Of Phantoms and Fire Poles

The quake had registered 5.8 on the Richter Scale. Its epicenter was determined to be the southern L.A. County community of Charter Oak. The temblor’s effects, however, had been felt for a radius of over five hundred square miles.

The damage to dwellings in the Charter Oak area had been extensive. L.A. County’s brick Fire Station 51 had suffered major structural damage and a decision was made to completely rebuild the facility.

And so, following a brief dedication ceremony, the men from Captain Hank Stanley’s A-Shift crew found themselves standing in their freshly-paved parking lot, staring up at their new two-story Fire Station. The only things familiar to the firemen, were their workplace’s location…and its name. At least, the place was still ‘called’ Station 51.

Captain Stanley pulled a shiny new key from his pocket and stepped up to the building’s back portal.

The firefighters followed their fearless leader through the door and into the apparatus bay, which now took up the station’s entire first floor.

The Department had issued them two new trucks, to go along with their brand new brick building, and Mike Stoker was anxious to go over ‘his’ new engine.

The men wordlessly made their way up the steel spiral staircase in one of the garage’s back corners. Climbing stairs to get to their lockers was a novel experience for 51’s crew.

The new station’s second floor consisted of an administrative office, a dormitory, a combination latrine/showers, a day room, a laundry room and a kitchen, which came complete with all the latest in appliances, including—to everyone’s delight—a microwave oven and an automatic dishwasher.

The locker area was situated in the middle of the second story and, in its center—running from the building’s roof, to its concrete floor below—was securely bolted a shiny brass fire pole, which John Gage was anxious to try out.

Stanley stared uncertainly at their strange new surroundings. "Alright, gentlemen, let’s get into our uniforms, grab our gear and—literally—‘fall’ in for Roll," he added with a grin.

John Gage stepped up beside his and cautiously pulled its door open. When nothing flew out of the little cubbyhole, he exhaled an audible sigh of relief. "Here’s hoping The Phantom won’t be haunting the new station…" he muttered, just beneath his breath, and taped his Smokey the Bear poster up on the portal’s dry inside surface.

Desiring to be the first fireman to initiate their new fire pole, Gage snatched his helmet from its hook and hurried over to the circular hole in the floor. He latched onto the shiny brass pole and tossed his helmet on. The paramedic’s head disappeared—about a nano second before the rest of him did.

Roy DeSoto had watched his partner’s head disappear under the oversized helmet, just before his body had descended down the hole, and he couldn’t help but chuckle right along with the rest of his chums.

Gage reappeared at the top of the spiral staircase, still buried to the chin beneath the humungous helmet, and the snickers turned to outright laughter.

"Who put Warner’s helmet in my locker…" the peeved paramedic pondered and just continued to stand there, holding out his hand, "…Chet?"

Kelly crossed over to the flustered fellow and placed another helmet in his open palm.

Gage swapped helmets, setting the oversized one down on Chet’s head, blocking the Irishman’s completely innocent look from his view.

John’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were narrowed into angry slits. Slowly, he slid the helmet Chet had handed him from his head.

Kelly saw how unhappy DeSoto’s partner appeared to be and let the helmet on his head drop.

The sound of Kelly’s muffled snickering caused a slight smile to play on the ‘creamed’ paramedic’s tightly pursed lips.

"You’d better have Roy take a look at your hair, John," the prankster advised, pulling a towel from his back pocket and passing it to his favorite pigeon. "I think it has rabies."

Gage wiped the cream from the top of his head and the inside of his helmet. He smacked Kelly with the foam-filled towel before disappearing down the hole again.

His partner passed him. "Forgot my wallet and badge," he breathlessly explained.

"He can’t really be that forgetful," Hank Stanley surmised, as he came stepping down the staircase with his gear and a new clipboard. "I suspect he just likes playing with the pole."

The two men exchanged grins and then watched as John slid into the apparatus bay, for a fifth time.

The playful paramedic was sporting the top half of his brand new turnouts. He turned toward their new Rescue Squad, intending to stow the heavy coat away.

Hank read the back of Gage’s jacket and his grin broadened. "Hold it, pal! I think you’d better find yourself a new new coat."

His junior paramedic just stood there, looking completely perplexed. "Why? What’s wrong with this one? It fits me perfectly."

"I don’t doubt that for an instant, John," Stanley assured him and struggled to keep a straight face. "But the Chief might not see it our way."

"I think it looks very…studly," Roy readily admitted and then watched, as his partner’s completely baffled expression suddenly turned to one of comprehension…closely followed by one of abject horror.

Gage slid the coat off and held it up. "I’ve been back-stabbed!" he groaned. In the space where his name should have been, someone…undoubtedly of Irish descent…had stenciled BATTALION STALLION. His right eyebrow arched and he turned to shoot Roy a look of extreme annoyance. "Very studly, huh?"

The rest of Hank’s engine crew descended the stairs, carrying their new turnout coats and helmets.

Kelly came down a little speedier than the others did. He didn’t want to miss The Phantom’s next prank.

"Ahh-ahhhhh!" Gage shrieked, as he came hurtling into the apparatus bay. He hit the concrete floor incredibly hard. In the process, twisting an ankle and bruising his butt.

His partner’s face was contorted in pain. He drew one of his open palms up to lips and tasted the gold substance that glistened on his skin’s surface. "Olive oil! Someone doused the fire pole with olive oil!"

Chet reluctantly halted and even more reluctantly turned in his steamed Captain’s direction.

"You have Latrine Duty for a full year!" A-Shift’s Supreme Commander commanded. "One more stunt like this and you’ll have Latrine Duty for life!" he tersely tacked on. "Understood?"

"Aye, aye, Cap!" Kelly sheepishly acknowledged. "I’m sorry. I just meant to thrill—not kill. You’re not really hurt, are you John?"

"If I’m not really hurt, you’re gonna be!" the paramedic threatened—er, promised. "Just as soon as I pick myself up off this floor!" Gage heaved himself up, leaving oily handprints on their new concrete floor.

John tentatively placed his elevated left foot on the floor and even more tentatively placed some weight on it. He winced. "Yeah. It hurts. But I kin walk. I ain’t ready to run, though. So, will one of you kindly catch Kelly for me?"

It took a few moments for Chet to realize Johnny wasn’t joking. The Irishman turned and went racing up the spiral staircase—two steps at a time.

"Chet?! Chet, come back!" John mumbled and began thrashing about in his bed. "Che-et!"

Captain Stanley awoke to the paramedic’s plaintive cries. He flicked the dorm lights on and his covers off. The half-awake man slipped his bare legs into the bottom half of his turnouts and started heading for Gage’s bunk. By the time he reached it, DeSoto was sitting on the edge of John’s bed, gripping his partner’s shoulders.

"Wake up, Johnny," Roy sleepily advised his agitated amigo. "C’mon, wake up! It’s just a bad dream."

The dreamer finally woke, right in mid-scream. "—et!" He began blinking, as his tired eyes were assaulted with blindingly bright light. Roy was seated beside him. His Captain stood over him—and Chet Kelly was sitting up in his bunk, directly across from him. "Chet, how could you possibly do something so stupid?!"

"Is that a multiple choice answer type question?" Mike Stoker groggily queried.

Well, all except for Kelly, that is. "Close your eyes…and your mouth, Mikey, " Chet groggily groused. "Anyways, I’m innocent…I didn’t do anything! Stupid—or otherwise—I swear!"

Hank looked even more curious and more than a tad bit confused, himself. "What pole?"

"That does it," Stanley lightly determined and pointed a finger at the now slightly embarrassed looking fireman. "No more late-night pizza for you, pal." Hank suppressed a smile and began heading back to his bunk. "Lights out in less than a minute!"

Kelly suddenly realized something and collapsed back onto his bunk, looking—and feeling—quite pleased with himself. "Sheesh! The Phantom is so adept at what he does, he even haunts people in their dreams…"

"The Phantom also gets Latrine Duty," the nightmare sufferer quickly came back. "For an entire year!"

John suddenly realized something that caused him to curse—and moan—aloud. ‘We don’t have a dishwasher, either.’