Danny Fifer retires after 32 years on Warsaw’s Fire Department

Thirty-two years of service comes to an end for one Warsaw Firefighter. Danny Fifer hangs up his helmet for good Nov. 30.

Fifer tells how firefighting is a family business which started with his father, Russell “Junior” Fifer. “My dad was a firefighter. He was a firefighter when I was born. He put in his 20 years, and then he retired. Then he came back as fire chief for a little over 7 years. We always worked together. We had a business on the side, Fifer Fire Extinguisher. So I worked with my dad a lot.”

But the Fifer line doesn’t end there. Fifer’s son, Brent, is also a Warsaw firefighter.

Danny Fifer’s son, Brent, is also a Warsaw firefighter.

“I was fortunate enough that my son, Brent, got in. So I get to work with him before I go. I have worked with him for the past couple years. So he’s third generation, and he just had a son, my fifth grandson who could even be the fourth generation.”

There has never a dull moment for Fifer. And many reasons to wake up each day. Fifer explains to me what he considers the best part of being a firefighter.

“The guys. The camaraderie and working together. I could say serving the public and being a public servant and all that but, the guys. It’s not the sirens, it’s not the fire. It’s not the adrenaline rush. Which that all goes with it, but that is a hard question. It’s just one great big ball. You don’t stay with something over 32 years if you don’t just love it, all of it. It’s all wrapped together.”

Fifer keeps a pleasant grin on his face as he reflects on the good, and also the bad.

“I’ve got a thousand, over a thousand memories in my mind that I don’t want there. Have you ever smelled burning flesh?” The smile now straightens out. “You don’t want to. You ever have to take a dead baby out of the backseat of the car, when you know it’s dead, and tell the mom that it’s ok while you’re cutting her out? Knowing that she’s going to lose her arm, probably both legs, and her child has already died.”

While the unwanted memories are in the thousands, Fifer is hard pressed to put a number on the rewards.

“There’s been too many of them. Every time you make a good save on a house, or you have to pull somebody out and they live. Or you roll up on the scene and think ‘they got to be dead’ but you find them alive. This job deals a lot with life and death. I mean a lot. And people don’t understand that.”

Those moments outweigh the negative.

“You tuck them away, you build little walls around them. You have to. If you don’t, you’ll never stay in this position. You go home and the wife will say, ‘Hey, how was your shift?’ and you say, ‘it was all right,’ even though you built three memories and tucked them back there. Family doesn’t need to know. It doesn’t make for a good subject for supper.”

“I’ve always tried to be the ‘lead by example’ type. And sometimes that’s ‘do as I as say, not as I do.’ I’m going to do this, but you don’t.”

Fifer is full of advice. For both current and future firefighters. “Do it. It’s the best career in the world. And it’s not a job, it’s a career. It’s a life. It’s the best life you’ll ever have.

“Never lie. Sometimes the truth hurts, but put it out there. That’s pretty much for everybody.” Fifer leaves his advice. “Read the smoke. The smoke will tell you everything. Most people won’t understand that but when you roll up on a fire and you don’t look at that smoke, that fire is talking to you. It’s telling you what it’s going to do. And there’s times that you open a door and you’re going to get your ass blowed right back out to the street if you don’t step to the side. You gotta read the smoke.”

Fifer looks brightly to his retirement.

“When you think about it, the way that we work, on 24, off 48, that’s every third day. That means that I get one Saturday and Sunday off a month. I’m either working Saturday or Sunday. I’m looking forward to my weekend more than anything.”

While having weekends appeals to Fifer, explains what he will miss.

“All of it.” His eyes watering, the often loud-spoken Fifer now expresses softly. “Like I told you earlier. It’s been my whole life. I was born playing on these firetrucks. I’ve worked here over 32 years, saw two stations be built. It’s not easy, it’s just like ripping my heart out and putting it on the table. Because I have to walk away. I’m not ready to walk away.”

Fifer, gaining his volume back, adds, “But I’m going to go out while I’m still strong. I can still do the job, I can still do every job. I don’t want to get to the point where they say ‘aw, Dad can just drive the truck because he can’t do the job no more.’ I’m not going to get there. These guys are begging me to stay, when can I leave?”

A retirement ceremony at Station 2 is set for 1 p.m., Thursday, Nov. 29, to honor Fifer. The public is invited to attend.