Firefighters Helping the Homeless

I was encouraged by this article in the Bee today:

At Station 14, those on streets are 'our people'
Firefighters serving city's homeless population say job is difficult yet rewarding.
By Jocelyn Wiener - Bee Staff Writer
Published 12:00 am PST Thursday, December 21, 2006

"There's a certain stigma attached to working at Station 14.

Men and women bundled in faded jackets and skullcaps push shopping carts and overloaded bicycles up and down the street outside the aging two-story building.

The guys who staff the fire station -- 12 total, four on each shift -- say other firefighters think it sounds boring to work in the quiet station on North C Street near downtown that's lodged among the city's major homeless service providers. They consider it depressing to cover a neighborhood where so many residents are so down and so out.

The guys at Station 14 admit there are days when their hearts sink. But they are proud of the work they do.

Several years ago, they chose a shopping cart for their station logo. The image is printed on their sweatshirts, encircled by the words "We make housecalls to the homeless." They checked the logo out with homeless advocates to make sure they weren't offending anyone.


"We wanted people to know this was our neighborhood, and these are the people we help," said firefighter Arturo Casarez, who has worked at the station for a dozen years. "We call them our people, and they call us their fire department."

They know many of the faces of the men and women who populate the street outside the station. They know a few of their names. They interact with the homeless mostly during medical emergencies. Some have seizures. Others have ankles so swollen they can hardly walk. Many have difficulties acquiring needed medications.

There's usually at least one emergency call a day to Friendship Park, a gathering spot for the homeless half a block away, they say. They walk there, rather than take the fire engine.

"They're marvelous, absolutely," said Suzi Ettin, the nurse at Friendship Park who often makes the emergency calls.

The homeless tend to wait a long time before seeking medical attention, the firefighters say. By the time they ask for help, they usually need it.

"A lot of people out here want to be invisible," Casarez said. "They just want to get by."

For Capt. John Fierro, the hardest thing about working at Station 14 is answering the door at night and finding confused youngsters outside. They're often new to the streets, seeking blankets and direction. It seems to Fierro there are more of those lost kids these days. It pains him to see their futures slipping away.

He does his best to show some compassion. It's the least he can do, he says. He doesn't have any blankets.

Casarez recalls how upset he was the night some guys in a truck sped by, shooting paintballs at people sleeping on the street. Two of the victims knocked on the door of Station 14. They had big welts on their faces from being shot at close range.

Fierro, 52, chose to come to Station 14 five years ago after Casarez, 54, recruited him. Fierro has been with the department for 26 years, Casarez, 21. Both plan to finish their careers at Station 14. Sometime soon after they leave, the station likely will be rebuilt and relocated, said Capt. Jim Doucette, a department spokesman.

The current station has been there since at least the 1940s, when it housed the American River Fire District, said Loran Wolcott, a retired firefighter and chairman of the Pioneer Mutual Hook and Ladder historical society. The city annexed the station in 1958. It is now desperately outdated, Doucette said. The station's location on a dead-end street often filled with people is dangerous, Wolcott said.

The new station -- which may be built in the Richards Boulevard area -- will still cover the same homeless service providers and warehouses. But moving will bring some changes to a long-standing relationship.

Right now, the guys at Station 14 provide a garden hose during the summer so people can fill their water bottles and cool off.

When they work out in the garage, they keep the door open and wave to people passing by.

Every few months, the homeless children at Mustard Seed School next door come by for tours of the station.

The firefighters are careful with what they say during the fire safety talks. They don't ask, "Do you sleep with your bedroom door closed?" because the children may not have bedroom doors. They avoid, "Do your mom and dad have a smoke alarm?" because they don't know whether the children have moms and dads. They give them stickers to make them smile, even if just for a moment.

Sometimes people stop in to chat. Many tell them that, once upon a time, they worked as volunteer firefighters.

One man in particular stands out for Casarez. His name was Elliott Dawkins.

His nickname on the street was "5150." But underneath mental health problems and a rather haggard appearance was a very gentle guy, Casarez said.

Many homeless women considered him their protector.

"He was just Elliott. No danger to anyone," Casarez said.

Dawkins always greeted Casarez and the others at Station 14 affectionately. He called them all "Captain."

After Dawkins was murdered in early 2004, Casarez felt rather broken up.

He asked permission from his captain to attend Dawkins' memorial service over at Friendship Park.

The place was packed. Casarez understands why."