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Ranks of Volunteer Firefighters Plummeting Nationwide
Updated: 11-07-2005 10:15:35 AM
RICK HAMPSON
USA TODAY
PENN TOWNSHIP, Pa. -- It took 26 fire companies from three counties last year to fight the fire at Dino's Grille, a two-story wood structure that ignited on a hot Tuesday morning in this town outside Harrisburg. The local volunteer chief still fumes just thinking about it.
When Monte Supko arrived at the scene, he signaled other volunteer departments in the area for help. He needed firefighters. But what he got, mostly, was firetrucks -- many with only one or two people aboard.
By the time sufficient help was assembled and the fire extinguished, Dino's was a smoking wreck. "A parade of half-million-dollar firetrucks didn't help much," he says. "I got mad, because we've waited so long to address the problem."
The problem is this: The volunteer fire company, an institution that dates to Ben Franklin, is slowly going the way of the horse-drawn pumper.
Blame it on the changes in society: longer commutes, two-income households, year-round youth sports, chain stores that won't release workers at midday to jump on a firetruck. Blame it on new folks in town who don't even know the department is volunteer. Blame it on stricter training requirements and fewer big fires and the lure of paying fire jobs in the cities.
There is no greater, longer-running expression of volunteerism in U.S. history than the volunteer fire service, which still saves taxpayers billions of dollars each year. Almost three-fourths of the nation's 1.1. million firefighters are volunteers, and two-thirds of all fire departments are volunteer.
In many communities, the volunteer fire company is a social and civic anchor. Members organize the Fourth of July parade and hang the holiday decorations on Main Street. The volunteer firehouse is the scene of scout meetings, wedding receptions, service club luncheons and knitting bees. It's a place to vote, drink, or hang out.
But even though emergency calls are up, the number of volunteer firefighters has dropped nationally more than 10% over the past two decades. The decline is particularly steep in the Northeast. Pennsylvania, which had about 300,000 volunteers three decades ago, is down to 72,000. New York state, which had 140,000 15 years ago, now has 96,000.
The kinds of volunteers who used to be able to cover weekday calls -- farmers, shop owners, factory shift workers -- are becoming as rare as a firehouse Dalmatian.
Supko remembers when his fire company got a new member a month; there wasn't enough room on its firetrucks for everyone. Now, he says, "nobody wants to join."
The department, which counted 30 active firefighters in the 1970s, is down to fewer than 20. A program to groom high school students has five members, a third of what it used to. It's an issue of time: potential volunteers have less, and firefighting requires more.
<Snip>
"We have to let people know how dangerous this situation is," he says. "We're asking for some help." By that he means money, possibly credits or pensions for volunteers.
But it may be too late for the volunteer fire company as a social institution. "It was the blue-collar country club," says McNally. "You could shoot a little pool and have a beer. It's a relic of a simpler time. But society has changed. The world has changed."
Rest HERE: Firehouse.com - Free
Updated: 11-07-2005 10:15:35 AM
RICK HAMPSON
USA TODAY
PENN TOWNSHIP, Pa. -- It took 26 fire companies from three counties last year to fight the fire at Dino's Grille, a two-story wood structure that ignited on a hot Tuesday morning in this town outside Harrisburg. The local volunteer chief still fumes just thinking about it.
When Monte Supko arrived at the scene, he signaled other volunteer departments in the area for help. He needed firefighters. But what he got, mostly, was firetrucks -- many with only one or two people aboard.
By the time sufficient help was assembled and the fire extinguished, Dino's was a smoking wreck. "A parade of half-million-dollar firetrucks didn't help much," he says. "I got mad, because we've waited so long to address the problem."
The problem is this: The volunteer fire company, an institution that dates to Ben Franklin, is slowly going the way of the horse-drawn pumper.
Blame it on the changes in society: longer commutes, two-income households, year-round youth sports, chain stores that won't release workers at midday to jump on a firetruck. Blame it on new folks in town who don't even know the department is volunteer. Blame it on stricter training requirements and fewer big fires and the lure of paying fire jobs in the cities.
There is no greater, longer-running expression of volunteerism in U.S. history than the volunteer fire service, which still saves taxpayers billions of dollars each year. Almost three-fourths of the nation's 1.1. million firefighters are volunteers, and two-thirds of all fire departments are volunteer.
In many communities, the volunteer fire company is a social and civic anchor. Members organize the Fourth of July parade and hang the holiday decorations on Main Street. The volunteer firehouse is the scene of scout meetings, wedding receptions, service club luncheons and knitting bees. It's a place to vote, drink, or hang out.
But even though emergency calls are up, the number of volunteer firefighters has dropped nationally more than 10% over the past two decades. The decline is particularly steep in the Northeast. Pennsylvania, which had about 300,000 volunteers three decades ago, is down to 72,000. New York state, which had 140,000 15 years ago, now has 96,000.
The kinds of volunteers who used to be able to cover weekday calls -- farmers, shop owners, factory shift workers -- are becoming as rare as a firehouse Dalmatian.
Supko remembers when his fire company got a new member a month; there wasn't enough room on its firetrucks for everyone. Now, he says, "nobody wants to join."
The department, which counted 30 active firefighters in the 1970s, is down to fewer than 20. A program to groom high school students has five members, a third of what it used to. It's an issue of time: potential volunteers have less, and firefighting requires more.
<Snip>
"We have to let people know how dangerous this situation is," he says. "We're asking for some help." By that he means money, possibly credits or pensions for volunteers.
But it may be too late for the volunteer fire company as a social institution. "It was the blue-collar country club," says McNally. "You could shoot a little pool and have a beer. It's a relic of a simpler time. But society has changed. The world has changed."
Rest HERE: Firehouse.com - Free
