Sound of a Siren

The year is 1963. Bud Massie and Joe Jones are both Dallas firefighters and both they, and their wives Marsha and Betty, are close friends. On Monday, August 26, Bud and Joe are riding Truck 15 in the Oak Cliff area of Dallas, Texas while Marsha and Betty are spending the day together.  This is a story of tragedy told from a different perspective, not a firefighter perspective, but a family member perspective, because a line of duty death does not occur in a vacuum. Like a stone cast in a pond, the ripples expand outward. 

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Speaker 01 0:00

The date is Monday, August 26, 1963. Firefighter Bud Massey and his wife, Marsha Massey, drive to the home of their friends, Joe and Betty Jones. The two couples are close friends, but also Bud and Joe are both Dallas Fire Department firefighters, and they are about to head to work for a 24-hour shift. Bud is actually going to drop off Marsha, who will stay with Betty, and he is going to pick up Joe, who will ride with him to Station 15 in Oak Cliff. At Station 15, Bud and Joe are going to be riding Ladder Truck 15. They will have a house fire during the course of their shift, and early the next morning at 1 a.m., they will be on the truck again, racing to another reported fire. At the same time, two Dallas police officers... L.B. Kirkpatrick and Ray Underwood are in a squad car racing to intercept a car that another officer is chasing. The firefighters and police officers will meet fatefully and fatally at the intersection of Zang and Davis. But the men on the rigs are not the only ones who are going to be affected when steel meets steel on the streets of Oak Cliff. Today, we're gonna get a different perspective on fire service life. Not a firefighter's perspective, but a family member's perspective. Specifically, we're gonna talk to Marsha Massey, who years later took the time to write about her experience in a story that she titled, Sound of a Siren. I was very moved by Marsha's story, and I didn't want to just read her story to you myself. I wanted her to read it to you So that we could hear it in her own words, and we are very fortunate that we were able to get in touch with her. So what you are about to hear now is Marsha Massey telling her story, Sound of a Siren.

Speaker 00 2:04

Sound of a Siren by Marsha Massey, written spring 1976. The loud demanding sound of the fire siren means different things to different people. There is, however, one group who react in unison to that sound, the wives of the firefighters, and they react with good reason. Firefighting is America's most hazardous occupation. According to the International Firefighter of November 1975, over the last 10 years, firefighters have suffered an average of 86 deaths per 100,000 men. These deaths turned wives into widows and left many children fatherless. Much has been written about these men and their dangerous job, and rightly so. Less has been written about the wives and the parts that they have played. Each has a stirring story to tell. This is one of those stories. I married William A. Massey, also called Bud, in May of 1961, five days after my high school graduation. During the first weeks of our marriage, we began spending a lot of time with Joe, also called Alabama, and Betty Jones. Bud and Joe were both assistant drivers on the Dallas Fire Department, working at No. 15 Station in the Oak Cliff section of the city. Betty and I began spending some of the long 24-hour shifts together, sometimes at the 1961, Joe and Betty had their first child, a daughter. They named her Belinda Gale. The following June, our son, William Robert, was born. We called him Bill after Bud's father. Betty and I continued spending some of the shifts together. August 27, 1963 started out like many other duty days. Bud took Bill and me to Betty's house, picked up Joe, and then headed for the fire station. Their shift started at 11 a.m. This was a special day for Betty. The next day, they were planning to leave for vacation to go see family in Bessemer, Alabama. This was their first trip back home since their marriage. I had never seen Betty so excited. Marcia, she said gleefully, I can hardly wait to show off Belinda. Belinda was a beautiful baby with huge blue eyes. She was almost two years old. Our Bill had just had his first birthday. We had lunch early so we could go shopping before the kids' nap time. Bud and Joe arrived at the fire station about 10.45 a.m. Boy, Joe said excitedly, I can hardly wait for our trip. I can already taste that mint julep. In the kitchen, the guys were giving him a good-natured rubbing about the mint julep when the alarm bell sounded. It was closely followed by the booming dispatcher's voice saying, Okay, boys, let's roll them. We got a house fire on 9th and Tyler. Let's go. Within seconds, the giant red fire truck was rolling out of the station. Betty and I finished our shopping and returned home about 1.30 p.m. The kids were hot and cranky. We quickly put them to bed. Then I called the station to talk to Bud. Nobody answered. Well, I remarked to Betty, they must be out on a run. He'll call when they get back. I didn't like not getting an answer. I never did. The men from 15th Station were back in the house around 3.30 that afternoon. Captain William J. Jones, no relation to Joe, was pleased with the job his crew had done. Well over half the shift remained, though, and the men were already tired. Bud told Joe he would call the girls. I felt a sense of relief when the phone rang. It was so good to hear Bud's voice. Hi, honey, he said. What are you gals up to? Oh, I said I'm just up in bed to get ready for the trip. Did you have a fire? Yeah, he said a house burned. He told me all the dreary details. Fortunately, no one was hurt this time. Before we finished talking, the alarm sounded again. Bud quickly said goodbye and hung up. I stood there listening to the dial tone. The kids got hungry, so we had just started supper when the phone rang again. This time it was Joe. Betty answered. That was a fast fire, she said. There was no fire, he grumbled. It was a false alarm. The police think that it was some kids with nothing better to do. They talked for a few minutes. Naturally, their discussion turned to their trip. Back at the station, Captain Jones was concerned about the false alarm. Dallas had been plagued with him for the last two weeks. He was glad that the kids would soon be back in school. Maybe then things would slow down. It was August. It was hot. The kids were bored. Not a good combination. The men fixed their favorite supper, steak, gravy, They were able to eat without any interruptions. During the meal, they listened to the radio reports of several more false alarms in the city. About 8.30 that evening, a couple of police officers came into the station. They had picked up three youths that were suspected of pulling the alarms in the Oak Cliff area. The policemen felt that the firefighters, that they wouldn't be having any more false alarms. The guys were relieved to hear it. The evening wore on, it was hot, and the men were edgy. Joe thought the shift would never end. Betty and I put the kids to bed for the night. Belinda went right to sleep, but Bill kept whining and standing up in the baby bed. After the late news on TV, I called the station once again. Bud told me that they hadn't had any more runs, and he was going to bed. Betty talked briefly to Joe about the trip. We would see them in the morning. I love you. Good night. in the spare bedroom where bill and i slept he continued to frisk and fuss i got up and laid him down several times when he finally did go to sleep he was still restless i dozed off it seemed like only a few minutes had passed when i felt betty shake me wake up marcia i've got to go to the hospital joe's been hurt She left the room before I could say anything. On my way out into the hall, I glanced at the clock. It said 2.23 a.m. Betty was busy getting dressed. "'What happened?' I asked her. Her voice was quivering. "'There are some firemen out front. They said Joe was hurt.' Until that moment, I hadn't even thought about Bud, but it hit me like a bolt of lightning. I ran back into my room and grabbed a robe and ran outside. Now I could hear the fire department radio out front. Standing in the yard was Captain Kenneth Toney, who was riding District Fire Chief Schiff that night. Another fireman, Jimmy Blair, was driving him. They were whispering, trembling. I approached them and told them who I was. For a moment, they stared at me. Then Blair got in the car and radioed someone. Captain Tony told me that 15 Truck had been in an accident with a police car about an hour earlier. I was crying and asking about Bud. All he would say was that Bud was hurt pretty bad and that I needed to come with him to the hospital right now. From his facial expression and tone of voice, I feared the worst. Before going back into the house, I asked about Joe. Well, he said softly, Joe was killed. I reeled back, gasping. He grabbed me to keep me from falling. "'There's no need for Betty to go anywhere right now,' he continued in a slow, measured voice. "'We've got to tell her, and you must get to the hospital now.' I stood there dazed with disbelief and terror. Captain Tony helped me get myself together. After a few moments, I told him I would tell Betty. He said he would be right behind me. Inside the house, Betty was bustling about in a daze herself." I embraced myself. As she was coming out of the bathroom, I grabbed her by the shoulders. Betty, I've got something to tell you. Joe was killed in a wreck on the fire truck. I'm so sorry. I hugged her and she screamed, no, we're going on vacation today, no, no. Her heart-wrenching sobs broke my heart. She started saying that it wasn't true, but of course it was. Captain Tony helped me get her to the couch and he gently told her what had happened as best he knew at the time. The alarm had sounded at 12.57 a.m. on August 27th. With sirens wailing, the engine left the station, followed by the truck. Two blocks from the station, at the intersection of Zangs and Davis, a police car hit the fire truck broadside. It was going somewhere around 85 miles per hour to intercept a speeding car. It struck just a few feet from where Bud was standing on the side of the truck, and Joe was sitting on the turntable. The impact threw them and Captain Jones, who was riding beside the driver A.E. Chesney, some distance ahead of the truck. All three landed in the middle of the intersection, side by side, with Joe Jones in the middle. The police car was also thrown in the same direction, landing on top of the three firefighters. Joe and the captain were killed instantly. Massey ended up lodged in the left rear fender well of the squad car. I knew from this that Bud, who had somehow survived, must be in pretty bad shape. A cold fear came over me. How could have survived if those right beside him had died. Captain Tony and I tried to comfort Betty. She cried almost hysterically as she laid her head on my shoulder. I cried too, partly for her and partly for myself. Soon I might be in her situation. The commotion wakened Belinda. She came into the living room, dragging her blanket. She didn't go anywhere without that blanket. The baby's presence had a calming effect on Betty. Belinda promptly crawled into her mother's lap. Captain Tony told us then that there was a group of wives from the fire department ladies' auxiliary, and they were on their way to Betty's house. They would stay with her and look after Bill for me. When they arrived, Betty and I both felt better. We knew they understood, really cared. Willingly, they had left their families in the middle of the night to come to our aid. Although we didn't know any of them personally, there was a strong bond between us. Once again, Captain Tony urged me to come with him to the hospital. I hated to leave Betty, but I knew I had to go. We started for the door when the phone rang. Captain Tony answered it, spoke briefly to someone, and then he asked me to come to the phone. Marsha, he said, this is the chaplain for Methodist Hospital. He wants to speak to you. It was as if my heart stopped beating and time stood still. I was shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. Had Bud died too? Hello, I said. This is Marsha Massey. Mrs. Massey, the chaplain, said kindly, I've got good news. Your husband is right here and wants you to know that he is all right. Oh, burning tears of relief and joy flowed down my face. I turned and told everyone in the room what the captain had said. Betty smiled and said she was very happy for Bill and me. I knew she meant it. Within minutes, I was in the chief's car headed for Methodist Hospital. As I sat in the back seat, feeling great joy and great sadness, Captain Tony told me more about the accident. As he had told Betty the police car had hit the fire truck, knocking the three men ahead of the truck and that the car had landed on top of them. Miraculously, the impact had somehow missed Bud. Also, it had been a false alarm. A false alarm! Before being sent to the Jones home, they had been told via radio that both the Joneses had been killed and that Massey was expected to be DOA. That explained Captain Tony's rush to get me to the hospital and his reluctance to tell me much about Bud's condition. Furthermore, finding me at Betty's house had been a complete surprise, obviously. Another car had been sent to my house. This was all more than I could take in. One thing stood out in my mind, though. Bud was alive. I thanked God for that and prayed for Betty and Belinda, Captain Jones' family and the police officers and their families. Overwhelmed is not a strong enough word to describe it all. We arrived at the hospital at about 3.15 a.m. I found myself standing beside a stretcher, and on it was Bud. He was pale and quiet. We talked for a few moments. He didn't know who had been killed, but he suspected it was Joe. I confirmed his fears and told him about Captain Jones. The driver of the truck, A.E. Chesty, and the tiller man, W.B. Strickland, had also survived. The ER was swarming with police and firefighters along with medical personnel. There was so much blood on the floor, a maintenance man was mopping it up, men relying on stretchers. Then I saw a young woman crying in a private room and talking to doctors and policemen. I later learned that she was the wife of one of the police officers in the car. He had died at the hospital a short time earlier. I lost count of the firemen who were there, and all the names were running together. A gentleman with gray hair and in full uniform introduced himself to me. It was Chief Penn, head of the Dallas Fire Department. He had come to see Bud and the other men involved, and then he was going to go see Betty and then the other Mrs. Jones. He was grief-stricken over the senseless loss of these fine men. As it turned out, Bud's injuries were not threatening. Shock was his biggest problem. He also had a back injury that ultimately plagued him his entire career. He had a few bangs and bruises and was in no real danger. By 6 a.m., he was in a room and resting. So many firefighters were coming and going that the nurse finally said no one could come in but family. One firefighter said that was fine since they were all brothers. By then, Bud's mom and my parents had arrived. Since Mrs. Massey could stay with Bud, my parents took me back to Betty's house to be with her and to get Bill. When we arrived, The house was filled with firefighters, friends, and neighbors. Food was stacked everywhere. The original group of wives was still there. Betty was in her bedroom. With tearful eyes, she told me her plans. Neither she nor Joe had family in Texas. They were all in Alabama and Kentucky. Therefore, she was going to have a service for Joe in Dallas that day. Then she and Belinda were flying to Alabama. Another memorial in Joe's burial would be there. How long will you be gone, I asked. She didn't know. It was sadly ironic. In spite of Joe's death, they were still going home. Joe's funeral was held at Campbell's Funeral Home, right across the street from Station 15 and within sight of the fatal intersection. The flags of all Dallas firehouses were at half-staff. I sat in the family section with Betty and a few close friends. For me, the service passed in a blur. At the conclusion, my heart broke as I watched a large group of uniformed firefighters pass by Joe's casket. Many had tears in their eyes, crying for their fallen brother. It did not seem real. My mind returned to the group of firefighters' wives who had gathered around Betty. They too had shed tears, tears of grief for her, tears of joy for me, and tears of fear for themselves. Each knew what the sound of the next siren could mean. A quote from the fireman's prayer. And if according to my fate I am to lose my life, please bless with your protecting hand my children and my wife.

Speaker 01 16:37

What a powerful story. That is the voice of someone who has been in a situation none of us ever want to find ourselves in, and which none of us ever want to put our family in. As someone who has been there, Marcia uses the power of her prose to communicate to us what we otherwise could not possibly understand. I have huge respect for Marcia. Volunteering to tell her friend Betty the bad news when there was somebody else already there that was going to do it. I've delivered a lot of bad news. It's a part of the job I hate, and that was delivering bad news to strangers. Marsha had to deliver it to someone she loves, and it just rips my heart out of my chest. Words can't really express the devastating consequences this loss would have for the family members of the three men who lost their lives that night. In light of just how much every one of you listening means to your family, I'm going to ask you for two small favors. First, I want you to buckle up and drive safely, and I want you to remember the words of my old paramedic partner, Raymond Mundy. When I was just a green rookie right out of paramedic school, he said to me, Listen up, Rook. When you're driving, I want you to stop at the reds and be able to stop at the greens. That was good advice I got early in my career. And I'd like for you also to never assume that green means go because it doesn't. Green means you can probably go if everyone else has stopped. And that's true whether you're driving a ladder truck Code 3 or taking your kids to soccer practice in a Honda minivan. So at work and at home, stop at the Reds and be able to stop at the Greens. And the other favor I want to ask of you is this. The next time you're out on a hot summer day and find yourself somewhere where they serve cocktails, I want you to order a mint julep. and offer up a toast to Joe Jones for that mint julep he never got to enjoy with his family. This episode is dedicated to the two firefighters and the one police officer who lost their lives in this collision and to their family members. Their names were Captain William Jones, Fireman Joseph Jones, and Police Officer Ray Underwood. More information about the incident can be found on the website firefightinglegends.com, including information about the history of the reserve truck they were riding that day, which was known as the Centennial Truck, because it was bought for the Texas Centennial Exposition and World's Fair in 1936. The website also has newspaper articles about the incident. I want to thank retired Lieutenant Mike Otto, who first told me this story. Were it not for Mike, I would not have known anything about the incident and we would not be having this conversation. And of course, a very special thank you to Marsha Massey for taking pen to paper and pouring her heart out all those years ago and for taking the time to read the story out loud for us today. Until next time, y'all, and I mean this, y'all stay safe out there. That is all. KKN 377, Fire Department, City of Dallas.

Unknown 20:27

Thank you.