The Saddest Good-bye

The men above are members of the Speedway Fire Department. 

They are standing to salute the passing funeral cortege of

Officer Rod Bradway, a member of the Indianapolis Metropolitan 

Police Department, who was killed in the line of duty 

on Friday, September 20.
Officers from all over the country came to pay their respects
to a fallen comrade, some to attend the ceremony,
others to stand in for local police so that they could 
attend the services. There were at least a thousand cars,
preceded by an equal number of motorcycle units.

The procession was scheduled to leave the downtown area
at around 1 p.m., then travel across town to pass by
Officer Bradway's westside station and at the Wayne Township 
fire station where he had been a firefighter 
and EMT before joining the IMPD.

People began to line Lynhurst Drive not long after
the funeral services were complete, bringing with them flags
and signs to show their support for the man and his family.

The men shown below are practicing their role,
saluting the cortege as it passes Speedway Fire Station
Number 2 on Lynhurst Drive. In addition to their
participation, the men were on regular duty;
during the time the procession was passing, they actually
went on two separate runs. Others in their unit
quietly and efficiently stepped in to take their posts
while they were away.

The sad reason for this funeral, this procession, was because
Officer Bradway answered a call reporting domestic
violence at a westside apartment complex. Not long after his arrival
at the woman's home, he called for back-up. The woman's
screams of terror increased and the policeman
entered, only to be met by the assailant, who shot him
from the side, where his protective vest did not cover.
The second officer, who'd just arrived, entered right behind,
trading shots with the assailant, shooting and killing him.
But Officer Bradway was dead, having put the lives of a young
woman and her ten-month old baby ahead of his own.

Of all the calls police get, ones involving domestic abuse
are the runs they most dread. They are situations fraught with
volatile emotions, raging hormones and tempers - and, very often
guns or other weapons. The situations are always changing,
dangerous for everyone involved.
As a woman, I want to know what it is about men and their
need to control women? We fight sexual discrimination every day
in the workplace, the media, and in our relationships because men
assume they are entitled to control us and every aspect
of our lives. Why do they also feel the need to beat us, to threaten
us, to demean us, - all the while calling it love?

Because of this a good man has died, leaving a bereaved
woman and two teen-aged children. Another woman and her child
live, but with life-long emotional trauma. Yet another family,
that of the killer, live with the eternal shame of having 
a son and brother who made bad decisions; recently released
from prison, the killer was not supposed to have weapons,
but, of course, he did. It's entirely possible there may not be enough
money to pay for his burial.
It's an ugly story, too often repeated, one for which there
does not seem to be a good ending - just losses and
unhappiness for everyone concerned.

Little Day

Here, a security guard at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway is interviewed 

by a representative from a local TV station. It's been quite a while 

since I've seen this style of galluses worn, but maybe I just haven't been

paying sufficient attention. After all, most young men seem

to prefer "sagging", so efforts to keep one's trousers at one's waist

would be lost on them.

A crew from the Speedway Fire Department took time from their shift 

to visit the Speedway. Yes, they were on duty, but maintain

radio contact with the dispatcher through communications in the

truck, as well as on their persons. On occasion, I've been at the grocery

when a crew was shopping for their meal, or at a restaurant 

when they've gotten a run. The crews dropped whatever they were

doing and headed out to their vehicle to go to the scene.

With the advent of fire-retardant building materials, building practices

and uniform fire codes, most fire department runs (about 85%)

now are actually medical emergencies, for which most personnel 

are cross-trained. The fire runs that do occur, though, 

can be anything from a trash fire to a conflagration 

in an apartment complex. We'd be lost without these 

men and women; theirs is a special calling. 

Before we went to the track Wednesday morning, 

my friend Bessie and I went to Lino's Coffee in the Dallara

IndyCar factory building on Main Street.

We took our coffee and wonderful breakfast sandwiches

outside to enjoy the beautiful morning --

and to watch a crew of men at work installing

a new gas line. Personally, I prefer to watch men in

harness, but the time spent watching these guys bore a hole 

through the ground to run a new gas line into the

building was educational, too.

(That gray device being used by the man on

the left allows him to "see" the progress

of the boring below the surface.)

Why We Pay Taxes

It's nearly a weekly ocurrance; a fire engine backed up 

by an ambulance enters my apartment complex, 

sirens screaming, lights flashing, and horns blaring, 

"Get out of my way! Get out of my way! 

Somebody needs help!" Someone in the neighborhood 

must have respiratory issues, because a few minutes later, 

the fire apparatus leaves, while the EMTs remain behind, 

presumably to check on the person for whom 

they were summoned.

This afternoon, however, they all came, 

from the station house about a mile away, 

as well as other stations two or three 

miles distant. Someone had reported a fire

in their apartment, where the firefighters,

clothed in Nomex, oxygen masks, heavy boots,

 and electronic gear swarmed upon the blaze.

Here, a battalion chief dons his turnout gear 

and gathers his equipment, while three firefighters 

from one of the more distant stations, 

walk towards the scene.

Adams, Able, and Ardizzone, stride in step, 

intent upon the task that faces them.

In coordinated, well-rehearsed routine, the men and women

entered the home, the aerial ladder was deployed, hose laid out

and charged. Additional men went to the roof, where they cut

through with a chain saw to get any flames that may have

escaped detection from inside. 

It really was over within a short while, all but the checks 

of the residence, the paper work, and the clean-up.

With a multi-person dwelling, they take no chances, whether

the number of lives involved is one or one hundred;

I have been awakened at 3 in the morning to evacuate my

building because of a blaze just around the corner.

It is a mission. They come when we are in dire need 

to provide medical assistance, to put out fires, 

to save us, our loved ones and our pets from misfortune

and misadventure. They are paid with our taxes. 

There are people who want no taxes to be collected, 

who would be very indignant if no one came to put out 

the grease fire, to splint up a broken arm and take

them to the hospital, to rescue a cat from a tree.

Today, the firemen brought out three red-tailed boa 

constrictors that belonged to the women,

a mother and daughter, who kept them as pets.

It is already happening in communities in our area.

There's no money to pay EMTs, so they are laid off.

Some towns have disbanded their police forces

due to a lack of funds. The bureaucrats are doing their

best to break down our educational system, too.

Money keeps them in office, while they ignore 

the needs of the community that paid the revenue.

"My way or the highway" is not good for people,

but it may just get its narrow-minded self elected if 

thinking people do not vote in the coming elections.

  

Just In Case, 'Cause You Never Know

During my "one lap of Speedway" yesterday, I saw three members of the Speedway Fire Department enjoying the pleasant afternoon, sitting in front of the station. Don't be fooled by their apparent idleness: 

the station is spotless, the fire engines are gleaming and 

their equipment is meticulously maintained.

Firefighters as a group, seem to enjoy the kind of camaraderie and trust 

that few of us will ever enjoy with our coworkers. It is a special bond, one formed by fire or the threat of it. They work together, train together, 

and laugh together to form the kind of team 

us cubicle-bound drones can only imagine.

Each man's turn-out gear is carefully placed near the apparatus, 

close at hand for whatever alarm that may come. Due to the vast improvement in building practices and materials, as well as the establishment of building codes, there are fewer fires: well over one half the runs fire stations receive are actually emergency runs for reasons other than fire. As a result, most firefighters are now cross-trained and certified as emergency medical technicians and paramedics

There appeared to be miles of hose, carefully cleaned, 

flattened and coiled in every spare corner of the station. 

It comes in different sizes and sits tidily placed in racks, 

awaiting possible use for an event that no one wants to occur, 

but "just in case, 'cause you never know."

This is my favorite picture. I saw the canvas-clad figure 

lying on the floor and, of course, against all logic I briefly thought the men 

up front had left one of their cohorts sprawled on the floor. 

"Oh, pfft! you silly woman," I thought, "it's a training dummy." 

My more macabre side took over and I took pictures.