BY PAUL H. STEIN
I call retired Phoenix (AZ) Fire Chief Alan Brunacini “America’s Fire Chief” because he has done so much for the national fire service. He is a perfect example of a role model and a teacher.
Several years ago during the Fire Department Instructors Conference (FDIC) in Indianapolis, I made a presentation, “Everyone’s a Teacher.” Once on stage, I took off my suit jacket. Underneath, I had a Hawaiian shirt, and on the auditorium big screen appeared a picture of Alan Brunacini. As everyone knows, the Hawaiian shirt is Alan’s trademark. The audience got a kick out of the stunt. Why did I do it? As an example of a great teacher.
What has he taught us? I ran into Brunacini prior to the presentation and told him what I was planning to do at FDIC. He was surprised, asking me, “Why would you do that?” People would never mistake me for him; I was way too good-looking. “I usually get mistaken for the janitor,” he said. When you deal with someone like Alan Brunacini, he teaches you without even realizing it.
What did I learn from him during this brief encounter? I was paying him a compliment, and he turned it around and complimented me. Second, you don’t have to have a big ego to be a fire chief. Here is an icon in the fire service who has no ego. His message is, “Take care of your people, and they in turn will take care of you and carry out your message.” It’s like casting your bread upon the water, and it will come back as a club sandwich. His peers and subordinates alike appreciate his down-to-earth, practical leadership style.
What about us? What kind of teachers are we? You don’t have to be an Alan Brunacini to be a teacher. You are the message. We teach every day by our actions; teaching is one of the most important roles we can ever have. Helping others to be their best is a great opportunity for all of us. Let’s do it well.
Everyone is a teacher in some aspect of life, and that means you. Here’s an example of a teacher: A father comes home one day and observes his 10-year-old daughter doing homework, using colored pencils. He asks her, “Where did you get the colored pencils?” “From school,” she replies. “Are you supposed to take the pencils from school?” he asks. She replies, “No, but I took them anyway.” The father, upset, informs his daughter that taking the pencils from the school without permission is not a good thing to do. If she wanted the colored pencils, she should have told him and he would have taken them from work. The father is so upset by her action that he is going to call in sick for work the next day and go to the school and talk to her teacher. What kind of example is dad setting?
Though he wanted to teach his daughter a positive lesson about honesty, the father’s own willingness to cut moral corners drowned his good intentions.
RANK MEANS NOTHING
Regardless of whether you are a fire chief, a captain, a lieutenant, an engineer, a firefighter, a mom, or a dad, there are people who need your help and guidance. So help them. When I was a firefighter, I worked with a truckie named Don, one of our department’s informal leaders and tremendously well respected. One day, Don and I were in the dormitory making our beds. I finished making my bed and headed for the kitchen. Don said to me, “Where do you think you are going?” I replied, “To the kitchen for coffee.” He told me to stand next to him and compare our beds. His was perfectly neat without a crease. Mine looked like someone had just jumped on it. He took a quarter out of his pocket and bounced it off his bed. The quarter bounced about 12 inches in the air. He then threw the quarter on my bed, and it disappeared. He told me that my bed was not considered properly made until I could bounce the quarter at least six inches. Thirty minutes later, I was still messing with that darn bed.
What was Don teaching me? How to make my bed? No, he was teaching me to have pride in what I did. If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing well.
Don was my mentor. He continually counseled me on what to do or not to do and gave me insight on the various captains with whom I was going to work. He was always willing to help me become more proficient at the various tasks I had to perform. I really admired him.
Then, one day, I became his captain. I humbly told him that I would have a difficult time giving him orders. He told me that it was my job to give him and everyone else on the crew orders. It was my responsibility to do the job to the best of my ability. I responded by telling him he should be the captain. He said, “If I would have wanted to be a captain, I would have tested for the position.” Once again, Don was the teacher.
When Don retired, my department lost part of its soul. I hope every department has a Don, the informal leader who advises young firefighters positively-people proficient in their jobs who firefighters can look up to. If you know one, thank that person.
Mike was another informal teacher. I met him about 15 years ago at Santa Monica College. I was his instructor, and he, like many of my students, wanted to become a firefighter. Mike had had a troubled youth and had a very difficult time academically. He asked me what he had to do to become a firefighter. My usual response to young people like Mike was it takes about two years of schooling and additional effort to become a qualified candidate for the fire department. In Mike’s case, I knew it would take longer because he had a lot of catching up to do. He worked and worked on the career path I laid out for him. He became my friend and workout partner. For seven years, we talked at least once a month about his efforts. After failing the fire department test, he would be discouraged but would always rebound. I used to call him a sponge. He would get kicked around, bounce off the wall, and land in the same shape he started. Mike never gave up.
Seven years after we first met, he became a firefighter. One of the proudest days of my life as a teacher was when I attended Mike’s graduation from the Los Angeles City Fire Department Academy. Mike told me one time he didn’t know how to thank me for all the help I had given him over the years. I replied that he could thank me by being a good firefighter, and he was. I continually received great evaluations from his supervisors regarding his performance.
Five years after Mike became a firefighter, he died in a scuba diving accident. At his funeral service, I told the many people in attendance Mike’s story: how he never gave up pursuing his dream. I talked about what a great attitude he had along with his zest for life. He left us great memories of a wonderful success story. He was, and is, an inspiration for all. Because he died so suddenly, it makes us think about how we take things for granted. Soon after Mike’s death, I found myself irritated because I was stuck in traffic on a freeway. It was like a parking lot. My irritation disappeared when I thought that Mike and others like him or who are sick or dying would love to be sitting here in my place.
The same goes for the fire department. It is easy to forget what a great job we have. We find ourselves complaining about this or that little thing. We should think again about the thousands and thousands of people who would like to take our places. For years I have told audiences about Mike. You see, for years I thought I was the teacher. In the end, it was really Mike who did the teaching.
PAUL H. STEIN is a retired chief officer of the Santa Monica (CA) Fire Department. His 31-year career includes 25 years of experience as a supervisor. He has served as a line officer, battalion commander, fire marshal, and training officer. After retirement, he served nine months as an interim fire chief in Lakeside, California. Stein has served as the fire technology coordinator at Santa Monica College, an instructor for the California Fire Academy System, and a former adjunct faculty member for the National Fire Academy. He has an associate’s degree in fire technology and a bachelor’s degree in management and is a master instructor for the California Department of Education.
