Fire Alarm Box

1936, Queens, NY.  I was five years old and spending the early morning in the bakery shop where my daddy was the baker.  I loved those mornings.  My mommy, a nurse, had to be at the hospital and I got to play around the bakery. Such good yeasty smells and wonderous stuff to eat. 


But I wandered out on the street. No one around - really early.  And there was that curious red pole I adored on the corner. I wanted to climb up and sit on top of it.  And so I tried. I pulled a lever thing to boost me up, and it moved down.  Instantly the red pole made a loud ringing noise and I understood I had disturbed the universe.


Even as I was running back to the bakery I could hear fire engine sirens coming, and I knew I was the cause of it all.  I can remember being so frightened and telling my dad, sweaty-faced, sliding trays of rolls out of the oven, that I had done a terrible thing.  He told me to stay in the shop, told me it would be all right, even as fire engines were arriving with great bluster.


My dad stood in the doorway of the bakery, me cowering behind him, and told the disgruntled firemen searching the neighborhood for signs of a fire and complaining of hoodlums who set off false alarms that he had not seen anyone pull the handle. 


It was only later I learned about the intricately layered morality of telling lies, the illegality of  bearing false testimony to public officials, and the fines imposed for sending false fire alarms.  A five-year-old, I was grateful my parent saved me - and that intrinsic value remains with me.


As an older person I've learned to consider the fractures that may have occured in persons' lives with whom I'm dealing.  But we experienced ones are often not so humanely dealt with by those less experienced  humans.  A pity for us.

Are there Fire Alarm Boxes on corners of Queens anymore?


This blog is about piping the plenty we have, no matter how "old" we might be! I would welcome any comments, examples, suggestions