Fireman John H.
Herbert, Truck Company 4, responded 11:10 a.m., March 20, 1949, to a
fire at the Star Distributing & Manufacturing Company (electrical manufacturing
company), Third and San Pedro Streets, Box 1236. Upon arrival they
found heavy smoke coming from the basement. Herbert, along with
Auto Fireman Francis J. Kientz, Fireman Richard G. Roberts (Truck 24)
and Captain Henry Sawyer (Engine 3) donned Gibbs breathing apparatus and
took a line down into the basement. Herbert became separated from
his company and was later found by rescuers in several feet of water
under the stairway. Sawyer, Kientz, Roberts and William L. Ingram
(Truck 24) were taken to Central Receiving Hospital and treated for
smoke inhalation and other injuries. Herbert was survived by his
wife and two children.
|
|
Truck Company No. 4
Photo taken in front of old quarters days before move to new station at 800 N.
Main Street.
Apparatus: 1946 Seagrave 100' Aerial (steel), Shop Number 920. |
FIREMAN DIES IN L.A. BLAZE
Rescue Squad Works in Vain Over Comrade
One fireman died of suffocation and four others were hospitalized
yesterday fighting a smoldering basement fire in an electrical manufacturing
building at 3rd and San Pedro Sts.
Dead is Fireman John H. Herbert, 29, of 4345 S. Budlong Ave.,
attached to Truck Co. 4. Other firemen found him floating face down
in two feet of water in the flooded basement of the Star Distributing
& Manufacturing Co., 345 E. 3rd St.
Desperate efforts for almost an hour by a Fire Department rescue
squad and a Georgia Street Receiving Hospital doctor failed to revive him.
Adrenalin was injected directly into Herbert's heart by the physician,
but even this failed to bring a flicker of life.
Near the rescue crew the other firemen, who were partially overcome
by smoke, sat or lay on the sidewalk, refusing to be evacuated by
ambulance until after hope was given up for their fellow fireman.
Others Overcome
Thick billows of black smoke continued to pour form the stubborn
blaze, gagging and choking members of the rescue squad.
Partially overcome were Capt. Henry Sawyer of 11695 McCormick Ave.,
North Hollywood, attached to Engine Co. 5. He also received
superficial burns on his hands. Others hospitalized were Firemen
Francis J. Kientz, 5919 Arroyo Drive, Truck Co. 4; William Ingraham,
4512 W Ave. 40, Truck Co. 24, and Richard Roberts, 1042 1/4 N. Normandie
Ave., Truck Co. 4.
The men were placed under observation for aftereffects of the
smoke, hospital attendants said.
They were pronounced in good condition.
Seven companies and 11 pieces of equipment were required to quell
the blaze. Origin of the fire which caused an estimated $10,000
damage, could not be determined immediately by Battalion Chief William
Tynan and Asst. Chief Pat H. Ferguson, who led operations.
Streetcars Delayed
Hose lines in the street interrupted services of southbound red
streetcars on San Pedro St. for more than an hour.
Firemen without gas masks were driven back red-eyed and gasping and
even those who wore the masks came out for frequent breathers. And
all of them wet, breathless and coughing turned first to inquire or just
to stand silently and stare at their fatally stricken friend.
Herbert, one of the first to enter the basement, had worn a gas
mask when he went in, the chiefs said. It was not on him when he was
found, however, and firemen surmised that it had been knocked off by some
obstacle which Herbert could not see in the dark rolling smoke.
A paratrooper who served over seas during almost all of the
European fighting, Herbert leaved his widow and two small children.
|
The Los Angeles Times, March 21, 1949
|
CITY
OF
LOS ANGELES
|
D
E P A R T M E N T O F F I R E
March 24,1949
|
JOHN
H. ALDERSON
CHIEF ENGINEER
|
To:
Battalion Chief, Battalion 1, "B" Platoon |
From:
Captain Henry C. Sawyer, Engine Co. 3, "B"
Platoon |
Subject:
Basement fire, 345 East Third St., March 20, 1949 |
On March 23,
1949, 11:20 A.M., Engine Co. 3 responded to a basement fire at 345 East Third
Street. This Company laid dry lines to the front of the building, forced the front
doors and stood by.
On
ascertaining that the fire was in the basement and that its location was not readily
apparent because of the dense smoke, I notified Chief Tynan that I had been in the
basement about two years ago. With his permission I donned a Gibbs Breathing
Apparatus, entered the basement and determined the location of the fire. I could
also hear an apparent flow of water from the ceiling and thought it was probably a
sprinkler head separated by a partition; later it was found to be a broken water pipe.
Entering the
basement a second time, accompanied by two Truckmen with a 1 1/2" hose line, I found
that the heat was somewhat greater and that the smoke, as before, blocked out all
visibility. Some difficulty was encountered in clearing the hose line around the base of
the stairs and rather than chance leading off at the wrong angle, I left the men at the
nozzle and checked for the correct position of the fire, which, when I found it again,
appeared to be behind a partial partition or some piled packing boxes. At this time
I slightly tripped over an object and fell into some sort of projection which in turn
knocked me down, and at this time the oxygen mask nose clips were knocked from my face,
the goggles disarranged and the mouthpiece partially pulled clear. I breathed some
smoke before I was able to readjust the equipment. The mucous from my nose and the
perspiration from my face prevented the nose clips properly gripping and from this point
on I was unable to safely work without holding the clips intact with one hand. The
heat was increasing in intensity. From this point until I emerged from the basement,
I frequently was forced to retch because of the smoke that was absorbed when the mask was
disarranged. In order to do this it was necessary to partially pull the mouthpiece
away and loosen the nose clips; each time, I believed a little more smoke and heat
was absorbed.
|
Battalion Chief,
Battalion 1, |
-2- |
March 24, 1949 |
I could hear the men on
the hose line muttering into their masks, and groping back to the nozzle
man, I grasped him by the arm and said, "The fire is to the left, come on!"
Someone opened the nozzle full into my face and knocked me down,
disarranging the goggles, nose clips and mouthpiece. Water was forced
into my nose and I absorbed some more smoke and heat. Still retching,
I reset the equipment and reached around to find the nearest man. By
the scuffling I was under the impression the men were in trouble and when I
felt the nearest man, he seemed to be sinking to his knees. The heat
was becoming very intense. I ordered to the men thru the
Gibbs, "Get out of here!" The man I was holding turned around and started
back along the hose line; I did not actually feel the second man because I
discovered my life line was hung up back near the fire and I retraced my steps and
disengaged the rope. Violent retching made this very difficult. Returning to
the hose line I searched its entire length and also groped close by to make sure that the
men were gone. After pausing at the base of the stairs to regain strength, I climbed
up the stairs and was assisted to the street. I was repeatedly assured that two men
had emerged from the basement stairs ahead of me.
I was taken
to Georgia St. Receiving Hospital for treatment and put off duty. At the hospital I
talked with Autofireman Joseph Kientz, Truck Co. 4, who stated that he believed that
Fireman Roberts, Truck Co. 24, was the man in the basement with him. However, after
talking with Captain Fred Newjahr, Chief Tynan and Chief Ferguson, I believe that the
third man accompanying Auto fireman Kientz and myself to the basement was Fireman John
Herbert, Truck Co. 4. Fireman Herbert's body was brought from the basement about ten
minutes after I came out. I can not offer any definite explanation as to why this
man did not make his way out.
__________________________________
Captain, Engine Co., 3 "B" Platoon
|
"Greater
Love Hath No Man Than This"
JOHN H. HERBERT
Fireman, Fire Department
City of Los Angeles
Born June, 8, 1919; appointed to the department July 15, 1947,
and died March 20, 1949. Fireman Herbert met death from carbon
monoxide poisoning while fighting a fire which occurred at 11:10
a.m. March 20, 1949, in the basement of a building at Third and San
Pedro Streets. Answering the alarm in company with fellow fire
fighters from Truck Co. No. 4, Herbert donned a breathing
apparatus and helped carry a hose line down into a heavy
concentration of smoke and gases which had resulted from a
smoldering fire in empty packing cases. Due to the fact that
the atmosphere was so dense and hot that firefighting operations
could not be carried on from their position, the group of three men
who were in the basement abandoned the hose line and returned toward
the stairway. In his attempt to locate the stairs Fireman
Herbert became separated from the others. Rescuers found him
lying beneath the stairway with the nose clip and mouth-piece
missing from his face. He was removed to the fresh air and
artificial respiration applied. This treatment was shortly
supplanted by a resuscitator and finally by an injection of
adrenalin in the heart area. The attending physician stated
that Herbert had died while still in the basement. Cause of
death, inhalation of carbon monoxide fumes. This member
gave his life heroically performing his duties and passed in the
best tradition of the Los Angeles Fire Department.
|
49TH ANNUAL REPORT, JUNE 30, 1949
|
In Line of DUTY
by BOB PATTERSON
John H. Herbert
At ten o'clock Sunday
on the morning of March 20th, the spacious new fire station at 800 North
Main was unusually quiet. Church goers, in passing by, looked in on an
apparatus floor which was deserted except for the waiting fire apparatus and
the lone member on floor watch. A close observation could have detected a
hum of activity behind one of the nearby doors. A Manual of Operations Drill
was in progress.
Clearly and concisely, one member of a group which formed an attentive
semi-circle inside the room was reading aloud from a Department manual: "Article 3,
Section 43...A rope life line shall be secured around members before permitting them to
descent into shafts, deep pits, etc. The following line signals will be used: one jerk
signifies All is Well, two jerks...Advance, three...Take up, four...Help."
As the reader continued on, the collective thoughts of each member listening was
varied. To some this was material for coming civil service exams, to others it was routine
drill procedure which they knew they must know. Some of the newer men pictured emergency
situations wherein such knowledge would be vital...older men remembered times when it was.
The voice rolled on. No one there, with all their varied thoughts, could have pictured a
scene which was to occur within just two short hours...a scene wherein at least three of
them would be anxiously repeating those life line signals over and over to themselves
while groping through a poison jammed atmosphere on East Third Street...a scene wherein
one of them would soon lie dead...killed in line of duty...oblivious to all signals.
The reader finished, discussion was completed and the books closed. Another
drill completed for the records. The air of concerned attention relaxed into a confusion
of voices as the men began returning to their routine duties. A lot of the remarks were
being directed toward an athletic young man whom Department rosters listed as John Henry
Herbert. But to the men who were busy ribbing him about his brand new haircut, he was
simply "Herbie", a guy with a grin a yard wide. He was using that grin right
now, while returning those remarks about his hair with a few well placed ones of his own.
|
It was generally conceded around Truck and Engine 4 that Herbie was one of those
kind of guys you had to have around to make up a good house. He fitted in...with the men
and the work and the fire-fighting. He was the kind of a guy you looked for when you had a
joke to tell...always seemed to laugh the loudest and the easiest. He was the kind who was
in on the pitch on any conversation from sports to Department procedure...who could keep
you hanging around the locker room listening to his general slant on life or battle yarns
about his "outfit" when you knew you ought to be in bed.
And when you were looking for a man to "Ride" during a hard fought
game of handball, "Herb" was always just good enough and funny enough to draw
the most attention. But he never seemed to get mad. He always had other ways of getting
back at you and it usually ended up with laughs all around.
But Herbie had his serious side when it came to things important. When somebody
had to be shown how to don a Gibbs or lash a bangor, the Captain's phrase was familiar:
"Herbie, show'em how".
That passage in the Fire Department rating schedule which reads "He is the
kind of a man who builds up the reputation of the Fire Department". It seemed to fit
Herbie like an axe fits its scabbard.
Well, that was the Herbie they were kidding that morning, but it was John Henry
Herbert that they pulled out of a smoke-choked basement two hours later. News reports
stated that his buddies refused hospitalization for the forty-five minutes necessary to
confirm his death. Forty-five minutes? They would have remained on that corner for
forty-five days if they thought it might bring him back. But we're getting ahead of the
story.
Let's go back again to that Sunday morning, when at 11:10 A.M. the new tapper
began sounding its alarm and feeding out the long inches of alarm tape. As the crews
dropped their work and ran for the rigs, they counted the bells 1...2...3...6! The Captain
jerked the tape from its tapper and held it under the corresponding number on the running
card. Third and San Pedro. "Truck only". As the second and third rounds of bells
came in, the Engine Company Captain pushed the control buttons and sent the automatic
doors sliding open and the outside signal-siren screaming its warning to traffic. With air
horn blasting, the big aerial truck moved out onto Main, and a few seconds later its siren
was clearing the way along Aliso Street and south on San Pedro. It was a relatively short
run, and as the rig approached Third Street only a slight wisp of smoke was visible to the
men. On arrival, the smoke indicated a fire somewhere inside the lower portion of the
building and entry was made into the ground floor under the direction of Battalion Chief
Tynan. With Engine Companies present and lines laid, the Truck crews forced open a door
located approximately in the center of the building. There they found it...not fire, but
smoke. Dark, dense and ugly, it boiled up out of a basement below. It was suicide to
penetrate it without breathing equipment.
Captain Sawyer of Engine Co. 3 was one
of the first officers to arrive and he remembered having inspected the basement
when he had been assigned to Engine 5. He donned a Gibbs breathing apparatus and
went down to look for the fire. After a while he returned and reported to
Battalion Chief Tynan that he had located the fire. Captain Sawyer then
returned to the basement, this time assisted by two firemen and a hose line.
Outside, Fireman Herbert and Auto Fireman Kientz were already donning Gibbs
apparatus, assisted by members from Truck Company 4. After giving his equipment the
required tests to insure safe operation, Herbert moved to the head of the stairs and
awaited Kientz. During this time he was observed to be entirely at ease and breathing
quite normally. When Kientz appeared carrying a Wheat Lamp, the two men grasped an inch
and one half hose line and began following Captain Sawyer down the wooden stairway.
|
The three men who were controlling the signal cords which were tied to the
descending men began paying out the lines slowly and carefully. They were recalling those
signals; 1...OK, 2...Advance, 3...Take up, 4...Help. They hoped that the last one would
not have to be used.
Down there on the stairs, the small group was progressing slowly. The
surrounding atmosphere was a dark gray in the light of the Wheat Lamp. The powerful beam
diffused almost immediately and visibility was limited to within a few inches of the men's
goggles. Identification of each other even at the head of the stairs was difficult. Down
here it was well near impossible. Kientz, for instance, did not know that the other man on
his line was his friend Herbert until he compared notes with the others at the hospital
that evening. All he knew now was that they were looking for fire and that the man who was
somewhere in the mass of smoke ahead would tell them how and when and where to fight it.
He also knew that it was uncomfortably hot.
As the men reached the foot of the stairway, they turned to the left and
traveled forward about five or six steps. Captain Sawyer laid a restraining hand on the
shoulder of the man nearest him, indicating that both men should stay where they were
until he gave them further orders. They stopped and waited, listening in the silence,
seeing absolutely nothing as the officer left them to relocate the fire. Presently they
heard a slight scuffling and a muffled coughing as if someone was gagging. Shortly there
after, a light dimly appeared. A muffled voice said "The fire is on the left".
Accordingly the men directed the nozzle, a Mystery type, to the
left and opened it. The hiss and gush of the water streamed into that wall
of smoke in front of them and disappeared. They moved the nozzle about in
wide circles in an attempt to hit the fire and dissipate the hot smoke. To
Auto-Fireman Kientz, the air about them seemed to grow lighter
in color, the air hotter. If they were hitting the fire at all it was not evident from
their position, and the heat was making that position increasingly unbearable. Upon an
indication from his partner that they both should move, Kientz released his grip on his
mouthpiece with his teeth enough to ask "Where...forward or back?" It was
mutually agreed that they move back and one of the men began shutting down the nozzle.
To Captain Sawyer too, it seemed advisable to retreat to a point from which they
could more safely await ventilation, and he moved to instruct the men to leave. He was
particularly uncomfortable and weak. Twice, since he had left the foot of the stairs, he
had lost his nose clip and mouthpiece. The first time was after he had left the men near
the foot of the stairs in order to relocate the fire. He had stumbled in the darkness,
falling heavily and disarranging the breathing equipment. He had taken a gulp of the
putrid air and it made him sick. He'd had to retch. That was the sound that the men had
heard. The second time was after he had told the men were the fire was located. Due to the
dense smoke he was unaware that he was standing directly in front of the nozzle. The
stream caught him in the face and knocked off his nose and mouth pieces. Again he had to
retch and breathe, for a short moment, the foul hot air.
As the men on the hose line began backing up, Kientz could feel the other pair
of hands at work shutting off the nozzle. It was his last contact with his friend Herbert,
for when the line was dropped to the floor, both men became separated. Kientz turned to
the left and made his way toward where he thought the stairway should be. His supply of
air was getting more difficult to breathe. He moved searchingly forward...four, five...six
steps. He stopped. He was reaching around him into a wall of nothingness and felt as if
someone had turned him loose in a forty acre fog-covered field. He was getting lost. He
did an about face and started slowly back. A firm tug on his arm told him that his signal
cord was snagged. He tried to free it but couldn't. In order to move around to search for
the hose line he had to remove the line from his arm. Eventually he located the lost hose
line and felt along its length until he found the stairway. By this time his breathing was
labored. The air seemed unusually hot in his lungs. He reached back and opened the oxygen
by-pass valve...no relief. His respiratory center seemed as though partially paralyzed. He
was sincerely sorry that he had tried to talk back there on the hose line. Dazedly he
clambered up the stairway until he heard a voice say "get him out into the fresh
air". Then he knew that he was safe.
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After having ordered the men to get out, Captain Sawyer crouched waiting
at the foot of the stairs. His own signal cord had become snagged and he had
found it necessary to discard it. He was becoming gradually weaker but
refused to leave until he was sure that both men left the basement ahead of
him. He had to hold his nose clip in place with his left hand because mucus
from his nose caused it to keep slipping off. He realized that if he passed
out he would lose control of the clip and begin breathing the carbon
monoxide which lay heavy about him. Finally, when he felt sure that the
second man had passed him on his way up the stairway, the officer crawled up
the stairs himself. He paused near the top to ask if the two men had come
out ahead of him, received and affirmative answer, and sank weakly to the
stairs in a state of collapse. He had no way of knowing that the man who
followed Kientz up out of the basement was not the same man who had gone down with him
originally. He was another fireman who had entered the basement without the knowledge of
either the Chief Officers or Captain Sawyer.
When it was suspicioned that Herbert was still in the basement, the fastest
course of action was chosen in locating a nearby fireman who was already equipped with
breathing apparatus. Fireman Richard Roberts was in the immediate vicinity and he promptly
started down into the smoke, knowing full well that two other men equipped like himself
had just been brought out in semi-conscious conditions. He groped his way down the
stairway, feeling along Herbert's signal cord, which for all he knew, may have been
abandoned as had the others.
At the point where the stair rail left the ceiling of the basement, he found
that the cord had wedged in a crevice. He leaned over the rail and tugged at the lower
portion of the cord. He found it taut and without response. As he continued down the
stairway, Roberts logically reasoned that if Herbert was on the other end of that line, he
must have traveled in a direction parallel to the stairway and toward its rear, thus
causing the cord to slide back up the railing and lodge at the point where it met the
ceiling. When Roberts reached the bottom of the stairway, he found water ankle deep on the
floor. Assistant Chief Ferguson had ordered an engine company to hook into an outside
auxiliary supply pipe...a move which proved most valuable in extinguishing the smoldering
fire.
Smoke, however, was still of vital concern. Roberts could still not discern by
sight what he was doing or where he was going. He turned to the right and felt in the
direction of the stairway railing until his hand again contacted the signal cord. He moved
his hand down along the cord and fond that it led to a position directly beneath the
stairway. There his hand contacted metal...the metal cover of a Gibbs breathing bag. He
had found Herbert.
He felt about for an arm or a leg by which to drag Herbert free. His searching
hand contacted hair and a bare head. He then realized that Herbert had lost his helmet and
consequently the attached face pieces. Losing no time, he grasped Herbert's turnout coat
collar and tired to pull him free. The exertion caused a wave of dizziness to sweep over
him and he knew that he would end up a casualty. He moved back up the stairway where he
contacted two men with breathing equipment already on their way down.
Between the three men, they managed to move Herbert's body to the stairs. At
that point, Captain Norbury, who was one of the two men who had come to aid Roberts,
became dizzy and weak. He was wearing a Burrell type mask. He remembered nothing which
occurred from that point until he found himself out in the fresh air.
As soon as Herbert's body reached the clear air outside the building, he
was given artificial respiration. Early arrival of Rescue Company 3
supplanted these efforts with a Resuscitator. Shortly thereafter, a
Receiving Hospital Physician arrived and injected a shot of adrenaline
directly into Herbert's heart. All treatment was to no avail. Herbert had
died back there in the basement from carbon monoxide poisoning. It wasn't
until his death was pronounced positively that the other stricken
firefighters allowed themselves to be taken to the Hospital for treatment.
|
Chief Engineer John Alderson arrived at the scene immediately after
notification and promptly took the steps necessary to insure a thorough
investigation. He personally checked the records of the breathing equipment and
was satisfied that they were in order. He caused the apparatus which Herbert had
worn to be placed in his private office under lock and key until it could be
taken apart, bit by bit, for an exhaustive check. (This was later done and the
apparatus was found to be in perfect condition.) He spent long hours questioning
every man who could possibly contribute to a solution as to what happened to
Herbert during those last few minutes in the basement.
What did happen down in that basement from the time that Kientz felt Herbert's
hands on the nozzle until the point when Roberts found his body under the stairs can only
be a matter of conjecture. The fact that he missed the stairway by but a few feet was
indicated by his position beneath it and the short length of the signal cord. The cause of
his death was his exposure to carbon monoxide and the reason was most probably the absence
of a nose clip and mouth piece from his face. There was no confusion whatsoever in the
firefighting operations. The equipment used was in the best of condition. The men in
command were all veteran firefighters. The Truck Company crew was Grade-A. The man who
used that particular piece of equipment was unusually well versed in its operation and was
in the best of health at the time. Nevertheless the man died.
What it was that caused Herbert to lose a portion of his breathing
equipment has been considered by a lot of thinking men. Some feel that he may
have bumped his head and dislodged his face piece and helmet. Others reason that
in attempting to back out from under the stairs, he caught the rear of his
helmet on a projection and pulled it off with the attached face piece. Still
others offer the thought that he had somehow loosened the straps before
collapsing and the assembly simply fell off. And there are some who feel that
Herbert became panicky and pulled the equipment from his face.
We'll make an issue out of that last one. Herbert wasn't the panicky kind. He
had been through spots before that were a lot tighter than that basement. He had a
determination and sense of logic which weren't that easily upset. But in order to
understand what we mean, you will have to hear a little about his past life.
Herbert was born in Great Britain...Swansea, Wales, to be exact. Five years as a
paratrooper for Uncle Sam gave him plenty of opportunities to get his sights on a lot of
Krauts who were threatening his home town. He enlisted from his home at 4345 South
Budlong, in Los Angeles, as a member of the Reserves before the Nips hit Pearl Harbor. In
a short time he found himself in the middle of the fracas in Europe and was sporting an
Army Officer's insignia and a terrific pride in the fighting group which he commanded, a
part of the famed 101st Airborne Division. It was about that time that his parents joined
in with the thousands of other Dads and Moms who prayed fervently that their boys would
return. Their particular prayers were answered when five years later Johnny came marching
home with a full set of battle ribbons, a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star and his own slice of
a Presidential Unit Citation...not to mention a body full of shrapnel.
But a lot went on during those years and each experience had a direct
relationship with what he probably thought and did during his last moments
in that basement on Third Street. The most significant perhaps was that
incident which occurred after he had proved his leadership under fire and
was given command of a unit which dropped out of the sky on "D" day near Normandie, deep behind the German lines.
For five days Herbert led the dogged advance of his group against the enemy. On the sixth
day the Germans had his outfit pinned down on two flanks. Staying under cover was of prime
importance. But Herbert spotted one of his men who had become unknowingly exposed to enemy
gunfire. He left his own protection to crawl out and pull the man to safety when an enemy
mortar shell hit near his position. Killing two of his men, the explosion sent him reeling
back with a shattered jaw and a body torn by shrapnel. In a bleeding and dazed condition
he started a miraculous trek...a walk to a first aid station which took him across a
railroad trestle in full view of enemy snipers and along a route infested with entrenched
Germans. Yet he wasn't shot...it leads one to wonder.
Herbert's wounds in the Normandie invasion put him in the hospital for two
years. But he still found time to get back home and convince a pretty little brown-eyed
girl named Kathleen that he was worth waiting for. And he also found time before his
discharge to stop in at San Francisco and pick up a Golden Gloves Championship in the
novice class...just like that.
|
Then when everything was over and the war was blown out of existence at
Hiroshima, Johnny came home to claim his girl who had waited. It wasn't long
before he became a man of responsibility...about eight pounds of it, named
David Alan Herbert. A good job and security was needed for the family now,
so Herbert tried for the best available; the Los Angeles Fire Department. He
made the grade high on the list and after some short tours of duty at Engine
Companies 3 and 9, he wound up on Truck 4.
Another indication that Herbert was different than average was his yearning for
education. His locker at 4's was always stuffed with books from a course which he was
taking on his days off, at Pepperdine College. Whenever the boys would question him about
it, he would just look wise and tell them that he was taking a course in Psychology to try
and figure them all out.
It was along about this time that he showed up one morning with a new box of
cigars. The name this time was feminine...Constance Lee. He had to buy a bigger car now
because he had a bigger family.
By now you must be getting the picture. Here was a man whose personality
embraced the finer qualities of a leader, a fighter and a father...plus a lot of others
which should be quite evident. It was all wrapped up in an all-around guy whom we just
called "Herbie".
It was Wednesday, March 23, 1949. A host of uniformed firemen stood in silent
respect near a bronze casket covered over with an American Flag. They were there, with
other friends, to bid a final goodbye to a buddy. As the last words of prayer dropped from
the Minister's lips and as rifles were raised toward the Heavens in a final salute to John
Herbert, a brisk breeze whipped up the Colors into a military snap and stirred the flowers
around him. At least one man in that group was thinking that this is the way Herbie would
want it. A man's goodbye. A Hero's goodbye. "Killed in the line of duty."
Back there in France on that trestle...by all the laws of fate, he should have
died that day. We like to think that the Lord spared him then, for just a few more years,
for a purpose...so that he could enjoy a little more time with his parents...so that he
could marry and leave behind him a couple of little counterparts of himself...so that we
could be permitted to know him, and be always grateful that we did. Herbie would have
wanted it that way.
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