Interview with the Policeman and Fireman
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Note: Reader discretion is advised. Profanity, violence, and explicit sex acts are quoted in this article.
Little boys used to all want to grow up to be policemen or firemen. In Working (1974), Studs Terkel interviewed a man who did both.
Tom Patrick became a New York City fireman after he spent four years on the city’s police force. At the time of the interview, he was 32 years old. His stories are colorful to say the least. They are often peppered with heavy doses of profanity.
But, if you ever wanted to know what it’s really like to be a big city cop or a firefighter, here is a good place to start.
THE POLICEMAN
Patrick explains why he decided to join the police force: “It’s terrific for a guy that just got out of high school with a general diploma. I don’t even know English. My wife is Spanish. She knows syllables, verbs, where to put the period. … I wish I was a lawyer. Shit, I wish I was a doctor. But, I just didn’t have it. You gotta have the smarts.” And, his family was poor. “There was seven of us. Three brothers, myself, my sister, mother and father. It was a railroad flat. Me and my brother used to sleep in bunk beds until we were twenty-seven years old. And, they’re supposed to be for kids, right?
“I got out of the army in ’64. I took the test for transit police, housing police, and city police. It’s the same test. It was in March ’66 when I got called.”
He talked about his earliest days as a police officer in the housing projects: “I got called for the housing police. For the first six months, you just bounce around different housing projects. … [¶] The money they give me as a cop is good enough. Most of the people here don’t go on to be doctors or lawyers. The thing to get is a city job because it’s security. [¶] I worked in Harlem and East Harlem for three years. There was ten, eleven cops and they were all black guys. I was the only white cop. When they saw me come into the office, they started laughin’. ‘What the f— are they sendin’ you here for? You’re f—in’ dead.’ They told me to get a helmet and hide on the roof. [¶] This one project, there were five percenters. That’s a hate gang. They believed that seventy percent of the black population are Uncle Toms, twenty-five percent are alcoholics, and five percent are the elite. These f—in’ guys’ll kill ya in a minute.”
He was also drawn to police work because he enjoys and appreciates a lot of different poor people: “The thing is you gotta like people. If you like people, you have a good time with ‘em. But, if you have the attitude that people are the cause of what’s wrong with this country, they’re gonna f—in’ get you upset and you’re gonna start to hate ‘em; and, when you hate, you get a shitty feeling in your stomach that can destroy you, right?
“When I went to the housing project, I said, ‘There’s a lot of people around here.’ And you meet ‘em. And, the older people want you to come in and have a beer with ‘em. I used to go to some great parties. I’d go up there at nine o’clock at night, and I’m in uniform with my gun on, and you’d be in the kitchen, drinking Scotch, rye, beer, talking to these beautiful Spanish girls. These are people, right? Poor people. My family’s poor. They talk about the same thing, and the kids come over to me, and they’d pet you, or they’d touch the gun. … [¶] I couldn’t wait to go to work because I felt at ease with these people. Sometimes, I’d look in the mirror and I’d see this hat and I couldn’t believe it was me in this uniform. Somebody’d say, ‘Officer, officer.’ I’d have to think, ‘Oh yeah, that’s me.’ I wouldn’t really know I was a cop. To me, it was standin’ on the corner in my own neighborhood. Poor. I’d see drunks that are like my father. A black drunk with a long beard and his eyes … He’d bring back memories of my father. I’d be able to talk to the kids. They’d be on the roof, f—in’, and I’d say, ‘I’ll give you ten minutes.’ It took me two minutes to come. ‘Ten minute is enough for you, right?’
“One project I worked out of I made nineteen arrests in one year, which was tops. I didn’t go out lookin’ to make ‘em. I ran into shit. If you run into a person that’s robbin’ another person, man, that’s wrong! My mind was easy. I just figured if a guy was drunk or a guy’s makin’ out with a girl, it shouldn’t be a crime. I was with this one cop, he used to sneak up on cars and look in and see people getting’ laid or blow jobs. I used to be embarrassed. I don’t like that shit.
“I made all these arrests, and they transferred me out. I didn’t want to leave ‘cause I knew the people, and I thought I could be an asset. It was Puerto Rican, black, I had like a rapport, Jesus Christ, I loved it They’re sending me to Harlem because I’m so good. Bullshit! That jerked me off. I wanted East Harlem because you had everything there. You had Italians, still. I used to go up the block and drink beer. I used to listen to Spanish music. And the girls are beautiful. Jesus! Unbelievable! Spanish girls. My wife’s from Columbia. She’s beautiful. I love it when her hair’s down. I think that’s where I got the idea of marrying a Spanish girl. In East Harlem. [¶] I wasn’t against Harlem, but there was no people. It was a new project. I was just there to watch the Frigidaires. I was a watchman. Sewers open, the ground wasn’t fixed, no grass, holes. We used to stand in lobbies of an empty building. I want to be where people are. So, I got pissed off and put a transfer in. After six months, people started moving in—and I liked it. But, they transferred me to Canarsie. Middle-income white. And, all these bullshit complaints. ‘Somebody’s on my grass.’ ‘I hear a noise in the elevator.’ Up in Harlem, they’ll complain maybe they saw a dead guy in the elevator.”
But, not all people appreciated him: “I never felt my life threatened. I never felt like I had to look over my shoulder. I was the only white cop in that project. The kids’d be playin’, come over and talk to me. Beautiful. But, sometimes they just hate you. I’m in uniform, and they just go around and say, ‘You motherf—er,’ and stuff like that. I can’t say, ‘Wait, just get to know me; I’m not that bad.’ You haven’t got time. If you start explainin’, it’s a sign of weakness. Most people, if you try to be nice, they’re nice. But, you get some of these guys that got hurt, they really got f—ed, they got arrested for not doing anything.”
Eventually, he had enough of police work: “Know why I switched to fireman? I liked people, but sometimes I’d feel hate comin’ into me. I hated it, to get me like that. … [¶] A few times, I pulled my gun on guys. One time, I went to the roof of this project, and there’s this big black guy, about six seven, on top of the stairs. He had his back to me. I said, ‘Hey, fella, turn around.’ He said, ‘Yeah, wait a minute, man.’ His elbows were movin’ around his belt. I was half-way up. I said, ‘Turn around, put your hands up against the wall.’ He said, ‘Yeah, yeah, wait a minute.’ It dawned on me he had a gun caught in his belt and he was tryin’ to take it out. I said, ‘Holy shit.’ So, I took my gun out and said, ‘ You f—er, I’m gonna shoot!’ He threw his hands against the wall. He had his dick out and he was tryin’ to zip up his fly, and there was a girl standin’ in the corner, which I couldn’t see. So here was a guy gettin’ a hand job and maybe a lot of guys might have killed him. I said, ‘Holy shit, I coulda killed ya.’ He started shaking, and my gun in my hand was shaking like a bastard. I said—I musta been cryin’—I said, ‘Just get the hell outa here …”
THE FIREMAN
Patrick talks about why he prefers being a fireman to being a policeman: “I took the fire department test in ’68 and got called in ’70. I always wanted to be a fireman. My other brother was a fireman eleven years. He had a fire and the floor gave way, he was tellin’ me the story. He thought it was just a one-floor drop. But, the guys grabbed him by the arms. They said, ‘If you go, we all go.’ He couldn’t believe this kind of comradeship. They pulled him out. He went down to get his helmet, and it was two floors down. He really woulda got busted up. [¶] I like everybody workin’ together. You chip in for a meal together. One guy goes to the store, one guy cooks, one guy washes the dishes. A common goal. We got a lieutenant there, he says the fire department is the closest thing to socialism there is. [¶] The officer is the first one into the fire. When you get to captain or lieutenant, you get more work, not less. That’s why I look up to these guys. We go to a fire, the lieutenant is the first one in. If he leaves, he takes you out. One lieutenant I know got heart trouble. When he takes a beatin’ at a fire, he should go down to the hospital and get oxygen or go on sick. He don’t want to go on sick. I used to go into a fire, it was dark, and I’d feel a leg, and I’d look up and see the lieutenant standing there in the fire and smoke takin’ beatings.
“When I was in the army, I didn’t respect the officers because the men did all the work. That goes for the police department, too. Cops get killed. You never see a lieutenant get shot. Ten battalion chiefs got killed in fires in the last ten years in the city. The last three guys in the fire department were lieutenants that got killed. ‘Cause they’re the first ones in there. I respect that. I want to respect an officer. I want to see somebody higher up that I can follow.
“You got some firehouses, these f—in’ guys are supermen. I’m not a superman; I want to live. These guys are not gonna live. Every day, orders come down, guys are dyin’, retirement. I don’t think these guys get their pensions too long. I never heard a fireman livin’ to sixty-five.
“When you get smoke in your lungs, these guys are spittin’ out this shit for two days. A fireman’s life is nine years shorter than the average workingman because of the beating they take on their lungs and their heart. More hazardous than a coal miner. The guy don’t think nothing’s wrong with him. You don’t think until you get an x-ray with your name’s on it. We got this lieutenant, and when he takes a beating, he can’t go to a hospital because they’ll find something wrong with him. He was trapped in a room and he jumped out of the second-story window. He broke both his ankles, ran back into the building, and he collapsed. [¶] There’s more firemen getting killed than cops, five to one. Yet, there’s only one-third of the amount of men on the job. We get the same pay as policemen.”
He recalls details of what fighting a fire and the aftermath is really like: “The first fire I went to was a ship fire. I jumped off the engine, my legs got weak. I nearly fell to the ground, shakin’, right? It was the first and only time I got nerves. But, we have to go in there. It’s thrilling and it’s scary. Like three o’clock in the morning. I was in the ladder company, it’s one of the busiest in the city, like six thousand runs a year. The sky is lit up with an orange. You get back to the firehouse, you’re up there, talkin’, talkin’ about it. [¶] I was in a fire one night, we had an all-hands. An all-hands is you got a workin’ fire and you’re the first one in there, and the first guy in there is gonna take the worst beatin’. You got the nozzle, the hose, you’re takin’ a beating. If another company comes up behind you, you don’t give up that nozzle. It’s pride. To put out the fire. We go over this with oxygen and tell the guy, ‘Get out, get oxygen.’ They won’t leave. I think guys want to be heroes. You can’t be a hero on Wall Street.
“There’s guys with black shit coming out of their ears. You got smoke in your hair. You take a shower, you put water on your hair, and you can still smell the smoke. It never leaves you. You’re coughin’ up this black shit. But, you go back and you have coffee, maybe a couple of beers, you’re psyched up. [¶] You get a fire at two, three in the morning. The lights go on, you get up. I yelled, ‘Jesus, whatsa matter?’ It dawned on me: ‘Where else could we be goin’? All the lights goin’ on, and it’s dark. It’s f—in’ exciting. Guys are tellin’, ‘Come on, we go. First Due.’ That means you gotta be the first engine company there. You really gotta move. It’s a pride. You gotta show you’re the best. But what they’re fightin’ over is good. What they’re fightin’ over is savin’ lives.
“You go in there, and it’s dark. All of a sudden smoke’s pourin’ outa the goddamn building. It’s really fast. Everybody’s got their assignments. A guy hooks up a hydrant. A guy on the nozzle, I’m on the nozzle. A guy’s up to back me up. A guy’s puttin’ a Scott Air Pack on. It’s a breathing apparatus. It lasts twenty minutes.
“Two weeks ago, we pulled up to this housing project. On the eight floor, the flames were leaping out the window. We jumped out, your f—in’ heart jumps. We ran into the elevator. Four of us, we rolled up the hose, each guy had fifty feet. WE got off on the seventh floor, the floor below the fire. We got on the staircase and hook into the standpipe. The guys were screamin’ for water and smoke was backin’ up. You’re supposed to have a wheel to turn on the water and the wheel was missin’! Someone stole it in the project. You get these junkies, they steal brass, anything. They steal the shittin’ life. A guy with a truck company came with a claw tool and the water came shootin’ out.
“They started yellin’ for a Scott. It weighs about thirty pounds, got the face mask and cylinder. I couldn’t get the damn thing tight. There’s three straps. I tied one. They need me upstairs. They push you into the room. (Laughs.) This is it. One guy’s layin’ on the floor, and I’m crawlin’, feeling along the hose. The second company comes in with Scotts on. One guy’s got his face piece knocked to the side, so he’s gotta get out because the smoke is gettin’ him. The other guy yells, ‘Give me the nozzle!’ It started whippin’ around, fifty, sixty pounds of pressure. Knocked my helmet off. I grabbed the nozzle. I looked up and saw this orange glow. I start hittin’ it. The damn thing wouldn’t go out. It was a fuckin’ light bulb. (Laughs.) A bulb in the bathroom.
“I felt this tremendous heat to my left. I turn around and this whole f—in’ room was orange, yellow. You can’t see clear through the plastic face piece. You can just see orange and feel the heat. So, I open up with this shittin’ nozzle to bank back the smoke. The guys came in and ventilated, knocked out the windows. A seven-room apartment, with six beds and a crib. That’s how many kids were living there. Nobody was hurt. They all got out.
“There was a lot of smoke. When you have two minutes left on the Scott, a bell starts ringin’. It means get out, you got no oxygen. The thing I don’t like about it, with the piece on your face, you feel confined. But, as I went to more fires, I loved the thing because I know that thing’s life. Ninety percent of the people die from smoke inhalation, not from burns. [¶] You got oxygen. It’s beautiful. But, you can’t see. It’s a shitty feeling when you can’t see. Sometimes a Scott’s bad because it gives you a false sense of security. You go into a room where you’re not supposed to be. You’d be walkin’ into a pizzeria oven and you wouldn’t know it. You can’t see. You feel your way with the hose. You straddle the hose as you get out. You gotta talk to yourself. Your mind’s actually talkin’. I’m sayin’ things like: ‘It’s beautiful. I can breathe. The fire’s over.’”
He talks about a fire before he became a fireman: “In 1958, there was a fire across the street from where I live. It was about one o’clock in the morning. There’s flames on the second floor. I ran up the stairs and grabbed this little girl. She was burnt on the arm. I ran down the street and yelled to the firemen, ‘I got a girl here got burnt!’ They went right past me. I hated the bastards. Now I understand. You gotta put the fire out. There’s more life up there you gotta save. This girl’s outside … It’s real …”
He loves making a difference: “When I was a kid, I was scared of heights. In the fire department you gotta go up a five-story building with a rope around you. You gotta jump off a building. You know the rope can hold sixteen hundred pounds. As long as you got confidence in your body and you know the guy’s holding you, you got nothing to be scared of. I think you perform with people lookin’ at you. You’re in the limelight. You’re out there with the people and kids. Kids wave at you. When I was a kid, we waved at firemen. It’s like a place in the sun.
“Last month, there was a second alarm. I was off duty. I ran over there. I’m a bystander. I see these firemen on the roof, with the smoke pouring out around them, and the flames, and they go in. It fascinates me. Jesus Christ, that’s what I do! I was fascinated by the people’s faces. You could see the pride that they were seein’. The f—in’ world’s so f—ed up, the country’s f—ed up. But, the firemen, you actually see them produce. You see them put out a fire. You see them come out with babies in their hands. You see them give mouth-to-mouth when a guy’s dying. You can’t get around that shit. That’s real. To me, that’s what I want to be. [¶] I worked in a bank. You know, it’s just paper. It’s not real. Nine to five, and it’s shit. You’re lookin’ at numbers. But, I can look back and say, ‘I helped put out a fire. I helped save somebody.’ It shows something I did on this earth.”
CONCLUSION
Patrick found the perfect occupation to fit his personality and make his days meaningful to him. He loves the instant gratification, camaraderie, and great leadership that he believes he can only get in his line of work. If you love these things, too, and are willing to risk all the related dangers and medical problems like Patrick is, firefighting might be the right career for you.
If not, see what other occupations there are in the U.S. and what they’re really like, from the mouths of the people in them, from the “Interviews With” series.
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