Brilliant to Buffoon in 10 Seconds Flat

Recently I took my son on a three-day adventure for school to Deep Portage Learning Center.

For the most part, the trip went as well as one could expect, chaperoning a cadre of exuberant fifth graders on outdoor adventures.

The problems started the first night and it wasn’t with a student. It was with a parent. The fellow chaperone sharing our room snored so bad that I did not sleep at all the first night (making me wish I would have taken my computer because I would have had lots of time to work on things). But I didn’t because I was being the “good father” who left his work behind. Being up all night with nothing to do when I had so much to do was quite the source of frustration.

I was so bored that I did the crossword puzzle in an old newspaper that was sitting in the break room. For anyone who knows me well, you know I was in agony.

By midway through the second day I was having so much fun that I actually forgot about the misery of the first night. But it all came back to me about 10 minutes after “lights out” and the snoring erupted. Honestly! Is it possible for someone to make that much noise and not wake themselves up? That is a medical mystery that needs research!

I could not take it anymore. I got out of bed and I went on a quest to find earplugs. Surely this was not the first time something like this had happened and the staff would be prepared. But the staff were all in bed and I was to fend for myself.

Snooping around in the break room I found… mini marshmallows. Brilliant! They looked to be about the size of ear plugs. I pulled one out of the bag and depressed it between my thumb and forefinger. It was soft and pliable. I tried one in my ear for fit. It was perfect. I had found my solution. I felt like Edison must have felt after discovering the telephone.

I stuffed one in each ear and off to bed I went. They worked splendidly. I could still hear a faint sound that had snoring features, but it was dulled enough that I could sleep. And off to dreamland I went.

I awoke sometime during the night, realizing I needing to use the restroom. I got up and walked to the bathroom and while I was in there I realized my earplugs were working so well that I could hardly hear my stream hitting the water in the toilet. Again, I marveled at my brilliance.

As I walked back to bed I thought it’d be wise to check the positioning of my earplugs before I bedded down again because they were working so well I surely didn’t want one to fall out. As I reached into my right ear with the tip of my finger I realized, immediately, that I had a BIG problem. The marshmallow had melted.

The reason my earplugs were working so well is that they had formed an airtight seal of goo in my ear. What a buffoon! Why didn’t I realize they would melt? What do I do now? If I go back to bed and they continue to melt and ooze back to my eardrum I’m going to have a really big problem on my hands.

Fortunately, my survival skills kicked in as I remembered that I had brought Q-Tips along. I took one Q-Tip and gently rolled it in a circular motion at the entrance to my right ear and, even to my amazement, it worked. The marshmallow clung to the cotton and I was able to extract the entire blob out. A second Q-tip had equal success in the left ear and I was once again elevated to brilliant status.

And then… it was back to purgatory as I had to listen to the other dad snore the rest of the night. As I lay there, I contemplated the possibility of stuffing mini marshmallows up his nose. Not that I thought it would stop his snoring, but at least he'd have a big mess to clean up when he awoke refreshed. And I'd start my day off feeling vindication for my "near deaf" experience.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Surviving a plane crash

I recently taught a firefighter safety program at the Utah Winter Fire School in St. George, Utah. To get there I flew Delta Airlines from Minneapolis to Salt Lake City and then SkyWest Airlines from Salt Lake City to St. George. I always scares me to fly on commuter planes. I know too much about airline safety and accidents. I know that many commuter pilots have far less experience on the flight deck than their seasoned counterparts who fly large commercial airplanes. I also know that lack of experience can lead to accidents (not necessarily on Sky West, but on commuter flights in general).

As we flew over the Dixie National Forest and Zion National Park, the landscape didn't change much - Lots of snow covered mountains, wilderness and frozen lakes. Once we crossed over the last plateau before St. George, the sun had just set and the lights of the city were in view. I could even see the airport off the port side (left side) if the plane. From the air, airports that land commercial airlines are not difficult to see. There is a large, rotating green and white beacon and there are strobe likes blinking in sequence to guide the pilot to the center of the runway.

There was no doubt in my mind that what I saw off the left was plane was the airport. Only problem is... we weren't turning left toward the airport, we were flying straight ahead. As I watched us lose altitude, I reasoned with myself that the pilot would, at some point, bank left and we would be on course to land at the airport. But that didn't happen. We kept going straight and we kept losing altitude.

Panic started to set in. Was I the only one that could see we were NOT landing at the AIRPORT? Should I depress my flight attendant call button and request she notify the pilots they we were landing in the wrong place? I held my composure, though I still contemplate if that was the right thing to do.

We were still several thousand feet above the city lights so, technically, there was still time for the pilots to turn the craft and land at the airport. Then... much to my startlement, we made contact with the ground. I about had a bowel movement right there in seat 3A. The pilots seemed to be in control of the plane. That is to say we were not tumbling tail over nose ala the United Airlines Flight 232 that landed in the corn field in Sioux City, Iowa in 1989.

It sure seemed plausible to me that we'd landed in a corn field. How could a small town like St. George, Utah have TWO airports? But, as I looked out the window, we did appear to be at an airport. There was a terminal and a jetway. I got off the plane and sent a text message to my host that I was ready for pick up.

When he arrived at the airport, the first thing he said was "I wasn't sure if I should pick you up at the old airport or the new airport." "New airport?" I inquired. "Yes" he replied. "It opened this morning. It was a big deal here. We even had the governor in town. Did you know we have a new airport?" the host asked. "I sure do and I even know where it's located."

There I stood... in the "old airport"... feeling stupid in my perspiration-soaked shirt... having survived the closest thing to a plane crash I had ever experienced.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
http://www.richgasaway.com/

Just doing my part...

Recently I checked into my hotel after a long day of travel. It's not unusual for me to be on 5-8 airplanes in a week so when I get to my hotel, I always welcome a fresh, clean and inviting room. Little things mean a lot to a road-weary traveler. After I unpacked I decided to take a shower and settle in for some reading before bed.

In the bathroom there was a sign that said the hotel had gone "green" and they were doing their part to concern our precious natural resources. In this case - water. The sign informed me if I wanted to reuse my towel, I could hang it up on the rack and that would be the indicator to housekeeping that they would not have to replace it. If I want to have the towel replaced, then I should leave it on the floor.

As I was getting into the shower I wondered if campaigns like these are really effective or if they are just the hotel's way to jump on the "we've gone green" bandwagon. I didn't think about it long though. For as I turned the water on, I realized the shower head was no ordinary shower head. Oh no. It was the Speakman S-2222-HS-CP dual showerhead with two full spray 50-jet nozzles and massage spray features attached to a solid brass manifold with chrome plated plungers.

After what seemed like an hour in the bliss of this shower Nirvana (an exaggeration of time.... I'm sure it was no more than 30 minutes... ok 40 minutes max), I got out, dried off and hung my towel on the rack. I wanted to be sure to do my part to conserve our precious natural resources, in this case - water.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP

http://www.richgasaway.com/

The land of the free and the home of the brave

I have known for almost a year of my son’s plans to become a United States Marine. His decision to go that route did not surprise me much. He has always been patriotic. He would always sing the National Anthem when it was played. I notice things like that – especially as I would notice the other young men around us standing silent. Did they not know the words or were they choosing simply not to sing the Anthem? Though I wondered, I guess the answer didn’t really matter. What mattered to me most was MY son stood proud with his hand over his heart singing.

He shipped off this week for his thirteen weeks of basic training – an adventure I affectionately termed “summer camp” fully aware it would be unlike any summer camp he’d ever attended. Was he prepared for this? Had we raised him right? How would we know? How does any parent know when the day comes to turn your son or daughter loose into the grown-ups world if you’ve done it right?

The comfort I drew from as I contemplated these questions did not come from anything I had done, but what he had done that proved him ready – proved him worthy – of being a Marine. He had been a fire explorer and rose to the highest officer rank within that organization. He was a competitive swimmer for six years and was selected to be the co-captain of the high school swim team and receiving awards for being most-improved and most inspirational. He took EMT class as a high school elective, competing in (and winning) the state high school EMT competition. Then he went on to the national competition in Orlando and won third in the nation. He had been a boy scout for eight years, rising to the rank of Eagle scout, being inducted into the Order of the Arrow and was voted into the Vigil – the national honor society of the boy scouts – a honor bestowed on less than one percent of all scouts.

Reflecting back, it seems as though nearly everything he did from age 12 through graduation culminated in his rise to a leadership position. Yes, he was ready to be a United States Marine.

Even as he prepared to ship he was setting goals. “Dad, I want to be the Company Honorman.” I didn’t know what that was so he had to explain to me that each company has one person selected to carry the Guide (the flag of the company) during the graduation ceremony. This will be the only Marine in the company in a Class-A uniform. I remember thinking to myself, almost humorously, “That sure will make you easier to see at graduation.” (But I didn’t tell him that.) The selection criteria for company honorman is not widely known but if it is based on leadership, I think he is well prepared.

There are several good websites designed to support Marine recruits and their families. These sites tell parents what their Marine sons and daughters will be doing every week of their training. Watching the videos on those sites assure me that the Marines are doing a thorough job of preparing my son for the honored task of protecting the freedom all of us enjoy, and many take for granted. Remember, we are the land of the free because we are the home of the brave who protect our freedoms around the world.

Semper Fi, my son, and to all service men and women – recruits, reservists, active duty and retired.

Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.richgasaway.com

Marine support websites
www.recruitparents.com
www.marineparents.com

If you want a big tip from me, you'd better give exceptional service.

Recently during my travels I had dinner alone at a restaurant. That's not unusual at all as program hosts usually want to go home to their families after a long day in the classroom and I am left to fend for myself for dinner. Ok, enough of the self-pity party, that's not the point.

For dinner I had a Cobb Salad (one of my favorite on-the-road salads) and a glass of water to drink. The bill came to around $9.50. I realize that's not a big ticket dinner item, but the service was lousy. The waiter didn't even come back to my table during my meal. The salad was delivered by someone else, so essentially I saw this waiter two times, once when he took my order and once when he dropped off the bill. I had a $50 bill that I wanted to change up for a cab ride in the morning so I set the $50 on top of the bill at the end of the table. The service was not good and I contemplated how much tip I should leave.

As I was contemplating what to leave for a tip the waiter came by, picked up the money and the bill and said "Do you need me to bring you change?" I realize that is probably a standard waiter response when they pick up a check and I suspect he said it without even looking at the denomination of the money, but he should have.

I was tempted to ask if he thought the quality of his service and the personal attention he had paid to me during my dinner was worth a $40 tip on a $10 bill, but I didn't say a word. I let my tip do the talking for me... which is a shame because I have been known to give 30-50% tips when the service is impressive.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Tis the season

I hate politics. In fact, I have a relatively healthy disdain for most politicians. I guess I've seen too much of the ugly side of politics in my thirty years of public service.

Don't get me wrong, along the way I have come across a few whose intentions were righteous and who were true public servants. But I have to honestly say they have been few and far between. Most have been very selfish in their motives, often thinking they were hiding it well (but they weren't).

I was told one time by a very seasoned elected official that the true motivation of every politician is to get re-elected. While I don't know if that's true for all, I can certainly say I've seen my share who look for every angle to make themselves look better than they deserve. Whether that's a photo opportunity with uniformed personnel (after just voting no for the purchase of a critical piece of safety equipment) or publicly praising the efforts of police officers and firefighters after bashing the same people in an executive session to discuss their union contract.

Now it's political season and we are being peppered with mean spirited ads on TV including name calling, back stabbing and mud slinging that have little to do with the real issues we average Americans care about. I see yard signs springing up all over the place for people that most voters know little about. It's scary to think that someone might actually vote for a candidate because that's the name they see most often on a yard sign.

I recall one election where a candidate I would rate as pathetic was running for an office that was important in my community. There were yard signs everywhere for this candidate - enough to cause me to believe this person had an amazing (and unbelievable) amount of support in the community. As I groused about this to another elected official, I was promptly reminded "Yard signs don't vote. People vote." A sage observation. The rogue politician lost the election and our community was much better off for that.

I can't wait for the political season to be over. Political elections are like eating sausage. You may enjoy the outcome, but you sure don't want to watch it being made. I think my blood pressure dropped 20 points the day I retired from being a public official, thanks to the politician-ectomy that occurred that day.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Above the rules

Recently I was on a flight from Minneapolis to Denver. The forward door was closed and the flight attendant instructed everyone to turn off and stow their electronic devices.

Apparently the guy sitting next to me had some sort of special dispensation from the rules as he continued to text. No big deal, we haven't pulled away from the gate yet, so I let it go.

Then we started our push back... still texting.

Then we were on our taxi down the tarmack toward the runway... still texting.

If there is a downside to all the research I have done on aviation safety it's knowing a little too much about how accident occur, including how latent two-way devices (like cell phones and wi-fi) have impacted the navigation equipment on the flight deck.

I politely asked the guy to turn off his device. He snarled and cussed at me and told me to mind my own business. I guess I could have told him it was my business because if the plane crashes because of his text messaging, I would be very inconvenienced by that.

I simply said the flight attendant had instructed the passengers to turn off and stow all electronic devices. He cussed at me again.

I told him if he didn't turn it off I would call for the flight attendant. He snarled and cussed again. DING - went the bell as I depressed the flight attendant call button. The flight attendant had already been seated and belted so she was not real happy to get up and come back to see what the problem was.

I told her what had transpired (and the guy was STILL texting). She told him to turn it off and stow it. He cussed at her and told her he'd turn it off when he was done. She told him if he didn't turn it off right now, she'd ask the pilot to return to the gate and he would be removed.

He turned it off, jammed it down into the carry-on bag between his legs, searched through the bag and angrily pulled out a copy of "Flying" magazine and prominently set it on his lap so I could see it.

Honestly, did he think I would be impressed that he owned a magazine with a Cessna on the cover? Well, if that's what he was going for, he was surely disappointed when I didn't apologize for asking a "pilot" (assuming he was one and hadn't simply found a copy of the magazine on the floor in the bathroom stall) to turn off his cell phone during the taxi.

He spent the next forty minutes turning the pages of the magazine with such anger that each flip made a loud noise. He wasn't happy with me and I was sending me a message.

Why do some people think they are above the rules?

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Is the message you are sending what you intended?

One of the greatest frustrations many people face is being misunderstood. When you are having a conversation, it is much easier to realize it is happening because the other person might tell you they don’t understand. But what about when the communications isn’t face to face. For example, the boss drafts a memo or policy and posts it on the bulletin board for everyone to read… and “understand.” But do they?

Allow the attached picture to serve as an example. The first grade teacher’s assignment was simple. Draw a picture that illustrates what your mommy or daddy does for a living. Armed with their Crayons and colored pencils, the kids went to work, proudly drawing a parent hard at work.

When one youngster brought the assignment home, imagine the horror on her mom’s face as she viewed the picture. What must the teach think of Mom? Had little Sally revealed the family’s deep, dark secret of how the family affords to live in a nice neighborhood and drive a nice car?

Read on…

After viewing the picture, Mom wrote a note to the teacher explaining that she is not a pole dancer in an exotic club, as the picture might depict. Rather, she works at Home Depot and she had recently told her daughter about her day at work when there was a snow storm coming and everyone was trying to buy snow shovels from Mom.

What kind of pictures are you drawing in your communications with others?

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP

www.RichGasaway.com

I was having such a good day...

I was having such a good day. What does a good day mean in my pathetic life? I woke up (I always count that as a good start to the day). Got the kids up and off to school and went to the office (the neighborhood coffee shop). Read and sent some e-mails, wrote a blog entry, and made a couple of phone calls. Yes, that’s as good as it gets on most days for me.

I left the coffee shop with a fresh cup of java around lunch time to check my post office box. I had a couple of checks in the mail! Booya! My good day got even better. As I was leaving the post office something happened that was going to change all that.

In front of me a blue-haired lady driving a early model sedan pulled right out in front of me. I remember thinking to myself… Hmmm… this is not good. She didn’t even see me, she’s going about 4 MPH and I am now sliding in the icy roadway approaching the rear end of her car at about 15 MPH. I did some quick calculations which resulted in the realization I was going to meet her in a very unpleasant way rather soon.

To avoid this, I had what appeared, at the time, to be a reasonable option. I would swerve to the right where snow was piled along the roadside. I would probably end up way up in the snow and have to be towed. But, I would not hit the elderly lady.

I put the plan into action and steered into the snow. It seemed like such a good plan until my car did not drive through the snow, but rather, drove UP the snow bank and before I knew it, my car was in its roof.

There I was, upside down, sliding on a icy roadway, metal screeching, and glass breaking all around me. I’m thinking “This isn’t good.” Up to that moment, I was having such a good day.

And there I was, suspended upside down, taking stock of my inventory. All my body parts are present and accounted for. But, like the song, there was something warm running in my eye. I must have hit my head. I released the seatbelt and it took a little ingenuity to figure out how to get the brake pedal depressed (which was now above me) and get the car into park and turned off. That alone was a comical feat.

I crawled out of the car, expecting the person who cut me off to be standing there, apologetic for her careless act of cutting me off. Nope, she was long gone. I don’t think she even know it happened. There were no witnesses. However, it’s amazing that once you put your car on its roof you start to attract gawkers as if you were giving away free $50 bills for everyone to stop by and ask what happened.

Thankfully, my injuries were very minor. The car, on the other hand, didn’t fare so well. It was considered a total loss by the insurance company. Now, I get to go shopping for a replacement car.

I am thankful the little old lady was not injured. I am thankful I was not injured. I am thankful there was not another car coming from the other direction. That would have been painful. I am thankful I was alone and none of my family had to endure that traumatic event. So, all in all, even with the accident, it was still a good day.

Oh, the something warm running in my eye… was my coffee!

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Father-Son Bonding

Sometimes, when you’re least expecting, an opportunity for bonding comes into your midst. Such was the case today when I took my eldest son to the hardware store. It seemed like such a non-event, picking up a couple of replacement bolts and washers. But, for some reason, this trip was special for me.

Just before Christmas he decided that when he graduates he’s going to serve our country as a United States Marine. I am very proud of him and the direction he has chosen. Now, every moment spent together is even more precious. Even a trip to the hardware store and a discussion about bolts and washers becomes special time.

All parents know the day will come when our little ones leave the nest and venture out into the grown ups world. We wonder if we’ve taught them everything they need to know to be successful… to be happy… to be safe. I guess we never really know.

I recall the countless number of times I growled at him for playing video war games. Now I question if he played enough of those games to develop skills that will help him survive as a Marine. I guess those questions will be answered in time.

In the meantime, I will take advantage of every opportunity I can to bond over bolts and washers in the hardware store, and pray to God with all my might that he is ever vigilant. Semper Fi, my son, Semper Fi.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com
... and proud parent of a soon-to-be United States Marine