Reason

By Mark vonAppen

As I climbed aboard the engine, one of our rookies asked me a question.  This particular rookie asks a lot of questions, most of them thought provoking, forcing me to think harder than I'd like, and exposing my glaring lack of knowledge in certain areas.  It's hard as a captain to say, "I don't know," or, "I've never thought about it that way."  He causes me to bury my head in manuals or extend questions to my fire service buddies via text messages to find the right answer.  He usually finds out on his own, before I do, rapping on the office door he says, "I looked around and here's what I came up with cap..."

And so I learn.  Again. 

As he sat behind the wheel and pondered, the question of the moment was, "How do you stay motivated at work?"  Without hesitation I blurted out, "You guys keep me motivated."  It was the unabashed truth, it was reflex.  Like anyone, my energy ebbs and flows, my enthusiasm rises and plummets, but the one thing that remains constant is the awe that I feel as I see the expertise and compassion of the amazing people that inhabit our profession. 

"People are more important than any equipment, innovation, or technology we bring to bear." 

How do I stay motivated?  I stay motivated by watching people learn and grow.  I am buoyed by the energy of those who are experts in our field, and they are everywhere.  I am pulled along by the inquisition of a rookie, a crew of 6 huddled in the office around a flickering computer screen watching training videos, or the grit of a 62 year old man slamming a 24' extension ladder against a building with authority just as he did 30 years ago.  Passion is energy, when it is unleashed it is on par with a religious experience.  I am in a unique position as an officer.  Most times, I stand back and watch as my crew works in concert to solve a problem.  I watch as they learn, coach, and lead each other.   I step in only when necessary.

I said to the rookie, "You know what?  You're kind of a weird dude, but you're my kind of weird. Keep asking questions, it's what keeps us young."  

What is my motivation?  Our people.  They are more important than any equipment, innovation, or technology we bring to bear.  We aren't much if not for our people.  People are who we serve and people are what make our great and noble profession everything that it is.  

Around Here

By Mark vonAppen

We had a great auto extrication drill the other night and we did it all by ourselves.  Nobody asked permission, we simply called a tow company and had a few cars delivered.  As we passed the hat around the table to help defer some of the $200 out-of-pocket cost to the firefighter who set up the drill I thought; who determines our safety levels; a statistician who sits in a cubicle in cool disconnect and crunches numbers, weighing the cost of anonymous human life versus the cost of training or a safety measure?  Who determines what is an acceptable level of risk?

The number of times that I have donned my mourning badge and lowered the colors at the firehouse has me thinking, and it has me angry.

Do we need to ask permission to be experts in our field?  Not around here.

Everyone has a plan until they get hit in the mouth. Our professional plan - when the dollars flowed freely and operations mattered - used to include slack in the system to absorb the unforeseen and unthinkable.  As we forge ahead with creative staffing models, measurables, resume building, and ladder climbing, the slack has been removed and the entire system is stretched tight.  Do we have a plan for a fight gone bad?  At the company level we have to because often the organization does not.  We have to create our own plan because no one else will.  Is operating without a plan and hoping things will work out for the best any way to do business?  Not around here.  We won't accept average and we will not ask for permission to do as we see fit to carve time from our day to make ourselves better and safer.

"Around here we do it on our own together."

Aggressive, educated, proactive firefighting that starts with the mindset that every structure is occupied and that we will extend risk (our lives) to effect the rescue of our neighbors is the foundation of a movement to put the fight back in firefighter and bring strong leadership back to the fireground and firehouse.  We must seek out our own education and create our own motivation because help is not on the way.  Our best insurance policy is a strong base of education and the ability to practically apply knowledge to the appropriate situation.  We have to be functionally intelligent and possess the ability to think on our feet.  Cuts to training budgets can no longer be an excuse.  We have to invest in ourselves.  In order to win the fight, we have to be in the fight.  Being in the fight means doing it on your own and leading from everywhere.

Do we want to go home at the end of our shift?  Yes.

Are we afraid to do our job?  Not around here.  We train hard in order to fight smart.  Will we let office dwellers pushing statistics determine how we fight?  Not around here.  We won't sit around and wait for greatness to arrive, around here we go get it.  Around here we believe in each other.  Around here we set the bar high and we hold each other accountable to that standard.  

Around here we do it on our own together.

Mentors

By Mark vonAppen

What does - should - a mentor look like?

If we are truly looking for those who lead, we can find them at various points, in many forms, throughout our lives.  They are parents, friends, teachers, clergy, coaches, men, women, brothers and sisters.  I believe mentoring is a commodity that is like lightning in a bottle.  True mentorship knows no bounds.  It reveals itself at times boldly, at others as a whisper, but it is always there in some form.

You never know when a mentor will show up, who they will be, or how they are to influence you or your life as a whole.  We might not know how someone has molded us until years later as we hear his or her words echoed in our own. 

"A mentor should look like everyone."

I believe mentoring to be something that is often so subtle that we do not even sense that it is occurring.  We need to focus on listening to the messages that we send to each another, what we say, do, and how we treat one another, not the vessel that the message comes in.

We need more mentors and fewer categories.  If the message is worth hearing, bias should not be a factor.  We need simply to listen to each other more closely because in ways little and in ways big, everyone is a mentor. 

What should a mentor look like?  A mentor should look like everyone. 

---

Here is a piece about a man who influenced me and had a profound impact on how I view the world.

Read "The Ghost"

Sick Days

By Mark vonAppen

In days overflowing with uncertainty, soaring numbers of line of duty deaths, budget corrections, jump staffing, friends and mentors moving on, it would be easy enough to curl up in a ball, turn it all off, count your sick days or add up the days until retirement.  Many of us work for bosses who mimic characters from The Land of Oz, seeming to have no brain, courage, or heart.  As our fire engines and fire houses fall apart, we follow the golden road seeking answers only to find lies waiting for us from those pulling the strings from behind a curtain in a gleaming castle.  None of it is real and not much happens to make our difficult job any easier.  We struggle to make a broken system work and the ever growing chip on our shoulder gets heavier and heavier.  Most of our fears never materialize, yet a sickness can fester if left untreated.  

"Our type of group leadership is a powerful thing when it is unleashed.  We are doing the right thing and making now count."

We could sit around the table with hang dog expressions and pine for the days of old.  A vicious cycle of belly-aching, toward the organization or each other, can ensue that causes us to turn on one another and threatens the very family that we swear is so dear to all of us.  Passion becomes work and days become a swirling mess of hate speak and back biting.  The health of the family declines and as a result, people take more and more sick days.  Let's get something straight, the old days are gone.  If we wish for the past, worry for a future that might not happen, the present goes by and we don't live the days that are right in front of us.

In our firehouse, we grew tired of the same old story and decided to write our own script.  We remixed what it means to have a sick day.  We make now count.  We define sick as another word for awesome, "Dude, that's sick!"  Our days are filled with group activity, workouts, training, meals, all of which allow us to roll with changes as a group.  With the help of family we have gotten through some of our darkest hours.  Our days are sick by design and some of our best times have come in spite of the adversity that we face on a day to day, sometimes minute to minute, basis.  Our all in, all out, treat each other right, lead from everywhere mentality is firmly rooted and has grown into a foxhole culture where we refuse to let one another down.

Making Our Days Sick:

• We give everyone respect - We don't treat people like members of a herd.  The good of the group and the good of the individual should be the same if we adhere to the performance standard.
• Our leadership involves everyone - We let people do what they do best, we steer clear of weaknesses.
• We allow for independent thinking - Some of our most creative people bring a lot of passion into seeing their ideas come to fruition quickly.  We don't crush enthusiasm.
• We do it together -  We lead each other.  Our first priority is to do our job, our second is to help our brothers and sisters do theirs. 

We have tapped into the teacher that exists in everyone in our firehouse.  We welcome new ideas and encourage everyone to stand up and lead in their way and carry on positive traditions in order for us to accomplish our goal of making each day the best it can be.  Drills happen spontaneously, text messages circulate amongst team members on days off about drills we can conduct upon returning to work, veterans help the new members learn their jobs better, and the young people flood the station with wonder and enthusiasm.  We make work look like play time, in doing so, learning is perpetuated and the knowledge of the veterans is assimilated through all members of the station.  We teach that being part of our house means sharing knowledge.  We strengthen ourselves when we strengthen one another.

Ask yourself; was the past really better?  Or is it just a safe place because we know how the story ends?  Life is a three act play in which Act 1 is our past, Act 2 is the rising action, and Act 3 is the continued development of the present situation.  There is no climax, no denouement, no conclusion, it is all about now.  The present is where the struggle occurs as we chart the future.  The present is where we live.  Make now count.

Our type of group leadership is a powerful thing when it is unleashed.  We are doing the right thing and making now count.  We adhere to our standard of performance, "Do your job like a professional.  Treat people right.  Give all out effort.  Have an all in attitude."  We keep the peace in our house. We make our days what they are, and we do not allow for external, uncontrollable, forces to negatively impact our culture.   These are some of the best times of our lives.  Ours is the best job in the world if we make every day a sick day.  

Don't take sick days, make sick days.

Telling

By: Mark vonAppen

I don't care much for fictional accounts so whenever I sit  through an after action review it is interesting to me to hear what happened according to the stories that are told.  Most don't sound anything like any fire I have ever gone to, yet all of them sound exactly the same.  I get angry at the thought about having my time wasted as people indulge in half-truths, out and out lies, and hyperbole.  These outstanding learning opportunities are often lost to fear and ignorance.  I usually withdraw mentally and emotionally as lie piles on top of lie.  I retreat into my own reality I think, "Being honest makes you the biggest jerk in the room."  

If it is true that history repeats and we are helpless to learn from experience, what is the value of sharing our experiences?  Is our experience, our recollection, really the truth?  Or is it more to the point that we are we incapable of telling the truth?  Are our stories so divergent because our minds can only process a limited amount of information due to strain, or is it easier to explain than that?  Do we lie about our experiences?

"It is very difficult to uncoil the roots of what we are led to believe.  They can grow into tumors knitted into the fabric of who we are."

What is the cost of knowing the truth about our past?  Damaged egos and wounded pride?  A tarnished department image?  We have to speak the truth and share our debacles, close calls, and every lesson we have ever learned with anyone who will listen.  Call me anything you want, but I believe that keeping lessons learned, even painful ones inside is the ultimate act of selfishness and cowardice.  It takes a considerable amount of arrogance to think you can do something a couple of times a year for a few minutes at a time and consider yourself an expert.  Likewise, it takes an equal amount of pride to think you wrote the book on something that has existed in one form or another for thousands of years.

Do we dare to tell the truth?  Do pride and tradition impede progress?  Do we operate in a profession where the anecdotal passes for truth?  If we’re honest we might not like the answer.  We engage in circle jerks that create a false-positive feedback loop in which poor performance and decision making is reinforced by a hearty slap on the back and a firm hand shake.  

Lies have an echo chamber effect in our culture, we are parochial by nature and we have our own belief system that is confirmed by our personal biases and ideology.  The fire service has institutional memory.  We learn by telling and retelling stories.  We learn something new and as a group we change.  We have to tell the truth, otherwise lies become our truth.  Honest dialogue, surrounding topics on which we disagree,  and telling the true accounts of what really happened can help us guard against nightmare feedback loops.  

How many brothers and sisters would be with us this day if we all shared the real stories, every one of them, no matter how painful?  Somewhere in the world right now someone is making the same decision you made last week, last month, last year.  We will continue to die in the same ways over, and over, and over until we learn to set ego aside and tell each other the truth.

Lies are easier for everyone to hear, but they don't stop anyone from knowing that the truth is out there.  The truth of all of this is that it is difficult for us to be honest.  When we are honest, nobody will listen because they don't want to believe the truth—that even the best among us are fallible—and that our number could come up at any time despite taking every precaution.  Damn your ego and damn your pride.  Let go of your fear of knowing the truth.  Maybe history wouldn't repeat as often and we wouldn't be so easily surprised if we were accepting of telling and hearing the truth.  

What is the cost of not knowing the truth about our past?  That cost is ignorance, and in our business ignorance is the most dangerous foe we will ever face.  We must see things through the same eyes.  If we don’t start telling each other the truth, the next time could be our last time.  If we cannot be honest in revealing the facts surrounding accidents and  line of duty deaths then we might as well not talk about them at all.

I'm not particularly religious, but I hear that lying is a sin.  So is killing.  The more we lie, the more we contribute to future accidents, injuries, and death.  The lies that we pimp as truth today, either in print or through oral history, are the seeds of tomorrow's disaster.  The more we cultivate them by perpetuating falsehoods the deeper the roots go.  It is very difficult to uncoil the roots of what we are led to believe.  They can grow into tumors knitted into the fabric of who we are.  The truth is in the telling and as a culture sometimes we encourage lying.  If you don't believe that you're lying to yourself.

  

  

Finish

By: Mark vonAppen

During my travels in March 2013, first to Chicago for FSW Fundamentals, then to Jacksonville, NC, to deliver FULLY INVOLVED Leadership to some 200 fire service brothers and sisters, I learned a few things about finishing the job. 

When I arrived in Jacksonville, I had little idea of the types of firefighters I would be addressing in my fledgling class on leadership.  I was eager to have an impact on the group by sharing my somewhat unique perspective on the subject, but I had no idea of the fingerprint the group would leave on me.  I left North Carolina humbled once again by my interactions with those quality individuals who never stop teaching, those who work overtime to ensure people get it right. 

I quickly came to understand that Jacksonville is home to Camp Lejeune, an enormous Marine base, the biggest in the world I am told.  Jacksonville Public Safety's Headquarters is on Marine Boulevard, so it makes sense that a few Marines might find their way to the local fire department for employment after they leave active duty.  I have read a lot about the Marines, and military history in general, so the gears in my head began to squeak into motion.

Gulp...I'm going to be addressing a group of former Marines about leadership?

Holy crap...

My first day in the Carolinas was an adventure, figuring out where I was, figuring out what to eat (I discovered sweet tea, hush puppies, and that everything is better when fried), adjusting to the time change, rehearsing the timing of the presentation, and riding with the training chief to a working fire (pictured, top and right).  What struck me most during my trip was that though I had traveled 3,000 miles to croak in front of the group about leadership, I was once again humbled by the small act of an individual who knows about leadership and about finish. 

When Chief Susanna Williams picked me up at my hotel to begin Day 2, she beamed as she handed me a book while I piled my gear in the Suburban.  "I was at station 1 and Captain Whitmore asked me to give this to you.  He said you might like it."  The book was one I consider to be one of THE leadership books to read in order to be successful as a new leader, "Small Unit Leadership."

"Real leaders never stop teaching for they realize that passing life experiences and tools for success down the line is their greatest gift to the future."  

I met Captain Whitmore the day prior, first at the fire (he is pictured at top in the red helmet leading his crew in the firefight) as I switched out his SCBA cylinder, then as he sat dead center in the auditorium, with a tight lipped-skeptical expression etched on his face, his hair high and tight, and his arms folded across his chest.  His face and body language communicated in no uncertain terms he wasn't much interested in hearing what the "tree hugging" captain from California had to tell him about leadership.  

He asked some pointed questions of me and I could tell he was probing for a response.  He leaned forward as he posed question after question.  With each exchange I could see his posture at first stiffen, and then slowly relax.  I asked one of his department mates about him at a break. "What's that captain's deal?  I feel like he thinks I'm a candy-ass."  He chuckled, "No, no.  That's just Gunny." 

Captain Whitmore's nickname is "Gunny," carryover from his days as a Marine where he was a gunnery sergeant.  Gunny's are the link between the boots on the ground and the platoon commander, often a lieutenant with a lot of formal education but little combat experience.  As a new officer, you must have the support of your gunny or you are in for an uphill battle in your assignments.  I knew then that I was the new officer being broken in by the still sharped-edged gunny who's only job was to make sure the new guy didn't get everyone killed, or in my case, fill their heads with complete nonsense.  He was doing his job of running the soft one off before he could do any real harm.

I believe strongly in the message I preach and I have seen it work over 40 years, realizing only as an adult why I believe as I do.  What Gunny grilled me on was my belief system, not something I had merely read and was half-heartedly parroting for my own satisfaction.  I stood my ground, in doing so, I displayed some sliver of resolve and delivered a message that must have resonated with Gunny.

A sign hangs above the radio room at Jacksonville station 1 (Captain Whitmores firehouse), it reads, "Whatever you are, be a good one." As I stood beneath it before teaching the first session I couldn't help but feel the message was a metaphor for the trip and the maiden voyage of Fully Involved.  I gleaned what that bit of foreshadowing meant as I cradled the book that Gunny had given to me in my hands.  It reinforced that we are forever students and that those who genuinely take the time to listen will hear the message.  The message of Fully Involved is to lead from anywhere, and I find that I learn something new from someone every time I venture out.  There are many amazing leaders out there and often we are blind to thier abilities and the positive affect they have on the organization.  We must continually learn, coach, and lead in our way to make things go.  I was reminded that we are aggregate of everything and everyone we have ever known and experienced.  Pieces of our every contact in a lifetime of contacts have molded and shaped us into who we are today.  Today's interactions change who we will be tomorrow.

In exchange for passing my experiences forward, Gunny offered me an opportunity to grow.  Real leaders never stop teaching for they realize that passing life experiences and tools for success down the line is their greatest gift to the future.  I held the book in my hands, thumbing through the dog-eared pages as a wry smile spread across my face.  I noted the underlined sentences, and the notations scribbled in the margins.  I had read the book a few years before and had highlighted some of the same areas.  Something that stuck with me from the book is that a leader must show genuine interest in their people.  I recognized immediately that this was the act of a man who most likely doled out praise sparingly, was tough to win over, and this was his way of showing interest in me and finishing the job.  He was making me better by sharing something that had helped him on his journey as a leader.  Gunny was working overtime investing additional time and interest in me and I'm not even sure he realized he was doing it.  It is simply in his nature to lead.

As the crews filtered from the council chambers, Captain Whitmore approached the podium as I packed up my laptop and collected my things.  He shook my hand firmly, the way Marines do, as he did, he looked me in the eyes and said, "Good class.  I enjoyed it."  Two simple sentences, a hand shake, and a book from a leader like that are among the highest compliments I have ever received.

Thank you Gunny.

Leadership as a Punchline

By: Mark vonAppen

In this time of transition in the American Fire Service due to mass retirements and paradigm shift in how we do business; the unfortunate and sometimes dangerous side-effect is that there are individuals who are thrust into leadership roles out of necessity (somebody needs to get promoted, right?) that do not possess the tools necessary to lead effectively.  As a result, we have seen members of the service catapulted into high level positions that never learned the jobs five or six ranks below them.  It’s hard to make up for 15 – 20 years of rubber-stamping, pencil whipping, and showing up late for class.  Leadership becomes a punchline and we roll our eyes when the leader makes a decision.

Leading people is a privilege, not a right.  Some of us need to be reminded of that.

The role of the Chief is to be technically and tactically proficient, and to give the officers who report to them the tools to do their job well.  The role of the officer is the same; to support the efforts, and cultivate the talents of those beneath them. If they’re not doing that then they’re not doing 
their job, end of story.

Until we stop being the champions of mediocrity as a culture and work towards a true meritocracy we are doomed to hear hubristic and ignorant statements forever.  The safety and operational effectiveness of your people can never be trumped by a need to further someone's career or to appease a political agenda.  We have to take a stand on those issues that matter and be unflinching in our commitment to each other. Leadership cannot become a punchline.  When it does, those who are in the leadership role have lost the privilege of leading and will never be able to recover. 

Some of us have forgotten why the fire service exists.  We exist to answer the bell. Leading people is a privilege, not a right. Some of us need to be reminded of that.