The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 3, 1905, Page 3

THE SAN FR/ o MNERN B THE FIREMAN — —_— (8 2 ER IN THE DISCHARGE nt David £ his beau- onged and s it to me it raterial and I am privi- with me that it is wonder- ne of simple is honest, rev- the brink of bey “pertl -and hie courage adornment or doesn” of his le and modest . as tight wild Know that f ,. yet-directed of fire-fighting and n w were work- for them- e out firet ‘harge. of veawtul blocks and ot Berries his fore re he as his family, » upon crutches, the stump of his right leg. swinging help- s proclaiming the Yorfeit he de in the dlscharge in Engine e after 3 o'clock rang in at 4 we: went out on Just & month ago to-da then he wes whole and so0 and strong, this cung men of 8, w a young wife and to work for 2 o y th a life f activity e calling loves. p to that moment, little after 3 o'clock in the cold, daxk morning, all-was finest for eleven signed into the fire de- he was only 21, and never once in that time was be hur ot been & laggard In his work— He had taken the they came, always seelng the lookout for them, ging, mever shirking, and for y and readiness he had been ur years of service in ment he was made assist- 1900 he was made stepping-stone he y to the honor by the very uld give. He had his i oit and it looked very He had th ago, and to-day he s against the wall, his ng himself unbroken M"h{s the easy chair in the man maimed, ess in his be- pe of progress w window, a young his useful been worse,” he says. there on Lohe have have been out phrase as he says it. A always a tender one, as his eyes travel over the pleasant , made gay for bim, and his ear ses the stir of the young wife busy her household duties, and the feel volce of the baby demanding atten- tion, it i mot hard to see how much bet- ter this seems than what might have -en—how heartfelt gratitude fills the A ace that might have rankled with re- sentment against fate. “Jt was a little after 3 o'clock in the taking up e man is nea with morning, he goes_ on, . partment under him—and when *working through the roof. “OF HIS { “how the thing alar m was there alre d had a line in, and I looked for the best place to get in an- other line. 0, nobody doesn’t ‘happen at f in is an understood in. That . way we g0 The captain takes the first line i the lieutenant the second. You n't d around wait- ing for orders. Ycu have to get right in and do what you see ought to be dene. — my partner, Arata, and I took our in, and everything looked all right to us. A fireman doesn't go in Where there appears to be danger unless, of course, there's a reason for it, like getting somebody ov but he can’'t be safe places. He has to take h looked all right when we took our-line in, and we were working away when all of a sudden, without any warn- ing, the wall that fell gave ay and fell toward w If it had gone the « the me f Engine 28 would ha Just , even ak spot in it 1 of a sud partner, Arata, was caught between two beams—that's what saved his life, although hte wae hurt—and 1 was caught under that big beam, a twelve-b; now sixteen. It caught my leg right there,” marking the place, a hand’s width below the ‘stu splintered where it struck me. “We were caught about 4 o'clock—a lit- tle after. It was still dark. It djdn’t look 1o me as if I would get out. “That's what the others thought, too, ‘when they came to get us out. “Lieutenant Everson came in to see what could be done. He was the one who put me on—that is, T went into the de- he saw me—how I was fixed—he came over and put his.arms around me and broke right down amd cried,” For a lttle moment the story doesn't g0 on. Lieutenant Harrison fis living over egaln that scene of proven friendship, end he -isn’t quite sure of his voice, and I am thinking of those two strong men comforting each other In the darkness and.the danger. “Everson measured the distance from where I lay to the door, and he saw they couldn’t get me out that way. He thought and I thought that the only way was by You see, the floor above was ‘stored with packing boxes, and the roof was above that,” and the whole’ thing was liable to come in on me. “So they went to work cutting in from the top. They had to move the packing boxes—passed them along from man to man and got them out. And then they had to bore and cut their way through. They had to be pretty careful to keep the whote thing from coming down on me.” “It muét have taken a long time.” “Yes; "I was there for about five hours—until 10 o'clock, I think. “And your partner, Arata?’ “Well, you see, he wasn't pinned down like I was. I saw it wouldn't take aslong to get him out as it would me, 5o 1 told them to get him out first. It only took about an hour to get him out. “And you were time?” “Yes, all the time. I wasn't uncon- scious any of the time.” 3 nd the fire was burning?” - Yes, and the men were working on it, of course; keeping it back.” From you?” 3 “Yes; They couldn’t play 2 big stream fear of drowning me, and they had play a Nttle one, and I had to keep telling them where. As it was, my leg —the one that was pinned down—was all blistered and burned around the foot and ankle and along the side where the fire got at it.” “And they had to keep the water on conscious all the for to to keep you from being burned to death?” “Yes, and theyv had to be careful about the water to keep me from being drowned. As it was a stream so thick,” and he measures a cir- cle with the thumbs and fingers of both hands, “was kept running almost scross my mouth. To keep out of the water 1 propped myself with my el- bows on the beam that was holding me down, and I had to stay In that po- sition all the time. It was a dreadful strain.” S0 much of a strain that when he was put upon the operating table at the hospital the poor, tired élbows were found rasped raw and bleeding. There was- danger of suffocation from the smoke, there was danger of drowning from the water that had to be played in, there was danger of death from the cruel, creeping fire, there was danger of being crushed by that was one of the troubles. . DUTY the caving in of the heavily laden moor and weakened roof above him, there was. danger of being buried beneath the bricks of the weakened, threat- ening wall near him, and through it all, Dave Harrison lay there the five long hours without ever crying out to his comrades: ve me! Save ME Through it all he lay there, black- ened with smoke and grime, soaked to the skin and shivering, the heavy beam pressing upon the splintered bones and lacerated flesh of his leg, the fire gnawing at foot and ankle, yet calmer than the men who were working to save him. Calmer, perhaps, because they working with the frenzied fear and pity of comrades’ love for the brave fellow. Calmer because every thought- ful, patient word he said to them, beg- ging them to leave him and not risk their own lives for him, made their hearts in their throats choke them, and the tears wash little rivulets through the grime-on their blackened cheeks. When things looked at ‘their worst he said: “Don’t try to get me out, boys. Let I'm only one man. There's no need of more lives to be lost.” When the e was eating its way in here and there he told them where to fight it back, he being on the in- side and at a point of vantage. When the men above were cutting their way ‘through he told them the weak places to'avoid and warned them back from danger. were. sawing the were me alone. big When they beam throligh—the last of the work of freeing bim—and faltered for fear of sawing into the leg, he urged them and directed them. “Because,” ne gxplains, naively, “of course I knew where they could saw. where it It was MY leg, add I knew was hurt.” When they had sawed the beam through, and quick, ready hands were slipped under arms and shoulders to draw him free, it was he himself who made the last supreme effort and helped them to get him out. Then they laid him so gently on the stretcher and hurried him to the Pa- cific Hospital. There in the fullness of sympathy everything gave' way to him. The operating room had been prepared for an operation to be performed that morning, but the operation was post- poned and the place was his for the im- mediate dressing of his wounds. “I never saw anything like 1t1” “There's not a braver man where.” “He never once thought of himself, or complained, or begged us to do any- thing for him.” “A flask of whisky was brought to him, but he wouldn't touch it. He said if he didn’t get out he wanted to dle with his mind clear.” These are the things the men who did .the work of rescue tell you. And when they go into detalls of their long fight for his life they have a way of choking up and breaking off in the middle of a sentence—even at this late day, a month after the fire. 1 ask Lieutenant Harrison how was that he was able to stand strain so patiently. : “Well, you see,” he says with grave simplicity, “I had my spiritual adviser with me. Father, McGough of St Francis Church—the Rev. Father Mc- Gough”—he says with the punctilious insistence ot the habit of respect, “came to me. My sister heard about the accident at about € o'clock and she went to him and told him and he brought the euchatist (he put it in a little sort of a pocket-book) and came to ,.ine, When I saw him come in there, when 1 saw Mm take the chance, for there was danger for him as well as for everybody else, it cheered me up. any- it the ® %3 7 HE reason why women don’t walk well as a rule is that they are too dressed up to walk. Thelr heels are too high; their shoes too un- comfortable, thelr waists too tight and thefr necks too pinched. Often the hat is too heavy for comfortable walking. The woman who has walked a dozen squares wants to sit down and rest. 5 The American girl is graceful enough in other things, but when it comes to walk- ing, even so small & matter as the enter- ing of a room, she shows her lack of per- fection. - She either drags her feet or else she flings them. She either lags or -md‘u. Have your shoes a little too narrow and a little too long. Don't wear tight, short shoes. If your foot is wide sad fat it will gradually become long and narrow by this course of treatment. Wear thin stockings and have them of l/”,l"' Sty ‘When anybody does a thing like that for you you can’'t complain. He-blessed me and stayed there with me and talked to me. I was ready to go; I was pre- pared if I had to die—I guess that was [or v el { GRACE IN CARRIAGE AND GAIT | the texture which best suits your feet. When ‘you walk set down your feet squarely. Strike your heel or your toe just as you prefer. There are people who can strike the tce first. The Oriental, who has very supple feet, finds no trouble striking the ball of the foot first, - Set your feet down at right angles. Walk slowly. Skirts wind around your calves when you walk rapldly and you lose all semblance of grace. Hold yourichin up. This 1s the most important thing of all. Once upon a time there may have lived a woman who could duck her chin and still look pretty. But she isn’t alive now. = The woman who walks gracefully must learn how to use her feet. In walking the feet should move forward and the toe; should turn out. A great many women toe in. Here is the way to walk into a parlor: Move across the room very slowly. Hold your head up and glide. Don’t take long —~— “Yes, I thought of my mother and my sisters and——of my wife and baby. Our baby was only one month old then and my wife wasn't so very strong so they didn’t tell her about me until I was all fixed up in the hospital. Then they told her I'd had an accldent and that only a bone in my leg was splintered, and brought her to see me. ‘While I was lying there it seems to me I thought of everybody that belonged to me and of everything I'd ever done in my life. “I was glad then,” he says with the utmost sweetne: of simplicity, un- boastfully, gratefully, “that I'd lived a pretty straight life. That I'd not done anybody any wrong. “I had plenty of time .to think.” “The five hours seemed long?” “Like fifty years to me.” I say something inadvertently about it taking a brave man to do what he did. “It's a thing that might happen to any man,” he corrects me. “A fireman has to expect that sort of thing. Every time he goes out on a call he takes his life In his hand. Every man who goes into the department intending to do his duty knows that, and he's ready to risk He can’t stand around outside look- ing for a soft snap. He has to keep what made it easler for me.” “Still it seemed very hard, didn’t it?" A tear glistens In each of the stead- fest, kindest palr of blue eyes I ever saw as he says: steps and don't make short cuts. See your path clear before you start. ‘The woman who moves about the house with her hands on her hips makes a sad mistake. She robs herself of every grace- ful outline. The hands should not be on the hips. It is awkward, uncomfortable and it makes the gown set badly. Hold your shoulders back. Don't try to draw them down. Merely hold them way back. That will give you an erect car- riage. Stout women look best with the hands at rest at the sides. Let your hands hang, slightly curl the fingers. This is the best of all positions for the very fat woman. One should practice walking on narrow ledges. The woman who walks a crack in the floor or a plank in the back garden will be more graceful for her efforts. Many women cannot walk straight. They bump into you as they walk. They don’t know how to steer straight aheac. Try to do the simple things gracefully. If you lift your arms, do it well. Try to observe the poetry of motion. 5 § his eyes open for a’ chance to get's good shot at the fire. That's what we call {t—a good shot. That's what made me go In that morning—I saw the chance to get a good shot at the fire ° and it was my business to go In. That's all there is to that. . “This,” dropping an eloquent hand upon the poor stump of leg, “happened to me—but K's only what a fireman has to expect. Of course, some of us get through all right all our lives— and take the chances, too, but then some of us donm't. “I don’t mind telling you about how the thing happened If it will make peo- ple understand what firemen go against- every day of their lives. There are people who say we're just a lat of bums, but—" How I wish type afd Printers’ Ink" could convey to- you the contempt In his volce for people who say that! For it is men like this, bringing a spirit like this to their dangerous work, to whom we have to look for the safety of our lives and property agalnst one of the flercest of destsoyers, and they get for their work: C Do you knqw how much? The officer’s pay of Lieutenant rison is $100 a month. « s = After all that he has suffered, after all his terrible experience there is ne trace of bitterness in his feeling.’ For a week the doctors tried to save his leg and then he had to facé the ordeal of losing it, and now as he sits in the sunny bow window at home wel- coming his many visitors cordially there is no complaining word. Even as In his extremity during those unforgettable five hours he thinks of others instead of Pimself nowy “You'll say a kind word for the hés- pital,” he asks, “no ome could "have. been better treated than I was trgated there. o “And no one could have had better doctors than I had. They weré Dr. Botkin and Dr. Gallwey and Dr. Fried- hoter. “And the men who got me out—I owe my life to them and to the way In which Chiefs Sullivan and McClosky and Murphy directed them. e “And my friends; I didn't know I had 8o many friends until this happened to me. From fifty to a hundred people a day called to ask about me at the hes- pital. They couldn’t see me, for I was too sick, but they came anyhow just to find out how I was getting along. “And on the day I was hurt there were people here In my neighborhood who cried all day when they heard about it~—who couldn’t speak of the ac- cident without crying. A “It's almost worth suffering to find out that you have such friends.” The world takes measure of m.en ac- cording to their power, their talents, their culture, their riches, but how, like so much dross, do these outward and lald-on adornments crumble away In congrast with this real and simple man’s manliness. ‘What more, after all, can the great- est man or the humblest than just his duty,’and that being done, meet hic Creator with soul unafraid? Har-