We all have gifts to share, what is yours?
By Vernon Hiller | We all have opportunities to pass along lessons we have learned over the years. This story illustrates the impact that one person had on the life of another.
By: Vernon Hiller for Sankarsingh-Gonsalves Productions
Some of us if we’re lucky, at one point or another in our lives, cross paths with a special person who leaves us with a gift we might otherwise never have received. For me, that person was the first captain I had after joining the fire department. He was a quiet, unassuming, rather serious man who had only a grade 8 or 10 education but was quite possibly the smartest person I had ever met. Barry was of average height and build with a rough exterior and a complexion that always looked like it was covered in a thin layer of soot. One had to assume it was either from a job he had just come from, all the cigarettes he smoked, or just residue from a lifetime of fighting fires without any breathing apparatus. Although trained as a small engine mechanic, Barry had a wide variety of interests and could always be found reading at every opportunity. If I had a question about firefighting, or even anything outside the job, nine out of ten times he knew the answer. If he didn’t, he would go off, look it up, and come back in a few days with an answer. This was before the internet, so I assume that either he had books at home or had researched the answer at the library.
Barry was a strict Captain but fair. We trained regularly, knew the truck inside out and kept the station spotless. Regardless of the call, he was always calm, cool and collected. He would always tell us that there was no reason to be nervous. We didn’t create the problem, so if we remembered our training and stayed focussed, we could only make things better. After all, sixty percent of the job was simply common sense.
A few months after being assigned to his crew, we responded to an early morning house fire in a court a few blocks from our station. It was chaos the moment we arrived. People were out in the street moving their vehicles and screaming for us to save their homes. A new two-storey unbricked house was fully involved with flames that were impinging on both occupied adjoining houses. We stopped briefly to catch the hydrant and then with a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth and his patch coat still undone, Barry stepped out of the cab, pointed to our 65mm hose lines, and without uttering a word, gestured for myself and my partner to take a line to either side of the house to protect the exposures. As our station was close to our city’s border, it took a while for other apparatus to arrive. When we arrived, Barry said very little on the air beyond indicating we had a fully involved house fire, but I’ll never forget the image of the second arriving pumper captain who got out of his truck and ran towards us yelling, “We need more trucks…more trucks.” That captain was the perfect antithesis to Barry’s calm, confident demeanour. Although there was no saving the unoccupied wooden framed house, everything was under control. When the fire was out, the adjoining houses had sustained only minimal heat damage. No vehicles were damaged, everyone was safe, and calm had been restored.
It was standard procedure that all radio transmissions were recorded by Communications. Not surprisingly, the tape from that incident became somewhat of an example of how to remain cool under pressure. But it was the contrast between the chaos we pulled up to and the calm in Barry’s voice that caught people’s attention. It didn’t take long before the guys in the communications room began to jokingly play it for anyone willing to listen. In a quiet, monotone voice Barry announced, “Pump 2 arrived 22 Littleborough Ct. We have a fully involved unoccupied two-storey house with flames impinging on adjoining houses. Pump 2 catching the hydrant and engaging in fire attack. Send full fire response.” Classic Barry.
Over the years I got to know a little more about Barry. I learned that he and his wife owned a company that serviced industrial boilers, that he lived on a small farm, had a tool for everything, and was a millionaire. When I first met him I knew nothing about DIY. Apart from building tree houses as a kid and some summer jobs demolishing a school and doing custodial work, I never had done any carpentry, electrical, plumbing, auto repair or anything else requiring an understanding of the trades. Frankly, I never had the opportunity to explore them and didn’t really trust myself to start a project I lacked the confidence to finish. Working with Barry changed all that. He didn’t just teach me about firefighting, he taught me about myself, what was possible, and perhaps most importantly, that there was nothing I could not do. He often would say that all the information to do anything was out there, all you had to do was ask. If you wanted to renovate your home, there were simplified books on the electrical code and countless illustrated books on how to install plumbing and frame walls, doors and windows. The same was true for learning about money management, investing, flipping properties or any other adoptable skill. On top of that, there were any number of people who had done it before and were more than willing to share their knowledge.
I never did ask Barry where he learned to trust in himself enough to tackle so many things on his own, but I’m glad he passed that gift on to me. Until I met him, I had all sorts of limiting thoughts about what I could and could not do. Barry showed me how to raise that bar and trust in my ability. Too many of us spend our lives afraid of trying new things or getting in over our heads. Even our parents can transfer self-limiting thoughts to us. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have someone like Barry to selflessly take them under his wing and help them discover their potential. Without Barry’s example, I may have never returned to school, earned a degree, become a lifelong learner, run a marathon, bought investment properties or sought advancement in my career. If ever there was a gift worth sharing, it is in helping others to trust their ability to learn, grow and fearlessly take on challenges. That was the greatest lesson I learned from Barry, and it is a gift that I have since committed myself to passing on to others.
About the Author: Vernon Hiller is a decorated District Chief of Operations (Retired) with the Toronto Fire Services and has served the city for over 36 years. He is a Board member with LEADR - a charitable non-profit organization dedicated to providing literacy tutoring for adults in Durham Region. - Having struggled with ADHD as a child, Vernon is passionate about helping others discover the potential that hides within them.
