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thedrifter
01-19-06, 01:40 PM
Cherry Point Marines moonlight as firefighters
MCAS Cherry Point
Story by: Cpl. J.R. Stence

MARINE CORPS AIR STATION CHERRY POINT, N.C.(Jan. 19, 2006) -- It’s 3:30 p.m., Monday, and Gunnery Sgt. Joe Kelly, a Marine Wing Support Squadron 274 weather forecaster, is right at home. Inside the cavernous garage of the Havelock Fire Department, he’s walking between the fire trucks, inspecting the equipment and wearing an expression of a man quietly mulling over a detailed mental list. Kelly, who stands several inches taller than six feet, is imposing from a distance, but up close, the trajectory of his gaze seems to level with the person he’s addressing. His handshake is firm, his eyes are steady, and his disposition – though softened slightly by a degree of warmth and fatherliness – is serious.

Kelly, whose wife and kids live in Virginia, spends every weeknight here with his second family. As a captain in the fire department, he is doing what he loves: leading men, operating the crash truck and, in doing these things, preparing for the future. He is one of 19 Marines who volunteer more than 40 hours per week to the Havelock Fire Department, a unit comprised of 28 full-time members. Of the department’s total staff of 56 members, about are Marine volunteers, said Richard Zaccardelli, the fire chief.

“I grew up wanting to be a fire fighter,” said Kelly, “and I just enjoy giving back to the community.”

Kelly has been a fire fighter since 1998, when he worked as a volunteer for a department in Quantico, Va. He is in his thirteenth year in the Marine Corps and plans to continue in firefighting at the end of his military career.

Now, Kelly and company respond to an average of three emergency calls per day. They live in the firehouse after their Marine work is done. They constantly check equipment, they conduct refresher training ever Wednesday, and they abstain from alcohol to maintain a constant state of readiness.

They practically live in the firehouse, and at a glance, it looks like a Spartan existence. Up through a narrow staircase, on the second floor, five bunks are crammed into a small, white-walled room. The ceiling is about seven feet high and the room is about 70 square feet of featureless space. Conspicuously absent are the television and the video games. It’s easy to stick your head through the door and imagine the stark room as a prison cell of scowling misfits in orange jump suits, doing endless sets of push-ups and arguing over whether Biggie Smalls or Tupak Shakur was the better rapper.

Then, on a waist-high dresser, you spot a photo. The person is on liberty, wearing a light pink polo shirt and a spotless, white cowboy hat cocked back to reveal a classic medium-fade haircut, shaved to stubble on the sides to conform with Marine Corps regulation. You look at it and think, maybe this place is alright.

Downstairs, through a door leading out from the garage, a gathering of volunteers, Marine and civilian, are lounging on couches around a large tv set, probably 50 inches wide. One of the civilians, a former Marine, is eating a plate of corn on the cob and steak, which spreads a savory aroma through the room. The only feature that differentiates the kitchen/lounge from that of a normal person’s house is the large police intercom sitting on the varnished kitchen countertop.

Here, in the social hub of the fire department, are all kinds of Marines. On one extreme there is Kelly: the strong, silent gunnery sergeant; a man who is universally liked for his proficiency and dedication. Then there’s Lance Cpl. John D’Amico, an administrative clerk with Marine Wing Support 27.

Above the hum of the television and the scraping sound of the civilian carving away at his steak, D’Amico Assistant Fire Chief George Corbin are engaged in what appears to be a regular good-natured smack-talking session. D’Amico, a well muscled but slightly short Marine of about 22 years, is arguing with Corbin -- also short but paunchy and balding -- about who is better looking, more intelligent and, in short, more of the ladies man. Surprisingly, it seems to be a battle of attrition. After about five minutes, Corbin says D’Amico is the younger version of him -- a concession that seems to satisfy the friendly rivals -- and the bout ends.

It could be said that D’Amico, with his hair gelled to the limit of Marine Corps regulation and his flamboyant, extroverted personality, is Kelly’s foil. Beneath his Dawson’s Creek exterior, however, is another Marine who simply loves fighting fires.

“I pretty much grew up in a fire house,” said D’Amico, “and as soon as I became old enough to volunteer, I became a volunteer firefighter.”

D’Amico, who grew up in the outskirts of Philadelphia, aspires to continue a tradition begun by his grandfather, a full-time firefighter. His dad volunteered as an engineer, and D’Amico started his career as a volunteer for a local fire department at the age of 16. D’Amico, who is engaged, plans to get married and start fighting fires professionally after finishing his first enlistment, which ends next February.

Paid members of the Havelock fire department said the support of Marines like D’Amico and Kelly has a tremendous impact on community.

“It makes it a lot easier on the paid crowd to have these volunteers, and without the Marines here, I don’t know what I’d do,” said Phillip Laxton, one of six paid paramedics/firefighters from Havelock emergency medical services who often work with the fire department.

“Today, we had an (emergency) call, and while the truck was out, we had a fire call,” said Laxton. “If both of the paramedics had been on the (first) truck, we wouldn’t have been able to respond to the fire call,” said Laxton.

He explained that at least two staff members are required to respond to each emergency call, but no more than two paramedics are on duty at a time. A Marine volunteer was able to ride along with Laxton, allowing the other paramedic to remain behind in case the fire department received more emergency calls.

Kelly added that the Marines volunteer work will help them in their future careers. A former volunteer firefighter for Havelock listed Kelly as one of his references on an Ohio State Police Patrol job application. The police department called Kelly and asked him a question.

“One of the questions was, would you trust this man with you life,” said Kelly.

Kelly’s answer was, “Well, if you’re going in a fire with him, you’re going to trust him.”

For D’Amico, Kelly and other volunteer fighters, there’s just something about their line of work that goes deeper than a salary.

“When I was one leave for 10 days, I missed these guys,” said D’Amico. “When I’m not with my girlfriend or not at work, I’m here.”

Tonight, Marine volunteer firefighters – maybe D’Amico or Kelly – will settle into their bunks in the little room on the second story of the Havelock firehouse. They’ll flip off the lights and pull up the sheets, eager to retire after another day of service to the Corps and community but ready to leap back into action at a moment’s notice.

Ellie