Photo caption above: (left-right) Larkspur firefighters William Lellis, Jim Niven, Rick Gray, and Ron Nelson, competing in the Make and Break competion at the California State Firefighters Convention in 1968. Lellis would retire many years later as Chief of Larkspur, Gray would retire as a Captain in Larkspur, and Nelson, after serving as a Lieutenant in Larkspur, would retire as Fire Chief of the Burney Fire Protection District in Shasta County, California.
The Story of Larkspur Volunteer Fireman Jim Niven’s Accident and Death in the Line of Duty on January 2, 1978, by William "Bill" Lellis, retired Larkspur Chief, and Robert "Bob" Sinnott, also retired Larkspur Fire Chief, and Shirley Walker, RN, who was the charge nurse on duty at the location of the fire.
The paid members of the Larkspur Fire Department posed proudly in 1966 in front of their 1964 GMC 1250 gpm Van Pelt pumper, Engine 1. (l-r) Fire Chief George Bartrum, Craig Shurtz, Gordon Bell, Ron Nelson, Art Wedemeyer, Paul Smith, Gary Duignan, Clive Coverdale, Willie Wilson, Ranger Benz, Bill Lellis.
Introduction by Tom Forster
As the year 1978 began, the fire service was in transition between eras. In Marin County, around California, and across the nation, major changes were underway. The huge impact of providing improved Emergency Medical Services had begun, with the TV Show “Emergency” on the air nationally, in the sixth of what would be seven seasons. Fire Department Paramedics would be in service in Marin within the next two years, along with more fire department staffed ambulances.
At that time there was no Hazardous Materials Team in Marin, nor did the Urban Search and Rescue Team exist. State Fire Training was also undergoing a major transition, and later in 1978 would be moved from the Department of Education to the State Fire Marshal’s Office. The office was directed by State Fire Marshal (SFM) Phil Favro, appointed by then Governor Jerry Brown after a long career in the San Francisco FD. Also in 1978, the SFM was given the responsibility to inspect every jail or place of detention annually for fire and life safety, including San Quentin.
The SFM was also asked by the State Legislature in 1978 to develop voluntary standards for the design, installation, and maintenance of automatic fire sprinkler systems for one and two-family dwellings. Another request was to study the combustion hazards and toxicity of plastic pipe being used in buildings. Fire retardant roofing standards would not come about until the 1980’s.
In Marin, most departments still depended heavily on volunteer firefighters, including Larkspur. While mutual aid had been actively used for large fires for many decades, automatic aid agreements were few. Most departments handled the vast majority of their emergency calls on their own. The College of Marin Fire Science program was young and very active, and included many students such as myself, taking classes such as Building Construction, taught by then-Larkspur Assistant Fire Chief Bill Lellis.
Protective clothing was also in transition from the older styles of black rubber/canvas structure coats, pants and boots to the new, yellow Nomex fire resistant fabric versions. Structure helmets were very lightweight, made of a plastic composite construction that was not as strong as new helmets today. Response standards were minimal, and improved safety standards were slowly being adopted. Tailboard riding was still common in most departments, and often the volunteer firemen (later called firefighters) responded in attire that may have included jeans and tennis shoes or work boots.
Firefighter deaths in the line of duty (LODD) at the national level were not actively tracked by the National Fire Protection Association (NFPA) until 1977. 1978 turned out to be a peak year for LODD's from 1977-2001, until the World Trade Center tragedy and deaths in 2001 of 343 FD New York firefighters. In 1978, there were 178 firefighters that died in the line of duty, and what follows tells the sad story of one of those deaths in Larkspur, on January 2. While the total number of LODD's has fallen under an average of 100 per year nationally, approximately 20-25% of deaths continue to occur each year while responding to, or returning from alarms. Excessive speed and not wearing seat belts are often contributing factors.
Finally, there were few if any resources back then on how to handle a line of duty death in the fire service. Nor were there many resources for counseling and help with the psychological impacts, including for the entire fire department. There were no personal computers, and of course no internet existed for the public yet. Thankfully today there are many resources and guidelines for support, including Critical Incident Stress Debriefing programs, or CISD, and the National Fire Service Resource Guide, with many internet links on how to handle a LODD.
Thanks to Bill Lellis for sharing his personal account of the tragic incident below, and thanks also to then-Kentfield FD volunteer Brian McLeran for sharing his photographs of the scene. Thanks also to Bob Sinnott, serving as a very young volunteer firefighter in Larkspur at the time, and to Shirley Walker, one of the Registered Nurses on duty at the location of the fire, and the one who turned in the alarm. See below for all of their accounts about they experiences on that very sad day.
As the year 1978 began, the fire service was in transition between eras. In Marin County, around California, and across the nation, major changes were underway. The huge impact of providing improved Emergency Medical Services had begun, with the TV Show “Emergency” on the air nationally, in the sixth of what would be seven seasons. Fire Department Paramedics would be in service in Marin within the next two years, along with more fire department staffed ambulances.
At that time there was no Hazardous Materials Team in Marin, nor did the Urban Search and Rescue Team exist. State Fire Training was also undergoing a major transition, and later in 1978 would be moved from the Department of Education to the State Fire Marshal’s Office. The office was directed by State Fire Marshal (SFM) Phil Favro, appointed by then Governor Jerry Brown after a long career in the San Francisco FD. Also in 1978, the SFM was given the responsibility to inspect every jail or place of detention annually for fire and life safety, including San Quentin.
The SFM was also asked by the State Legislature in 1978 to develop voluntary standards for the design, installation, and maintenance of automatic fire sprinkler systems for one and two-family dwellings. Another request was to study the combustion hazards and toxicity of plastic pipe being used in buildings. Fire retardant roofing standards would not come about until the 1980’s.
In Marin, most departments still depended heavily on volunteer firefighters, including Larkspur. While mutual aid had been actively used for large fires for many decades, automatic aid agreements were few. Most departments handled the vast majority of their emergency calls on their own. The College of Marin Fire Science program was young and very active, and included many students such as myself, taking classes such as Building Construction, taught by then-Larkspur Assistant Fire Chief Bill Lellis.
Protective clothing was also in transition from the older styles of black rubber/canvas structure coats, pants and boots to the new, yellow Nomex fire resistant fabric versions. Structure helmets were very lightweight, made of a plastic composite construction that was not as strong as new helmets today. Response standards were minimal, and improved safety standards were slowly being adopted. Tailboard riding was still common in most departments, and often the volunteer firemen (later called firefighters) responded in attire that may have included jeans and tennis shoes or work boots.
Firefighter deaths in the line of duty (LODD) at the national level were not actively tracked by the National Fire Protection Association (NFPA) until 1977. 1978 turned out to be a peak year for LODD's from 1977-2001, until the World Trade Center tragedy and deaths in 2001 of 343 FD New York firefighters. In 1978, there were 178 firefighters that died in the line of duty, and what follows tells the sad story of one of those deaths in Larkspur, on January 2. While the total number of LODD's has fallen under an average of 100 per year nationally, approximately 20-25% of deaths continue to occur each year while responding to, or returning from alarms. Excessive speed and not wearing seat belts are often contributing factors.
Finally, there were few if any resources back then on how to handle a line of duty death in the fire service. Nor were there many resources for counseling and help with the psychological impacts, including for the entire fire department. There were no personal computers, and of course no internet existed for the public yet. Thankfully today there are many resources and guidelines for support, including Critical Incident Stress Debriefing programs, or CISD, and the National Fire Service Resource Guide, with many internet links on how to handle a LODD.
Thanks to Bill Lellis for sharing his personal account of the tragic incident below, and thanks also to then-Kentfield FD volunteer Brian McLeran for sharing his photographs of the scene. Thanks also to Bob Sinnott, serving as a very young volunteer firefighter in Larkspur at the time, and to Shirley Walker, one of the Registered Nurses on duty at the location of the fire, and the one who turned in the alarm. See below for all of their accounts about they experiences on that very sad day.
The Story of Jim Niven’s Accident and Death
By William “Bill” Lellis, Larkspur FD Chief, retired
Written January, 2015
A little over 35 years ago, on January 2, 1978, Larkspur Volunteer Firefighter Jim Niven was killed in a tragic line-of-duty death. I am putting this story to paper with pen for a number of reasons. First, it’s important to the Larkspur FD and community and it’s place in our history. Second, for the psychological release I may receive from writing it. And to help any other individuals who may experience such a call so they may understand what they are about to experience.
Since New Years Day fell on a Sunday, Monday January 2 was a holiday and day off for many, I was at home like millions of Americans watching football games, when the fire pager went off. I turned down the TV volume and listened to the dispatch, “A report of a fire at the Greenbrae Convalescent Hospital, 1300 South Eliseo Drive”. I was halfway out the door before she could repeat the call a second time. This building was one of our target hazards, and I was very familiar with it from pre-planning and previous calls. As a convalescent hospital, many of the patients were non-ambulatory or would otherwise have difficulty evacuating.
At the intersection of Ward St. and Magnolia Avenue, the main road through the town, I always came to a full stop even when driving Code 3. This was the second north-bound intersection through which Larkspur Engine 1 responded from the main station at 420 Magnolia. Engine 1 was driven by a paid engineer, and typically manned by a volunteer or off-duty paid man in the officer seat, with four men hanging off the rear tailboard, either volunteers or off-duty paid. In those days there were still many paid men who lived in town.
On this day, Engineer Irwin "Willie" Wilson was driving, and volunteer Jim Niven was riding in the officers seat. Engine 1 was an open cab GMC, 1250-gpm triple combination pumper - what is called a Type I today. It was manufactured by Van Pelt in Oakdale, California in 1964, and featured a big motor and a 12-speed manual transmission. It is hard to imagine in 2016 firefighters riding in an open cab, or standing on the tailboard, holding on to a small bar attached atop the hose bed, going Code 3 to all emergency. Today Cal-OSHA would have a field day with this arrangement – I do not know of any FD’s that still have firefighters riding on the tailboard.
For this fire our Engine 2 would be first on the scene, since it was in their assigned area and the location was closer to Station 2 in Greenbrae. Squad 1 from Station 1 was second due; and both units were manned with two paid firemen, as they were called back then. As I responded down Magnolia I had a good view of the hospital about a mile away across the Corte Madera Creek, and I could see no fire or smoke. It was about this time that Engine 2 arrived on scene and reported “no smoke showing, investigating…” Within moments they reported it was a fire in a large industrial clothes dryer, with smoke in the building, and that they would need smoke ejectors set up for ventilation. Someone had placed a rubber mattress cover in the dryer, which was not allowed - this fire was a human mistake, an accident.
When I arrived on scene, Squad 1 was already pulling their smoke ejector off the truck. I was going to assign the third-due Engine 1 to assist in smoke removal. I went up on the air with my portable radio, asking the location of Engine 1, and received no answer. I repeated my transmission - again no reply. It was then that Fire Marshal Doug Archer came up on the air to report that Engine 1 was out of service. The next transmission would haunt me to this very day – “…. be advised that we have a firefighter fatality…” I later learned that all the home Plectron pagers were monitoring all of our radio traffic, since they had not yet been reset. Every volunteer and off-duty paid staffs' significant others potentially heard the Fire Marshal’s transmission, not knowing if it was their husband, or father, or significant other.
Approaching the scene of the accident, my mind was having difficulty understanding what I was seeing. Maybe I did not want to admit the reality of what my eyes were telling my brain. This only took nano seconds. There was the red, 17-ton, GMC open cab engine laying on its right side, with the front end smashed. Fire Hose, ladders, equipment and men strung out all over the roadway. At that moment Larkspur Fire Chief Craig Shurtz arrived. Jim Niven was his best friend.
I will never forget the look on his face, as he too realized what lie in front of him. We spoke briefly, and he then took on the most difficult task of this tragedy - he would go to his best friends home and inform Jim's wife Lorraine that he was dead. A devastating experience for Craig, along with the family.
I became the Incident Commander, and my first transmission to Dispatch was to ask for station cover in help from other FD's. I shut down the Larkspur Fire Department. I did not want any of our men responding to any other calls with this hanging over them. The coroner was summoned, as well as the California Highway Patrol (CHP), since the local police could not investigate this accident because it involved a city vehicle. The CHP officer also said he would arrange for heavy-duty tow trucks to respond to help remove the engine off of Jim's body.
How it happened: Engine 1, with its crew of six firefighters, was heading northwest on the 600 block of Magnolia, and approached a small curve in the road heading to the left. From there the route was to continue on Magnolia through a few more curves, take a right on Bon Air, and cross the bridge over Corte Madera Creek. Then an immediate first right onto South Eliseo, and finally a few blocks to the scene of the convalescent home, built on the north side of the creek. Unfortunately Engine 1’s response would end right on that first curve at the end of the 600 block.
Over the years as overlay of asphalt after overlay was paved over for maintenance on the two-lane road, a small drop off to the concrete curb and gutter had developed. The road had been built up at that time several inches higher than the gutter. As the engine approached this area in the road, the right front wheel dropped into the lower space next to the curb, and at that moment, just as the driver began to adjust the steering wheel for the curve, the engine did not respond immediately. As the driver put more pressure on the steering wheel the engine suddenly came back up on to the road. We are talking seconds here, and the event was now set into motion. The engine veered hard to the left, and, now out of control, went across into the oncoming lane of traffic, heading up a small dirt embankment across the sidewalk, and coming to a near stop on the hill. Leaning hard to the right at a severe angle, the big GMC hesitated, but then fell hard and fast onto the road on its right side.
On the tailboard were four men, one was a sound engineer in the film industry, another was a Doctor of Dentistry who taught at the University of California in San Francisco, and finally two young volunteers who sustained little or no injuries. One, young volunteer Robert Sinnott, would many years later become the department’s long-time chief, retiring in 2015 to accept as position as Deputy Chief of San Rafael FD.
Engineer Willie Wilson, a World War II Navy veteran of major sea battles in the Pacific (see biographies section under award recipients), received multiple broken ribs and would never return to active duty as a fireman. Volunteer Fireman Jim Niven, seated in the right hand officer seat, was crushed to death. The only part of Jim’s body showing from under the cab was his right hand and half of his forearm. I knew Jim and his family were practicing Catholics, so I asked that a priest from St. Patrick’s Church across from Station 1 respond to the scene to administer Jim’s last rites. It was quite obvious that Jim had passed away, but in his religion, when the soul leaves the physical part of him is not known. So, to comfort his family as well as myself, I asked him to administer the last rites.
The priest knelt by my side on the pavement and placed his stole around his neck, anointed Jim’s hand with holy oil, and recited the Lords Prayer. I was asked to hold Jim’s hand as this was performed. For an instant I was hesitant to do so, why I don’t know. Again in half a second that feeling passed, and I held his hand with all the love and devotion I could muster. I thanked the Father for coming and he told me he would go and visit Jim’s family to counsel and console them.
The task of draining the 400 gallons of water from the engine was a bit tricky, because we did not want to flood the roadway where the engine was laying. Hose had to be rolled up, and the roof ladder was in pieces and had to be picked up. The 24-foot ladder was still attached to the engine. The pike pole was yards away, and the heavy deluge gun had been thrown into the street.
After all the assignments were in operation, I took a few minutes to walk away from the scene. As I was doing so, a wave of anger came over me that I have never experienced before or since. I was crying uncontrollably, screaming at the top of my lungs and was unable to control the rage. It was then that one of my best friends, San Rafael Fire Chief Bob Marcucci, came out of nowhere. It was like being slapped in the face - he talked me back to my senses and we returned to the scene. He had been monitoring the call, and thought I might need a little support. That is what good friends do.
Bay City Ambulance owner Dan White would, after the tow trucks lifted the engine high enough, and the proper cribbing was set in place, crawl up and under the wrecked engine to recover Jim’s body. The net effect on the tailboard firemen was that only one would remain an active volunteer for long. Sound Engineer Richard Birnbaum retired from the volunteers afterwards at the request of his family. Several other volunteers in the department followed suit. The Dentist received a broken hand, and because he had to have complete digital dexterity, was not allowed to teach or practice his profession for months until his hand completely healed. He went from receiving a much higher salary to getting only basic state worker’s compensation while he recovered.
In the world of psychology, there are many words that could be used to explain the emotions that followed over the years with this event - complete exhaustion initally, ‘battle fatigue’, and ‘post-traumatic stress’. And whatever it is I have experienced all these years, it hurts a lot when I allow myself to think about it. Little things mean a lot, for example when the engine fell onto the roadway, the officer side view mirror left a large, curved gouge in the pavement. For many years, every time I would drive by the wreck location it would upset me, and I’d ask myself ‘why can’t they fix this dam thing?’
LFD Engineer Irwin "Willie" Wilson was born in Winona Minnesota in 1918, and served as a gunners mate on the U.S.S. Louisville Heavy Cruiser during all of World War II in the Pacific theatre. The Louisville and her crew were awarded 13 battle stars for their service in WWII. In 1945 Louisville was headed towards Lingayen Gulf. While enroute on January 5, two Japanese kamikazes successfully attacked her. Rear Admiral Theodore Chandler, commander of Cruiser Division 4 was fatally injured during the latter attack, and died of his wounds the following day. Rear Admiral William P. McCarty (then Commander) took control of Louisville and managed recovery efforts in fighting fires and restoration of equipment, for which he was awarded the Silver Star. Also killed was the Admiral's Orderly Walter Joseph Siegel, who was standing by the Admiral at the time. Siegel was the only Marine killed; however, 41 Navy men were also killed. Despite extensive damage, the cruiser shelled the beaches and shot down several enemy planes before withdrawing and proceeding to Mare Island Navy Yard for repairs. Willie died in 2003.
Jim Niven was a gentle, kind, smart, and devoted third generation nurseryman who raised roses and orchids, for the world to smell their wonderful fragrances and see their beauty. He was 43 years old, and then the elected head of the Larkspur Chamber of Commerce. The very successful family business had supplied the roses for the wedding of Tricia Nixon, President Nixon's daughter. Jim left behind his loving wife Lorraine and two young girls, Cynthia and Patricia.
A plaque was placed on Larkspur Station 1 (now called Station 15) dedicating the building in Jim’s memory. Also dedicated in Jim’s memory - every year a college scholarship is given to a graduating local high school senior in Jim’s name, through the Larkspur Association of Volunteer Firemen, later renamed to “Firefighters”, and in 2015 renamed and repurposed into the Larkspur Volunteer Fire Foundation.
The cause of this tragedy was determined by the California Highway Patrol to be excessive speed. It is believed that the loss of hearing that Willie suffered while firing the big guns in the World War II battles was a contributing factor. Willie would often wind the big motor up to higher rpm's so he could hear the motor's speed and then properly shift the 12-speed manual transmission. This led to driving at higher speeds, and none of us confronted him about it.
In conclusion, to you who read about this event, it is a sad piece of our shared history in Larkspur and in the fire service. We should never forget that on that day, Jim made the supreme sacrifice.
See the slide show below for photographs of Jim, some friends, and the scene of the wreck.
Also see the story below from retired Larkspur Chief Bob Sinnott, about what he experienced on the tailboard, and then Shirley Walker's story about what happened at the fire location.
By William “Bill” Lellis, Larkspur FD Chief, retired
Written January, 2015
A little over 35 years ago, on January 2, 1978, Larkspur Volunteer Firefighter Jim Niven was killed in a tragic line-of-duty death. I am putting this story to paper with pen for a number of reasons. First, it’s important to the Larkspur FD and community and it’s place in our history. Second, for the psychological release I may receive from writing it. And to help any other individuals who may experience such a call so they may understand what they are about to experience.
Since New Years Day fell on a Sunday, Monday January 2 was a holiday and day off for many, I was at home like millions of Americans watching football games, when the fire pager went off. I turned down the TV volume and listened to the dispatch, “A report of a fire at the Greenbrae Convalescent Hospital, 1300 South Eliseo Drive”. I was halfway out the door before she could repeat the call a second time. This building was one of our target hazards, and I was very familiar with it from pre-planning and previous calls. As a convalescent hospital, many of the patients were non-ambulatory or would otherwise have difficulty evacuating.
At the intersection of Ward St. and Magnolia Avenue, the main road through the town, I always came to a full stop even when driving Code 3. This was the second north-bound intersection through which Larkspur Engine 1 responded from the main station at 420 Magnolia. Engine 1 was driven by a paid engineer, and typically manned by a volunteer or off-duty paid man in the officer seat, with four men hanging off the rear tailboard, either volunteers or off-duty paid. In those days there were still many paid men who lived in town.
On this day, Engineer Irwin "Willie" Wilson was driving, and volunteer Jim Niven was riding in the officers seat. Engine 1 was an open cab GMC, 1250-gpm triple combination pumper - what is called a Type I today. It was manufactured by Van Pelt in Oakdale, California in 1964, and featured a big motor and a 12-speed manual transmission. It is hard to imagine in 2016 firefighters riding in an open cab, or standing on the tailboard, holding on to a small bar attached atop the hose bed, going Code 3 to all emergency. Today Cal-OSHA would have a field day with this arrangement – I do not know of any FD’s that still have firefighters riding on the tailboard.
For this fire our Engine 2 would be first on the scene, since it was in their assigned area and the location was closer to Station 2 in Greenbrae. Squad 1 from Station 1 was second due; and both units were manned with two paid firemen, as they were called back then. As I responded down Magnolia I had a good view of the hospital about a mile away across the Corte Madera Creek, and I could see no fire or smoke. It was about this time that Engine 2 arrived on scene and reported “no smoke showing, investigating…” Within moments they reported it was a fire in a large industrial clothes dryer, with smoke in the building, and that they would need smoke ejectors set up for ventilation. Someone had placed a rubber mattress cover in the dryer, which was not allowed - this fire was a human mistake, an accident.
When I arrived on scene, Squad 1 was already pulling their smoke ejector off the truck. I was going to assign the third-due Engine 1 to assist in smoke removal. I went up on the air with my portable radio, asking the location of Engine 1, and received no answer. I repeated my transmission - again no reply. It was then that Fire Marshal Doug Archer came up on the air to report that Engine 1 was out of service. The next transmission would haunt me to this very day – “…. be advised that we have a firefighter fatality…” I later learned that all the home Plectron pagers were monitoring all of our radio traffic, since they had not yet been reset. Every volunteer and off-duty paid staffs' significant others potentially heard the Fire Marshal’s transmission, not knowing if it was their husband, or father, or significant other.
Approaching the scene of the accident, my mind was having difficulty understanding what I was seeing. Maybe I did not want to admit the reality of what my eyes were telling my brain. This only took nano seconds. There was the red, 17-ton, GMC open cab engine laying on its right side, with the front end smashed. Fire Hose, ladders, equipment and men strung out all over the roadway. At that moment Larkspur Fire Chief Craig Shurtz arrived. Jim Niven was his best friend.
I will never forget the look on his face, as he too realized what lie in front of him. We spoke briefly, and he then took on the most difficult task of this tragedy - he would go to his best friends home and inform Jim's wife Lorraine that he was dead. A devastating experience for Craig, along with the family.
I became the Incident Commander, and my first transmission to Dispatch was to ask for station cover in help from other FD's. I shut down the Larkspur Fire Department. I did not want any of our men responding to any other calls with this hanging over them. The coroner was summoned, as well as the California Highway Patrol (CHP), since the local police could not investigate this accident because it involved a city vehicle. The CHP officer also said he would arrange for heavy-duty tow trucks to respond to help remove the engine off of Jim's body.
How it happened: Engine 1, with its crew of six firefighters, was heading northwest on the 600 block of Magnolia, and approached a small curve in the road heading to the left. From there the route was to continue on Magnolia through a few more curves, take a right on Bon Air, and cross the bridge over Corte Madera Creek. Then an immediate first right onto South Eliseo, and finally a few blocks to the scene of the convalescent home, built on the north side of the creek. Unfortunately Engine 1’s response would end right on that first curve at the end of the 600 block.
Over the years as overlay of asphalt after overlay was paved over for maintenance on the two-lane road, a small drop off to the concrete curb and gutter had developed. The road had been built up at that time several inches higher than the gutter. As the engine approached this area in the road, the right front wheel dropped into the lower space next to the curb, and at that moment, just as the driver began to adjust the steering wheel for the curve, the engine did not respond immediately. As the driver put more pressure on the steering wheel the engine suddenly came back up on to the road. We are talking seconds here, and the event was now set into motion. The engine veered hard to the left, and, now out of control, went across into the oncoming lane of traffic, heading up a small dirt embankment across the sidewalk, and coming to a near stop on the hill. Leaning hard to the right at a severe angle, the big GMC hesitated, but then fell hard and fast onto the road on its right side.
On the tailboard were four men, one was a sound engineer in the film industry, another was a Doctor of Dentistry who taught at the University of California in San Francisco, and finally two young volunteers who sustained little or no injuries. One, young volunteer Robert Sinnott, would many years later become the department’s long-time chief, retiring in 2015 to accept as position as Deputy Chief of San Rafael FD.
Engineer Willie Wilson, a World War II Navy veteran of major sea battles in the Pacific (see biographies section under award recipients), received multiple broken ribs and would never return to active duty as a fireman. Volunteer Fireman Jim Niven, seated in the right hand officer seat, was crushed to death. The only part of Jim’s body showing from under the cab was his right hand and half of his forearm. I knew Jim and his family were practicing Catholics, so I asked that a priest from St. Patrick’s Church across from Station 1 respond to the scene to administer Jim’s last rites. It was quite obvious that Jim had passed away, but in his religion, when the soul leaves the physical part of him is not known. So, to comfort his family as well as myself, I asked him to administer the last rites.
The priest knelt by my side on the pavement and placed his stole around his neck, anointed Jim’s hand with holy oil, and recited the Lords Prayer. I was asked to hold Jim’s hand as this was performed. For an instant I was hesitant to do so, why I don’t know. Again in half a second that feeling passed, and I held his hand with all the love and devotion I could muster. I thanked the Father for coming and he told me he would go and visit Jim’s family to counsel and console them.
The task of draining the 400 gallons of water from the engine was a bit tricky, because we did not want to flood the roadway where the engine was laying. Hose had to be rolled up, and the roof ladder was in pieces and had to be picked up. The 24-foot ladder was still attached to the engine. The pike pole was yards away, and the heavy deluge gun had been thrown into the street.
After all the assignments were in operation, I took a few minutes to walk away from the scene. As I was doing so, a wave of anger came over me that I have never experienced before or since. I was crying uncontrollably, screaming at the top of my lungs and was unable to control the rage. It was then that one of my best friends, San Rafael Fire Chief Bob Marcucci, came out of nowhere. It was like being slapped in the face - he talked me back to my senses and we returned to the scene. He had been monitoring the call, and thought I might need a little support. That is what good friends do.
Bay City Ambulance owner Dan White would, after the tow trucks lifted the engine high enough, and the proper cribbing was set in place, crawl up and under the wrecked engine to recover Jim’s body. The net effect on the tailboard firemen was that only one would remain an active volunteer for long. Sound Engineer Richard Birnbaum retired from the volunteers afterwards at the request of his family. Several other volunteers in the department followed suit. The Dentist received a broken hand, and because he had to have complete digital dexterity, was not allowed to teach or practice his profession for months until his hand completely healed. He went from receiving a much higher salary to getting only basic state worker’s compensation while he recovered.
In the world of psychology, there are many words that could be used to explain the emotions that followed over the years with this event - complete exhaustion initally, ‘battle fatigue’, and ‘post-traumatic stress’. And whatever it is I have experienced all these years, it hurts a lot when I allow myself to think about it. Little things mean a lot, for example when the engine fell onto the roadway, the officer side view mirror left a large, curved gouge in the pavement. For many years, every time I would drive by the wreck location it would upset me, and I’d ask myself ‘why can’t they fix this dam thing?’
LFD Engineer Irwin "Willie" Wilson was born in Winona Minnesota in 1918, and served as a gunners mate on the U.S.S. Louisville Heavy Cruiser during all of World War II in the Pacific theatre. The Louisville and her crew were awarded 13 battle stars for their service in WWII. In 1945 Louisville was headed towards Lingayen Gulf. While enroute on January 5, two Japanese kamikazes successfully attacked her. Rear Admiral Theodore Chandler, commander of Cruiser Division 4 was fatally injured during the latter attack, and died of his wounds the following day. Rear Admiral William P. McCarty (then Commander) took control of Louisville and managed recovery efforts in fighting fires and restoration of equipment, for which he was awarded the Silver Star. Also killed was the Admiral's Orderly Walter Joseph Siegel, who was standing by the Admiral at the time. Siegel was the only Marine killed; however, 41 Navy men were also killed. Despite extensive damage, the cruiser shelled the beaches and shot down several enemy planes before withdrawing and proceeding to Mare Island Navy Yard for repairs. Willie died in 2003.
Jim Niven was a gentle, kind, smart, and devoted third generation nurseryman who raised roses and orchids, for the world to smell their wonderful fragrances and see their beauty. He was 43 years old, and then the elected head of the Larkspur Chamber of Commerce. The very successful family business had supplied the roses for the wedding of Tricia Nixon, President Nixon's daughter. Jim left behind his loving wife Lorraine and two young girls, Cynthia and Patricia.
A plaque was placed on Larkspur Station 1 (now called Station 15) dedicating the building in Jim’s memory. Also dedicated in Jim’s memory - every year a college scholarship is given to a graduating local high school senior in Jim’s name, through the Larkspur Association of Volunteer Firemen, later renamed to “Firefighters”, and in 2015 renamed and repurposed into the Larkspur Volunteer Fire Foundation.
The cause of this tragedy was determined by the California Highway Patrol to be excessive speed. It is believed that the loss of hearing that Willie suffered while firing the big guns in the World War II battles was a contributing factor. Willie would often wind the big motor up to higher rpm's so he could hear the motor's speed and then properly shift the 12-speed manual transmission. This led to driving at higher speeds, and none of us confronted him about it.
In conclusion, to you who read about this event, it is a sad piece of our shared history in Larkspur and in the fire service. We should never forget that on that day, Jim made the supreme sacrifice.
See the slide show below for photographs of Jim, some friends, and the scene of the wreck.
Also see the story below from retired Larkspur Chief Bob Sinnott, about what he experienced on the tailboard, and then Shirley Walker's story about what happened at the fire location.
January 2, 1978 Crash of Larkspur Engine #1 as Recalled by Bob Sinnott, Larkspur Fire Chief, retired; currently serving as Deputy Chief of San Rafael FD.
I was a senior at Redwood High School and had joined the Department as a cadet at the age of 15 in 1976. Later that same year, I was accepted as volunteer firefighter. The day of the crash, I had been working at Walker’s Chevron Gas Station, located in Downtown Larkspur.
No longer there, the gas station once occupied the land directly across from the Lark Theater. I was employed part-time at the gas station pumping gas after school and on weekends. On January 2nd, I was at the gas station to work on my personal vehicle when the air horn atop Larkspur City Hall started to blast, alerting off-duty paid and volunteers of a “general alarm” fire call.
With the hood still in the air on my 1970 Ford pick up, I set out on foot and ran to the station. The squad with the on-duty crew had departed the station. Engine #1 with houseman Willie Wilson then assumed the role as engineer-driver for general alarm emergencies. Willie was behind the wheel impatiently idleing the motor in the back bay of the station while he waited for four to five members to arrive and step onto the tailboard. Either an off-duty paid member or senior volunteer was also needed to sit in the officer’s position adjacent to the engineer-driver. On this day, four volunteers including myself, had run into the station, grabbed our coats and helmets off the hooks, and dashed to the tailboard.
We waited a few moments for another member to arrive; we couldn’t depart until we had somebody in the officer’s seat. The driver revved the motor and even though only seconds had passed, everyone on Engine #1 was growing impatient. I looked at my fellow riders and said that somebody should ride up front, but nobody took the bait. So, I jumped off and climbed into the cab. With that, even though we were at least one short on the tailboard, I told the driver to head out. As he slowly made it to the front of the engine room and nearly out onto the ramp I heard somebody race in and slam the back door (It was a metal door and made a very distinctive sound when being opened or closed.)
I looked back and saw Jim Niven racing along the side of the engine room to his assigned hook where his coat and helmet were waiting. I told the driver to stop. Without breaking stride, Jim grabbed his gear, ran across the front of the engine room and proceeded past me to the tailboard. As he ran by, I yelled at him and asked if he wanted the officer’s seat. Because he was a senior member, I felt he should have the option. Without saying anything he turned quickly and approached the cab. I quickly opened the door and jumped down. He climbed into the officer’s seat and I raced back and onto the tailboard.
I went from the worst possible position on the engine to the most favorable based on what was to occur.
We then set out for the incident that was a reported laundry room fire at the Greenbrae Convesecent Hospital on South Eliseo Drive. As we departed the ramp and proceeded down Magnolia Avenue, a hard rainfall now added to the already cold, gray gloom of the day. Immediately, everyone on board the engine became drenched, including those riding in the cab. This is because Larkspur Engine #1 was an open cab designed truck, a popular option for fire engines of that era. I was told that the open cab was safer, as it afforded greater visibility. Fire truck designers of the day couldn’t have been farther off base, for many reasons. For one, on a day like this, it was raining into the cab and onto the driver. Control surfaces were soaked, instrument gauges were fogged over, the inside of the windshield was being rained upon, making the windshield wipers essentially useless. The open cab design would also prove to be a severe life safety hazard for those in the cab. As seatbelts had not as yet come into common use, those riding in the cab were more prone to ejection in a collision.
Proceeding through Downtown Larkspur with red lights flashing and the siren and airhorn commanding attention, I could sense that we were traveling too fast for conditions. But as a 17 year old, the feeling of excitement far surpassed any concern. I would learn in the days to follow, that the Jim Niven’s mom was a resident at the facility experiencing the fire. Possibly, the concern about Jim's mother’s wellbeing understandably led Willie to drive faster then he should have been traveling. We passed by Doherty Drive and entered a narrow stretch of Magnolia Avenue known as the “600 Block”. For those traveling towards Bon Air Road, the shoulder of the street disappears. The narrow single lane is positioned directly against a narrow curb and gutter making any sort of driving error much more problematic. To make matters worse, an overlay of asphalt had created a vertical drop of more than an inch from the transition of the pavement into the gutter.
As we raced through the 600 Block, we entered the “S” curve prior to the Escalle Winery property. It’s not understood why the S curve exists along this stretch of Magnolia. It was the site of several collisions prior to the Fire Engine Crash and continues to be a hazard to motorists and cyclists to this day. When Creekside Drive opposite to Escalle was created in the 1990’s, the useless S curve should’ve been straightened. Making it even more difficult to understand is that beginning back in the late 1960’s Magnolia Avenue - from Downtown Larkspur to the City limits in Kentfield - had been drastically redesigned to better accommodate vehicles. Removal of the S curve seemed a straightforward proposition as no infrastructure, private property or geographical feature existed in its way to make it impractical or cost prohibitive.
I was positioned on the far right side of the tailboard. I had been standing in a reckless manner; my right leg was actually on the outside of the step near the right corner of the truck. I was looking down the right side of the vehicle as we entered the S curve. Immediately I could detect a problem. I looked down to see that the right front tire and rear right dual were off the pavement and in the gutter. Further into the left curve, I felt the driver attempt to jerk the right tires out of the gutter. At a speed that was too excessive along with the wet road, the truck’s tires lost traction and we started into a sideways spin. I looked forward and observed the driver diligently turning the steering wheel into the direction of our slide. Due to our speed, the vehicle quickly crossed over the centerline. On the other side of the street were a narrow sidewalk and a near vertical earthen hillside embankment.
Within only a few seconds, we impacted the embankment at a near head-on angle. The momentum of the truck then carried us along the embankment for several yards until the truck abruptly flipped onto its right side, nearly completely rolling onto its top. I had ridden out the crash and rollover pressed against the rear compartment with my back against the sideboard. As the truck flipped, the other tailboard riders were ejected, landing in various spots on the roadway. When the motion of the truck stopped, I was merely laying against the sideboard, completely uninjured.
Firehose, equipment and debris was everywhere. As I got up, those riding on the tailboard with me had picked themselves up and were gathering near the back of the truck. Some were injured, but the shock and adrenalin was temporarily masking the pain. Suddenly the driver appeared at the back of the truck, squeezing between the overturned rig and the embankment. I remember yelling that because everyone was accounted for (I had miscounted), things would be okay. I also remember being so thankful that there were no motorists traveling in the oncoming direction or pedestrians on the sidewalk that had been struck. That’s when the driver stated, “Jim is dead.” In a calm and reserved tone, that’s all he said. I wasn’t sure how he knew it; I just recall that everything changed in that instant. Something that had been terribly unfortunate had just turned extremely tragic.
One of those thrown from the truck asked where Jim was. The driver stated “under the truck”. As we approached the overturned cab, it was obvious there was nothing to be done. At that moment, it became clear that the Department had just unexpectedly lost a highly valued member, the community had lost a respected business leader, and a family had lost a husband and father to two school aged daughters. In that cold driving rain, grief, disbelief and shock consumed us all. The pain of the injuries that some of the volunteers had sustained also became obvious. Sobbing and chaos enveloped the scene.
From the carnage, true agency leadership prevailed. Our chief officers - obviously grief stricken -dutifully oversaw the respectful removal of our fallen colleague and the aftermath of the crash. Because emergencies don’t take pause, even under such tragic circumstances, our chief officers led the Department forward ensuring that care and duty to our community went on uninterrupted. It must have taken unimaginable strength for them to function under such circumstances! As a 17 year old, this would not occur to me until years later. Additionally, because this was an era prior to any sort of counseling or critical incident support, our chiefs assumed these roles and did their absolute best to help us through a period of grief in the most difficult moment in the Department’s history. As with other transportation related tragedies, lessons were learned, safety standards were implemented, and new training and operational protocols were instituted. Starting immediately, the use of seatbelts became mandatory in all Larkspur Fire Department vehicles (years ahead of any new laws requiring seatbelt use).
In my opinion, several unrelated factors came together that day in a chain of events. But no one was to blame for the tragedy. Some of the factors include:
The crash changed the lives of many – those directly and indirectly involved; some in very unfortunate ways. But the Department moved forward and continued to serve the citizens of the community. For me, it was the day that the fire service was no longer something that was merely fun and exciting. I realized it was a deadly serious industry that carries a high degree of risk. But my commitment to the fire service deepened and became stronger.
Although less with each passing year, I reflect back and realize that it was about five seconds of time that made the difference of who was going to ride in the officer’s seat that day. What frustrates me is that I don’t know what exactly happened to Jim. Was he ejected, did he try to jump from the engine when he sensed it was rolling over, or did the door spring open upon the force of impact causing him to fall under the truck just before it went on its side? Nobody on the truck that day could answer the question.
**See Nurse Shirley Walker's story below, from the perspective of the fire location.**
I was a senior at Redwood High School and had joined the Department as a cadet at the age of 15 in 1976. Later that same year, I was accepted as volunteer firefighter. The day of the crash, I had been working at Walker’s Chevron Gas Station, located in Downtown Larkspur.
No longer there, the gas station once occupied the land directly across from the Lark Theater. I was employed part-time at the gas station pumping gas after school and on weekends. On January 2nd, I was at the gas station to work on my personal vehicle when the air horn atop Larkspur City Hall started to blast, alerting off-duty paid and volunteers of a “general alarm” fire call.
With the hood still in the air on my 1970 Ford pick up, I set out on foot and ran to the station. The squad with the on-duty crew had departed the station. Engine #1 with houseman Willie Wilson then assumed the role as engineer-driver for general alarm emergencies. Willie was behind the wheel impatiently idleing the motor in the back bay of the station while he waited for four to five members to arrive and step onto the tailboard. Either an off-duty paid member or senior volunteer was also needed to sit in the officer’s position adjacent to the engineer-driver. On this day, four volunteers including myself, had run into the station, grabbed our coats and helmets off the hooks, and dashed to the tailboard.
We waited a few moments for another member to arrive; we couldn’t depart until we had somebody in the officer’s seat. The driver revved the motor and even though only seconds had passed, everyone on Engine #1 was growing impatient. I looked at my fellow riders and said that somebody should ride up front, but nobody took the bait. So, I jumped off and climbed into the cab. With that, even though we were at least one short on the tailboard, I told the driver to head out. As he slowly made it to the front of the engine room and nearly out onto the ramp I heard somebody race in and slam the back door (It was a metal door and made a very distinctive sound when being opened or closed.)
I looked back and saw Jim Niven racing along the side of the engine room to his assigned hook where his coat and helmet were waiting. I told the driver to stop. Without breaking stride, Jim grabbed his gear, ran across the front of the engine room and proceeded past me to the tailboard. As he ran by, I yelled at him and asked if he wanted the officer’s seat. Because he was a senior member, I felt he should have the option. Without saying anything he turned quickly and approached the cab. I quickly opened the door and jumped down. He climbed into the officer’s seat and I raced back and onto the tailboard.
I went from the worst possible position on the engine to the most favorable based on what was to occur.
We then set out for the incident that was a reported laundry room fire at the Greenbrae Convesecent Hospital on South Eliseo Drive. As we departed the ramp and proceeded down Magnolia Avenue, a hard rainfall now added to the already cold, gray gloom of the day. Immediately, everyone on board the engine became drenched, including those riding in the cab. This is because Larkspur Engine #1 was an open cab designed truck, a popular option for fire engines of that era. I was told that the open cab was safer, as it afforded greater visibility. Fire truck designers of the day couldn’t have been farther off base, for many reasons. For one, on a day like this, it was raining into the cab and onto the driver. Control surfaces were soaked, instrument gauges were fogged over, the inside of the windshield was being rained upon, making the windshield wipers essentially useless. The open cab design would also prove to be a severe life safety hazard for those in the cab. As seatbelts had not as yet come into common use, those riding in the cab were more prone to ejection in a collision.
Proceeding through Downtown Larkspur with red lights flashing and the siren and airhorn commanding attention, I could sense that we were traveling too fast for conditions. But as a 17 year old, the feeling of excitement far surpassed any concern. I would learn in the days to follow, that the Jim Niven’s mom was a resident at the facility experiencing the fire. Possibly, the concern about Jim's mother’s wellbeing understandably led Willie to drive faster then he should have been traveling. We passed by Doherty Drive and entered a narrow stretch of Magnolia Avenue known as the “600 Block”. For those traveling towards Bon Air Road, the shoulder of the street disappears. The narrow single lane is positioned directly against a narrow curb and gutter making any sort of driving error much more problematic. To make matters worse, an overlay of asphalt had created a vertical drop of more than an inch from the transition of the pavement into the gutter.
As we raced through the 600 Block, we entered the “S” curve prior to the Escalle Winery property. It’s not understood why the S curve exists along this stretch of Magnolia. It was the site of several collisions prior to the Fire Engine Crash and continues to be a hazard to motorists and cyclists to this day. When Creekside Drive opposite to Escalle was created in the 1990’s, the useless S curve should’ve been straightened. Making it even more difficult to understand is that beginning back in the late 1960’s Magnolia Avenue - from Downtown Larkspur to the City limits in Kentfield - had been drastically redesigned to better accommodate vehicles. Removal of the S curve seemed a straightforward proposition as no infrastructure, private property or geographical feature existed in its way to make it impractical or cost prohibitive.
I was positioned on the far right side of the tailboard. I had been standing in a reckless manner; my right leg was actually on the outside of the step near the right corner of the truck. I was looking down the right side of the vehicle as we entered the S curve. Immediately I could detect a problem. I looked down to see that the right front tire and rear right dual were off the pavement and in the gutter. Further into the left curve, I felt the driver attempt to jerk the right tires out of the gutter. At a speed that was too excessive along with the wet road, the truck’s tires lost traction and we started into a sideways spin. I looked forward and observed the driver diligently turning the steering wheel into the direction of our slide. Due to our speed, the vehicle quickly crossed over the centerline. On the other side of the street were a narrow sidewalk and a near vertical earthen hillside embankment.
Within only a few seconds, we impacted the embankment at a near head-on angle. The momentum of the truck then carried us along the embankment for several yards until the truck abruptly flipped onto its right side, nearly completely rolling onto its top. I had ridden out the crash and rollover pressed against the rear compartment with my back against the sideboard. As the truck flipped, the other tailboard riders were ejected, landing in various spots on the roadway. When the motion of the truck stopped, I was merely laying against the sideboard, completely uninjured.
Firehose, equipment and debris was everywhere. As I got up, those riding on the tailboard with me had picked themselves up and were gathering near the back of the truck. Some were injured, but the shock and adrenalin was temporarily masking the pain. Suddenly the driver appeared at the back of the truck, squeezing between the overturned rig and the embankment. I remember yelling that because everyone was accounted for (I had miscounted), things would be okay. I also remember being so thankful that there were no motorists traveling in the oncoming direction or pedestrians on the sidewalk that had been struck. That’s when the driver stated, “Jim is dead.” In a calm and reserved tone, that’s all he said. I wasn’t sure how he knew it; I just recall that everything changed in that instant. Something that had been terribly unfortunate had just turned extremely tragic.
One of those thrown from the truck asked where Jim was. The driver stated “under the truck”. As we approached the overturned cab, it was obvious there was nothing to be done. At that moment, it became clear that the Department had just unexpectedly lost a highly valued member, the community had lost a respected business leader, and a family had lost a husband and father to two school aged daughters. In that cold driving rain, grief, disbelief and shock consumed us all. The pain of the injuries that some of the volunteers had sustained also became obvious. Sobbing and chaos enveloped the scene.
From the carnage, true agency leadership prevailed. Our chief officers - obviously grief stricken -dutifully oversaw the respectful removal of our fallen colleague and the aftermath of the crash. Because emergencies don’t take pause, even under such tragic circumstances, our chief officers led the Department forward ensuring that care and duty to our community went on uninterrupted. It must have taken unimaginable strength for them to function under such circumstances! As a 17 year old, this would not occur to me until years later. Additionally, because this was an era prior to any sort of counseling or critical incident support, our chiefs assumed these roles and did their absolute best to help us through a period of grief in the most difficult moment in the Department’s history. As with other transportation related tragedies, lessons were learned, safety standards were implemented, and new training and operational protocols were instituted. Starting immediately, the use of seatbelts became mandatory in all Larkspur Fire Department vehicles (years ahead of any new laws requiring seatbelt use).
In my opinion, several unrelated factors came together that day in a chain of events. But no one was to blame for the tragedy. Some of the factors include:
- A flaw in fire engine design. Commercial vehicles designed primarily for use as delivery trucks were fashioned into fire engines. Cab roofs were removed and heavy aftermarket equipment such as water tanks, booster reels and hose beds were installed high on the vehicles dramatically altering the center of gravity and creating a top-heavy condition that promoted the likelihood of rollover.
- The unnecessary “S” curve condition of the road where the rollover took place.
- The improper asphalt overlay that created unsafe difference between the road and the gutter.
- The rainfall that created an unsafe operating environment for the driver in the open cab.
- The stress that might have been brought on to the driver increasing our speed, knowing that Jim's mother might have been in danger due to the fire.
The crash changed the lives of many – those directly and indirectly involved; some in very unfortunate ways. But the Department moved forward and continued to serve the citizens of the community. For me, it was the day that the fire service was no longer something that was merely fun and exciting. I realized it was a deadly serious industry that carries a high degree of risk. But my commitment to the fire service deepened and became stronger.
Although less with each passing year, I reflect back and realize that it was about five seconds of time that made the difference of who was going to ride in the officer’s seat that day. What frustrates me is that I don’t know what exactly happened to Jim. Was he ejected, did he try to jump from the engine when he sensed it was rolling over, or did the door spring open upon the force of impact causing him to fall under the truck just before it went on its side? Nobody on the truck that day could answer the question.
**See Nurse Shirley Walker's story below, from the perspective of the fire location.**
(l-r) Larkspur Fire Captain George Rogers, and then - Volunteer Fireman Robert "Bob" Sinnott, now retired Larkspur Fire Chief. They are pictured circa 1980 at what was called back then a "grass and brush fire" training drill. Captain Rogers has since passed away a number of years ago, and as of 2016 Bob serves as the Deputy Fire Chief for the City of San Rafael FD.
The Fire at Greenbrae Convalescent Hospital on January 2, 1978
by Shirley Walker
"I was an RN at Greenbrae Convalescent Hospital and in charge that rainy day. A nurses aide reported to me that there was a fire in the laundry area in the back hall. I immediately went to check and saw smoke and flames coming from the equipment. The two limited English workers had mistakenly put rubber draw sheets in the large capacity dryer. I had them leave that area, closed the door and called 911.
Then I instructed the aides to relocate any residents in the adjacent dining room to the living room distant from the laundry, remove any residents from the hall and close all of the doors to the rooms. I was surprised when the Fire Department was not arriving as quickly as I expected. However, a local police officer finally arrived, asked where the fire was and immediately opened the door, allowing the hall to fill with black smoke. He wouldn't give me any explanation for the delay in fire response.
Meanwhile, I had a bedridden, very obese lady whose casters had been removed from her bed to facilitate transfer, and was frightened of becoming trapped. I repeatedly went to reassure her that she would be okay. A short while after that, I saw Larkspur Volunteer Fireman Tom Forster outfitted in his fire equipment in the hall. It was he who informed me about the dreadful accident of the responding Larkspur Fire truck.
The tragic loss of Volunteer Fireman Niven will never be forgotten. I believe he was focused on a quick response to the emergency as his mother was a resident at the convalescent hospital."
Some related "It's a Small World" background on this story:
Here is some interesting background on Shirley and connections in our local emergency services. She was born in New Jersey to Bradford Gesbocker and Elva Fernstrom Gesbocker, and raised in the community of Packanack Lake, where her dad helped found and man the fire department. He was a Rutgers graduate, and played football with future actor Ozzie Nelson. Bradford worked for Metropolitan Life Insurance in real estate and accounting. Shirley remembers going with her father to pick up Packanack Lake's first fire engine when she was nine years old, a used 1928 REO pumper.
Shirley graduated from the New Jersey Muhlenberg Hospital School of Nursing in 1955, and initially worked in pediatrics. She then went briefly overseas to Germany, staying with an uncle who was a colonel serving in the U.S. Army. She volunteered at Landstuhl Regional Medical Hospital at Ramstein Air Force Base, today the largest military hospital outside of the continental United States. She then returned to New Jersey and decided to try for a position at a Hawaiian hospital.
She drove west in 1956 with another nurse to San Francisco, and after arriving with limited funds, decided to apply to U.C.S.F. Hospital. She remembers having to sign a loyalty oath if she wanted the job, since it was in the 'McCarthy era.' She was assigned to specialty work in the Neuro/Vascular unit. While working there, she took her car for repair to Walker's Chevron, at Stanyan and Beulah in the Haight Ashbury neighborhood, opposite Kezar Stadium. It was here that she met the love of her life, owner Jim Walker. They married in 1957, and after having five children in five years, moved to Corte Madera in 1963.
"Jim still commuted to San Francisco every day, and the hours and distress of that era were wearing; i.e. lots of social unrest in the Haight Ashbury with 'free love', drugs and political upheaval," said Shirley. "At one point Jim arrived at work to find a dead man in the station garbage can. The police at that time advised Jim to wear a 'piece' at work as they couldn't assure a quick response. That was enough to have him actively pursue buying the Cliff Archer Chevron Station in Larkspur in the late 60's." Cliff Archer was the long-time owner of Archer's Chevron, and was retiring. His son Doug Archer would go on to a long career in the Larkspur Fire Department, retiring as Deputy Chief and Fire Marshal.
After buying the business from Cliff, Jim would soon join the Corte Madera Volunteer FD. "He was pleased to be asked to join the department by long-time member and neighbor Jack Forster, Tom's dad," said Shirley. Being a local businessman, he was available during the day and had employees who were volunteer firemen also. Our family was blessed with so many friends and neighbors we met and enjoyed through the volunteer fire service."
Remember Bob Sinnott writing above that he was employed part-time at Walker's Chevron at the time of the fire?
Jim was his employer. This was back in the days of gas station attendants, and manually swiping credit cards for customers. "Fill 'er up? Check under the hood?" Several other volunteer firefighters would work there over the years also, including Senior Captain Craig Weichel of Skywalker Ranch.
The oldest Walker daughter, Lilli, worked at the Marin County Communications Center as a dispatcher for many years. She married Kevin Johnston, who retired from the Novato Fire District as a Division Chief, and also later served as the Chief of Emeryville FD. Second oldest daughter Sue Walker Peterson also became an RN and Mobile Intensive Care Nurse (MICN), and worked for REACH Air Medical Services as a flight nurse for several years. She served in the Emergency Department at S.F. General for many years, and today is the Trauma Center Program Manager. Youngest son Fred Walker became the third generation in the fire service, as a Larkspur Volunteer Firefighter in the 1980's.
He also worked at Skywalker Ranch in the Fire Safety Department before going on to a career with the huge software company Oracle.
Over the course of a long career, Shirley worked in the specialities of Intensive Care, Med/Surgery, Geriatric, and Rehabilitation. In addition to working in San Francisco, she served at Marin General Hospital, Kentfield Rehabilitation Center, and at several long term care facilities such as the Greenbrae Convalescent Hospital. She retired from nursing at 74 years old, and is currently a Petaluma resident.
by Shirley Walker
"I was an RN at Greenbrae Convalescent Hospital and in charge that rainy day. A nurses aide reported to me that there was a fire in the laundry area in the back hall. I immediately went to check and saw smoke and flames coming from the equipment. The two limited English workers had mistakenly put rubber draw sheets in the large capacity dryer. I had them leave that area, closed the door and called 911.
Then I instructed the aides to relocate any residents in the adjacent dining room to the living room distant from the laundry, remove any residents from the hall and close all of the doors to the rooms. I was surprised when the Fire Department was not arriving as quickly as I expected. However, a local police officer finally arrived, asked where the fire was and immediately opened the door, allowing the hall to fill with black smoke. He wouldn't give me any explanation for the delay in fire response.
Meanwhile, I had a bedridden, very obese lady whose casters had been removed from her bed to facilitate transfer, and was frightened of becoming trapped. I repeatedly went to reassure her that she would be okay. A short while after that, I saw Larkspur Volunteer Fireman Tom Forster outfitted in his fire equipment in the hall. It was he who informed me about the dreadful accident of the responding Larkspur Fire truck.
The tragic loss of Volunteer Fireman Niven will never be forgotten. I believe he was focused on a quick response to the emergency as his mother was a resident at the convalescent hospital."
Some related "It's a Small World" background on this story:
Here is some interesting background on Shirley and connections in our local emergency services. She was born in New Jersey to Bradford Gesbocker and Elva Fernstrom Gesbocker, and raised in the community of Packanack Lake, where her dad helped found and man the fire department. He was a Rutgers graduate, and played football with future actor Ozzie Nelson. Bradford worked for Metropolitan Life Insurance in real estate and accounting. Shirley remembers going with her father to pick up Packanack Lake's first fire engine when she was nine years old, a used 1928 REO pumper.
Shirley graduated from the New Jersey Muhlenberg Hospital School of Nursing in 1955, and initially worked in pediatrics. She then went briefly overseas to Germany, staying with an uncle who was a colonel serving in the U.S. Army. She volunteered at Landstuhl Regional Medical Hospital at Ramstein Air Force Base, today the largest military hospital outside of the continental United States. She then returned to New Jersey and decided to try for a position at a Hawaiian hospital.
She drove west in 1956 with another nurse to San Francisco, and after arriving with limited funds, decided to apply to U.C.S.F. Hospital. She remembers having to sign a loyalty oath if she wanted the job, since it was in the 'McCarthy era.' She was assigned to specialty work in the Neuro/Vascular unit. While working there, she took her car for repair to Walker's Chevron, at Stanyan and Beulah in the Haight Ashbury neighborhood, opposite Kezar Stadium. It was here that she met the love of her life, owner Jim Walker. They married in 1957, and after having five children in five years, moved to Corte Madera in 1963.
"Jim still commuted to San Francisco every day, and the hours and distress of that era were wearing; i.e. lots of social unrest in the Haight Ashbury with 'free love', drugs and political upheaval," said Shirley. "At one point Jim arrived at work to find a dead man in the station garbage can. The police at that time advised Jim to wear a 'piece' at work as they couldn't assure a quick response. That was enough to have him actively pursue buying the Cliff Archer Chevron Station in Larkspur in the late 60's." Cliff Archer was the long-time owner of Archer's Chevron, and was retiring. His son Doug Archer would go on to a long career in the Larkspur Fire Department, retiring as Deputy Chief and Fire Marshal.
After buying the business from Cliff, Jim would soon join the Corte Madera Volunteer FD. "He was pleased to be asked to join the department by long-time member and neighbor Jack Forster, Tom's dad," said Shirley. Being a local businessman, he was available during the day and had employees who were volunteer firemen also. Our family was blessed with so many friends and neighbors we met and enjoyed through the volunteer fire service."
Remember Bob Sinnott writing above that he was employed part-time at Walker's Chevron at the time of the fire?
Jim was his employer. This was back in the days of gas station attendants, and manually swiping credit cards for customers. "Fill 'er up? Check under the hood?" Several other volunteer firefighters would work there over the years also, including Senior Captain Craig Weichel of Skywalker Ranch.
The oldest Walker daughter, Lilli, worked at the Marin County Communications Center as a dispatcher for many years. She married Kevin Johnston, who retired from the Novato Fire District as a Division Chief, and also later served as the Chief of Emeryville FD. Second oldest daughter Sue Walker Peterson also became an RN and Mobile Intensive Care Nurse (MICN), and worked for REACH Air Medical Services as a flight nurse for several years. She served in the Emergency Department at S.F. General for many years, and today is the Trauma Center Program Manager. Youngest son Fred Walker became the third generation in the fire service, as a Larkspur Volunteer Firefighter in the 1980's.
He also worked at Skywalker Ranch in the Fire Safety Department before going on to a career with the huge software company Oracle.
Over the course of a long career, Shirley worked in the specialities of Intensive Care, Med/Surgery, Geriatric, and Rehabilitation. In addition to working in San Francisco, she served at Marin General Hospital, Kentfield Rehabilitation Center, and at several long term care facilities such as the Greenbrae Convalescent Hospital. She retired from nursing at 74 years old, and is currently a Petaluma resident.
