess that it is just these sorts of inexplicable situations, events, and circumstances that lie at the root of any person’s faith in the goodness of the world.

After I returned to the car, I examined the ball. The reason it had not kept bouncing down the road was that it had literally exploded. Perhaps the ball was injured as it struck the pavement. The force of falling from the caring grasp of a young child in a passing minivan led to its loss of strength. When it hit the solid pavement, it was as though it hid a brick wall. It had fallen victim to one of life’s bad breaks.

Another view says to me that perhaps it was crushed under the wheels of a passing truck. What had been someone’s pride and joy on the basketball court of their youth, was now a bit of debris on the side of life’s busy road.

The rock in question was not a big rock. It was about the size of a grapefruit. But it was a solid rock nonetheless. After listening to Pastor Pat’s description of the rocks and the lawn mowers, I could see the point where the blade of the mower had chipped off a piece of the rock’s surface. But the rock was still solid. It had taken a shot from the forces of humankind and was still very solid.

Ladies and gentlemen, that rock will spend many years on my desk, serving as a paperweight and a reminder of the need for the strength of a rock to face life’s challenges. The basketball too will spend its remaining years in a place of honor within the crowded confines of my office. My web master has accused me of being a pack rat. At this time, I will plead guilty as charged, but with an explanation. One person’s trash can be the riches of another. The cast off thoughts of one person can be an inspiration for another.

Each time that I stop to ponder the impact of that dirty, old, deflated, gray and red sphere, I will pause and ponder the damage that some people do to others as they move through this life. As I inspect that deflated old ball, I will think of those kind people around the world, who take time each week to share theirs lives with me. Much like the theater, life has its comic and its tragic moments. Sad to say, people are always more prone to share their misery rather than their joy.

Many people end their long messages of woe to me with a simple phrase. They say, " … thank you for allowing me to vent. No one around here seems to understand me." That phrase continually reminds me of the lyrics from an old southern spiritual song. I will paraphrase, as it has been years since I last heard it. Basically it says, " … Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Nobody knows my sorrow."

Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you that I have had my butt kicked around the block on more than one occasion. During some years, the abuse was so bad that I kept checking to see if someone had pinned a note to the rear of my pants that said, "Kick Me – Please." But I persevered. There really was no option. I had a lovely wife and three great kids to support, so I sucked it up and slogged forward.

There were many times when I felt just like that basketball I found at the side of Elton-Adelphia Road, in Freehold Township. But there was always something that happened, that allowed me to keep going. During the bad times it was my friends that kept me going. They were the rock in my life.

Were I to list those who have charged and recharged my batteries, time and again, I would run the risk offending someone I might accidentally forget. But those amongst you, who have been my rock and my strength over the years, know who you are. I want you to know that you can count on me to be there for you.

But therein lies the problem. Are there enough rocks out there in the American Fire Service to handle the burden of the host of deflated basketballs out there among us? How many are willing to butt heads with those in authority on behalf of people who may not even know what you are doing? How many are willing to throw themselves onto an administrative hand grenade to save the fire service career "life" of another?

How many of you have looked at someone else who was in a tight spot, and then looked away? Bear in mind that I am not talking about the fireground. It is fairly easy to be heroic in battle. The rewards will be many and public in nature. Unfortunately, it is far more difficult to be a person with character enough to stand up for the rights of others. The rewards are nebulous and the downside can be public, damaging, and long term in nature. If I do not miss my guess, I would have to state that far too many of you have averted your gaze from those people who looked to you for help and support.

It is my guess that there are far more deflated basketballs in the fire service today than there are rocks. I base this statement upon the 18 months worth of email feedback I have been reading since my friend Bruce Lukaszewicz and I began work on my website back in January of 2000.

My faith to continue comes from the handful of rocks that I personally know. They rise up each day to battle the forces of bureaucratic inertia, and administrative malaise. They drag the bloody saber of character from its bent and damaged scabbard at their side. They then move off to cross swords with the powers that be. To these people I say, keep the faith. You are not alone, and you are not forgotten. I am there for you.

As I have for more than twenty-five years, I will continue to be an advocate for the troops in the trenches. I have shared your hardships, and I have lived your pain. I will do what I can to put your case forward within the halls of power. There will be successes, and there will be failures. But there will always be my deep and abiding faith in the rightness of my crusade.

My message to you today is really very simple. Stand up for what you believe in. Be a friend to all who merit your support, wisdom, and advice. And realize that loyalty, strength, and perseverance come with a high price tag. The fire service stands to achieve great things, if we can just find a way to bring the rocks together with the damaged basketballs.

The commentary in this column does not necessarily reflect those of Firehouse.Com, Firehouse Magazine, their employees or parent company Cygnus Business Media. Harry R. Carter, Ph.D., MIFireE, is an internationally known municipal fire protection consultant and contributing editor to Firehouse Magazine. He recently retired as a Battalion Commander with the Newark, New Jersey Fire Department. His commentary appears regularly on Firehouse.Com. For more commentary and information, visit Carter's web site at www.harrycarter.com Harry has published several books available for online ordering, including Firefighting Strategy and Tactics and Management in the Fire Service