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Volunteers to the rescue

Numbers had been dwindling at the Lutz fire department - until Tom McKibbin arrived. Now with 60 volunteers, others are being turned away.

By BILL COATS
Published September 15, 2006

LUTZ - A couple of years ago, the Lutz Volunteer Fire Department was limping along with a dozen active firefighters, who begged other volunteers to come to the station for a shift.

Now the same department has 60 volunteers, the most in its 55-year history.

"It's gotten to the point that we're having to send people to other departments because we just don't have room for them now," said former Chief Jerry Goins, the department's bookkeeper.

Credit for pulling the Lutz volunteers from the threshold of extinction goes to Tom McKibbin, 51, who became chief in January. McKibbin cajoled a few of the station's weary die-hards to work even more, engineering a reorganization. Then, after eight months on the job, McKibbin moved last month to New Mexico.

Firefighters say the changes he left behind have brought discipline, respect and professional opportunities. That is drawing new recruits from all over Tampa Bay and notice from the paid firefighters they encounter at emergencies.

"We're definitely getting more respect from the career guys," said Patrick Osborne, a captain who directs training at the Lutz station. "We're not the good ole boys anymore."

Society changed

For most of the department's half-century, the Lutz volunteers were good ole boys, a classic rural department, the social hub of the community. Firetrucks waited in an open-door garage, keys in the ignition, for anybody to use. A pool table and pinball machine lured volunteers to hang around. Lutz and neighboring volunteer fire departments plotted water attacks against each other.

But society changed as the suburbs spread Lutz's way. Fewer residents worked nearby, ready to leap off a tractor or lock up a shop for a fire call. Instead, they were commuting to Tampa.

Moreover, government began ceaselessly raising standards, requiring that volunteers be trained in everything from toxic smoke to treating a stroke.

Volunteer departments folded all over Tampa Bay, replaced by paid municipal crews.

But Lutz was different. Civic leaders, determined to protect the community's small-town culture, supported the volunteers. Goins painstakingly maintained a mailing list of every property owner, sending out an annual request for "dues." That generated $97,000 this year.

From that, Lutz pays three firefighters to staff the weekday shifts, when so many of the volunteers are at paying jobs.

During the 1990s, a new breed of volunteer emerged: a career-minded firefighter who is honing skills for free while waiting for a job with a paying fire department.

A recent night shift in Lutz included employees of a Clearwater printing company and an insurance company, a pawn brokerage and the parks department in Tampa. All plan to switch to firefighting careers.

But last year, their numbers at the Lutz station were dwindling.

"People just got discouraged and lost in the process," said John-Michael Morin, who was himself on the verge of resigning nine months ago. "They just lost interest and went away."

'Old friends'

McKibbin, a consultant in the disaster-response industry, had never worked in the Lutz department. But he knew many of the firefighters because they had taken brush-fire courses he taught for Hillsborough County.

As the new chief, McKibbin persuaded Morin to stay. They and the department's other leaders brainstormed about what needed to change.

McKibbin concluded too much work was concentrated on too few leaders. So he named five captains, including Morin and Osborne, and spread duties among them.

Then the department undertook its most crucial change. It revamped its calendar.

Previously, the entire department was asked to assemble each Monday and Thursday night for training. Additionally, each volunteer was asked to sign up monthly for several overnight shifts. All that station time was driving volunteers away.

A new shift system reduced it. Leaders required each volunteer to join a permanent overnight shift on the same night each week. The new system was simpler than the old. Shifts bonded.

"We all just picked up on it like we were old friends," said volunteer Anthony Campanello, 22, a recent recruit from Tampa. "They've gotten to become my family away from home."

Training occurs during the shifts instead of on separate nights. That lets officers customize training for the experience of their volunteers. During a recent Friday shift, for example, Capt. Todd Brown had his crew work on establishing a helicopter landing zone and connecting hoses to fire hydrants.

Volunteer Joe Hawks, a pawnbroker from Wesley Chapel, has become certified in two years to drive a fire engine, work as a paid firefighter and deliver emergency medical care.

"I came here with nothing, nothing but a CPR card," he said.

New volunteers began appearing; older volunteers quit fading away. A department that traditionally was delighted with 35 firefighters mushroomed to 70. So last month, the leaders weeded out a few volunteers and canceled the monthly interviews for new ones.

'The biggest draw'

The onset of brush-fire season last spring became a time to rally the troops.

McKibbin, the brush-fire expert, contends volunteer fire departments are well matched to that task. They tend to be rural, and brush fires can justify a surge of volunteer manpower.

Additionally, volunteer firefighters have been particularly attracted to McKibbin's brush-fire courses. Certification has qualified volunteer firefighters to fight some of the sprawling fires in Western states as temporary federal employees. They can earn up to $1,800 a week.

Brush-fire season brought a rare rash of fires to a station where up to 90 percent of calls are for medical emergencies.

"We had 10 people there," said Osborne. "The biggest draw is people want to work."

"There were times during brush-fire season when we had both engines fully manned, a tanker fully manned and the brush truck fully manned," McKibbin said. "We were needed a lot, and we were there every time."

Ultimately, brush fires drew McKibbin away. He now works for the federal Bureau of Land Management, responsible for fire suppression and controlled burns on federal land in southern New Mexico.

But his firefighters are still swarming the station. While the paid stations have standard crews of three, enough to staff a single fire engine, Lutz is frequently manning two engines. When one engine is called away, another remains ready for the next call.

Boasted Todd Brown, one of the volunteer captains, "We're now going to start putting a second engine into service all the time."

Bill Coats can be reached at coats@sptimes.com or 813 269-5309.

[Last modified September 14, 2006, 12:57:33]