It’s been 27 years since my dad was a volunteer firefighter but time hasn’t dampened the memories compiled over a 17-year career.
And it was certainly top of mind as he heard about Enderby firefighter Daniel Botkin dying during an explosion at a log home manufacturer Dec. 29.
“It’s just terrible,” said my dad of the loss of the 25-year-old Botkin who had just got married in the fall.
My dad, Maurice, was 25-years-old when he joined the Westbank department in 1968. He‘d been married for almost two years and his first born (me) was just a year old.
There were also duties at the packinghouse where he worked, but he never thought twice about becoming a firefighter.
“The community needed firemen,” he said of Westbank, which was small and largely agricultural and home to his family since 1928.
“But there was also camaraderie as much as anything. A bunch of my friends were in it.”
And the fire department expanded the circle of friends for the entire family through children’s Christmas parties, barbecues, ball tournaments and Grey Cup parties. While other kids played with Tonkas, I climbed real fire trucks.
But beyond the fun, there was a serious side to firefighting.
Countless hours were spent away from home upgrading skills and, as my dad rose through the ranks, training others. Emergencies being emergencies, it was never known when the central fire bell, phone or pager, as technology progressed, would sound off. It wasn’t uncommon to be roused from a deep sleep just a few hours before work and told to head to the hall. Dinners often went cold.
Once on scene, the firefighters never knew what was facing them, and that was particularly the case on a bitterly cold February night in 1979. The waterfront packinghouse in Peachland was being consumed by flames and the Westbank crew provided assistance.
“We were on the roof and it started to collapse in on itself,” remembers my dad.
“It sunk so far you couldn’t walk without the help of the hose.”
Eventually, Dad and the other firefighters got to a ladder and clambered safely back to the ground.
“The deputy chief was charging around to make sure no one had gone in there,” said Dad of what remained of the charred interior.
On another night, Dad found himself in the basement of a building fully engulfed.
“The floor above us burned out and the fridge came through from the top and hit the floor (I was standing on),” he said.
“It was pretty scary but no one got hurt.”
During the early 1970s, the Westbank Growers packinghouse caught on fire, and acetylene canisters were rocketing up into the air.
“They were whipping around and you didn’t know where they would come down. Some guys quit over that one,” he said.
Dad was aware of the risks he was taking but the one who worried the most was my mom, at home with two boys and wondering if her husband would return.
“When fire lights up the night sky, there is always an element of danger,” said Dad.
And we were lucky because Dad always did walk through the door again.
Because of that, I can’t relate to the pain and loss facing Botkin’s family and the Enderby Fire Department.
But it gives me a renewed respect for those who place their lives on the line so my family has a sense of security. Whether you are a career or volunteer firefighter, full-time or auxiliary police officer, paramedic or Search and Rescue member, you have my sincerest gratitude.
My thoughts and prayers go out to everyone in Enderby affected by this tragedy, and I hope that our dedicated emergency personnel continue to return home safely to their loved ones.
—Richard Rolke is the senior reporter for The Morning Star... richard@vernonmorningstar.com
