May 26 – “The other side of the boot”

Yesterday I attended the funeral of retired Fire Chief Paul Stanforth.  Among the guests were two retired chiefs, the acting chief, battalion chiefs, an honor guard member (that would be Nathan), and several retired captains. Before the service some of the active guys came by, and I met a few of them I hadn’t had a chance to meet previously.  The union fire truck was outfitted to carry the casket to the cemetery.  As we were talking to Nathan and waiting to begin, a cousin of Chief Stanforth joined us.  He was a walking encyclopedia of Galveston history as it applied to him.  He began one story about back when he went to Kirwin High School.  He started an explanation of what that was, when I interrupted him to say that my Dad was a graduate of Kirwin.  That kind of took him aback.  Didn’t stop him, by any means, but it gained me a little credibility with him.  They apparently knew each other.  I hope he would move to some strand that would include ways his story intersected with Dad’s, but he was pretty focused.  He wanted to tell how Kirwin’s name was changed to O’Connell, after one of the priests he knew.  Of course I had to let him know that I had also met that particular priest.  It’s kind of frightening to realize that I was remembering all this ancient history as something I participated in.  Maybe I’m getting old enough to try out some of the crazy things I’ve been cataloguing all these years.  And get away with them with the “he’s just an old geezer” excuse.  Been waiting a long time for that day.

Now I had never met Chief Stanforth.  Chris was in Wednesday Club with his wife, but she never met him either.  I wondered what comments would come forth from the recollections time.  I heard things like:

“There will certainly never be another one like him”
“He definitely knew his fire department and the areas he was responsible for.  He would even call ahead and start directing the action before he arrived, because he knew the lay of the land so well.” 
“Even after he retired he would come to fires and look over my shoulder and tell me what I should be doing and who should go where and what should happen next.  I’d have to tell him, ‘I got this, Chief.’”
His daughter, with a nod to the fire department representatives, said, “If you guys thought you were under orders, we were too, at home.”
Sounded like an interesting guy.

It kind of took us by surprise when the casket came out before the people, but my first occasion as chaplain to actually salute came when it was being loaded into the fire truck.  The family and friends seemed to really appreciate the gestures of the department. 

I didn’t go to the graveside portion.  Instead I stopped by and helped for a few minutes with the “Fill the boot for muscular dystrophy” campaign.  Never thought I’d be on that side of the boot, but I am proud to be associated with these guys.

Psalms 91:14 says, “’Because he loves me,’ says the Lord, ‘I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.’”

Father, may the young men and women of Galveston Fire and Rescue learn to love you and acknowledge your name so that they can experience your rescue and protection.  Amen.