NOTE:  This is a Re-post of the final segment of "Dancing with Flames."  For some reason, there were multitudes...well, a few anyway, who didn't receive this earlier post, possibly due to human error, or just plain stupidity (my stupidity, of course)   The opening segment to my new chapter will be posted in a couple of days.  Thanks for following!

DANCING WITH FLAMES - Final Segment (Scroll down for earlier segments)


     One evening we were following one of our balloons in a friend's car, when it landed in flames, in an open field near town.  We rushed to the field, where we performed our signature rendition of the "Grass Fire Stomp."  (I'm surprised that little dance didn't land us a spot on American Bandstand.)  By the time Farley, the human smoke detector, arrived, we were long gone, preparing another hot air balloon for lift off.

     Although we preferred courting young ladies, most of our time was spent courting disaster.  One warm summer evening, around midnight, we decided to send up a hot air balloon from my backyard.  We got everything together, assembled the balloon, and prepared for lift off.  We always considered wind, so our balloons would clear homes in the neighborhood as they would drift off into the night sky.

     This night our plans took a detour.  As soon as we had launched our balloon, we quickly realized that we had misjudged the breeze and were looking at potential disaster.  The balloon was on a direct line for our neighbor's roof antenna.  We tried "coaxing" it in another direction, but I could almost hear the balloon say, "Forget it!  I'm going for the antenna!  Ha...ha...ha...you're going to be in big trouble now."  It never veered off course.  There it was, a ball of fire, hanging on the antenna, and our future, once again, hanging by a thread.

     I agreed with the balloon.  "This could be big trouble," I said, as visions of a burning barn flashed before my eyes.

     If the ball of fire fell to the roof, the remainder of our years would be spent in exile, in the Alaskan wilderness...if we could get that far.

     Not wanting to disturb the neighbors with fire trucks and sirens, our only option was to quietly and quickly, very quickly, put out the fire ourselves.  After the barn fire, the mattress fire, the ant hill fire, and all the control burns that we needed help controlling, Farley didn't need to know about the antenna fire.

     Rounding up a hose, we pointed it at the antenna and turned it on full force.  With the stars shining brightly in a cloudless sky, we were hoping the neighbors wouldn't wake up and become suspicious of the deluge pounding their roof.

     Just as we had extinguished the fire, a car stopped.  The driver got out.  "What are you boys doing?" he asked. 

     "Watering the flowers," Ernie said in a low voice.

     "It seems a bit late for watering flowers," the driver continued.

     "It's too hot during the day," I responded, as convincingly as possible.

     "Yeah...well, you're not going to water too many flowers with that hose pointed at the roof."

     "Oh, you're right," said Ernie, as he lowered the hose.  "Your stopping to chat must have distracted me.  Thanks for bringing that to my attention."  The fellow drove off, shaking his head. 

     Thinking he might call Farley, we quickly turned off the hose.  Then we disappeared into the house.  Moments later we peeked out the window and spotted Farley prowling the area, probably making sure the flowers were watered.

     The next day Mom was talking to the neighbors.  They mentioned a leak they had discovered in the ceiling of one of their bedrooms.  They were puzzled by the leak, since there had been no rain.  "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," I told Mom.  "When the house was plumbed, the plumber probably ran the pipes through the attic.  I'm sure it's just a leaky pipe."

     "I'm sure that's it," answered Mom, looking a bit puzzled as she walked away.

     A number of years have passed since the "Flaming Antenna" incident, but we still get together on occasion and reminisce about our years as firefighters.

     I'm surprised we've never been recognized with a nice plaque, commemorating our years of service.  Maybe it's because we started most of the fires.  But how else would we learn to fight fires?