“Our test is fairly simple,” I replied. “We check for a radial pulse.”

The firefighter raised the other eyebrow.

“Sometimes they fail,” I continued, “but we always check beside the Adam’s apple too. If there’s no carotid pulse though, they’re out. Even in Upsala we have to draw the line somewhere.”

I couldn’t blame him for questioning. Fire departments in the ideal world eliminate all but the cream of the crop. The problem is, Upsala is a long drive from the ideal world. We like cream, but we’ll also take milk, yogurt and whey if we can get it.

At least having a wide net gives a more colorful variety of personalities than just sticking to the cream of the crop. And if variety is the spice of life, then Upsala is somewhere between a Thai curry sauce and a Mexican jalapeno. Sure, everyone has their quirks too, but with a small crew you get to know them.

“Sally is claustrophobic.”

“Joe doesn’t drive.”

“Pete faints at the sight of blood.”

Maybe it seems complicated, but you just have to give Sally lots of space, keep Joe out of the driver’s seat and assign Pete to set up the equipment. We can live with these quirks because we also know that Sally is great at patient care, Joe is as strong as a bull and Pete has amazing organizational skills.

Sometimes we do get low achievers. Years ago we had a guy who liked to sit on top of the tanker and close the lid when it was full. That was fine, except it was all he knew how to do. But we have our share of smarts in this medley of minds as well.

Like the time our old Jordair compressor was having difficulties. Actually, it wasn’t working at all. I tried to read through the mazes of schematics and wiring diagrams but I don’t do Hebrew and Greek very well. I made endless calls to compressor technicians who lived too far away but they always ended with a dismal, “Well, I hope it all works out for you . . .” Finally, one of my captains dropped by. He’s a trucker, a common sense type of guy. He poked around with a large screwdriver, then popped out a relay switch and smacked it hard on the frame of the compressor.

“Try it now,” he said, shoving it back into its slot.

I flipped the switch and, voila! The compressor ran like a charm. It reminded me of an old adage one of my bushwhacker friends uses a lot: “Don’t force it, just use a bigger hammer.”

We learn to specialize, here in Spice Land. The deputy chief’s wife wanted to help out, but didn’t want to fight fires, or cut people out of cars.

“No problem,” I said (after checking her wrist for a pulse). She used to be a school teacher and is highly skilled with a pen. She takes minute by minute notes, written on the spot rather than an hour after the dust settles. And I can actually read them.

It’s amazing to see the mélange of skills out there. One department recruited a retired Greyhound driver. Too old, someone might say, but he is a first-rate driving instructor. I have a friend from another department who can pick padlocks – strictly as a hobby mind you – but if he lived in Upsala, he’d be my forcible entry guy. He’s also an expert marksman. He shoots flies with rubber bands. I haven’t figured out a use for that skill yet but it’s bound to come in handy some day.

So what do you do with the guy that can’t stand heights? It’s easy. You assign him a job far away from a ladder. With our reputation for saving basements, that shouldn’t be a problem . . .

Imagination is more important than knowledge – Albert Einstein