Family ties run deep for Arizona. firefighters

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PRESCOTT, Ariz. — In the days after 19 wildland firefighters were killed near Yarnell, their friends and family all used the same word to describe them: brothers.
 
It was there in obituaries, in Facebook posts, on the memorial fence near the fire station, in expressions of grief from family members. It was a metaphor, for the way the firefighters lived together, ate, slept and labored together, and for the way they died together.
 
Brett Williams, a retired firefighter from Phoenix, says that when he heard about the deaths of the 19 Granite Mountain Hotshots, he felt like he had lost a family member of his own; 22-year-old Wade Parker was the son of Dan Parker, a fellow firefighter, longtime friend and a man that Williams calls his brother.
 
"Danny was so proud of that kid," Williams says. "His son was following in his footsteps."
 
Growing up around firefighters, going to family events, hanging out at the fire station — it all has an effect on kids, he says.
 
"Your kids see the excitement, see the things you do, see you train, and they want to grow up to do these things," Williams says. They feel the camaraderie among the firefighters, he says, the brotherhood.
 
And for many of those who died in the Yarnell Hill Fire, the job really was about family.
 
Robert Caldwell and Grant McKee were cousins.
 
Dustin DeFord's dad and four of his brothers were firefighters.
 
Anthony Rose lived with his uncle, a fire-department dispatcher.
 
Sean Misner was a fourth-generation firefighter, with a great-grandfather, a grandfather, two uncles and a cousin in the business.
 
Christopher MacKenzie, Kevin Woyjeck and Wade Parker's fathers all are firefighters, two of them captains: Joe Woyjeck in Los Angeles, and Dan Parker at the Chino Valley Fire District.
 
Brett Williams and Dan Parker met in the late 1980s, when they moved in next door to each other in a Chino Valley trailer park. Parker, his wife and two daughters rented a single-wide; Williams, his wife and two sons rented a double-wide just 30 feet away. A mutual friend introduced them, and they found they had much in common — both were struggling construction workers and practicing Christians, and both dreamed of becoming firefighters.
 
"None of us had two nickels to rub together back then," Dan Parker says. "When you go through those tough times together, you have a tendency to build a bond."
 
Williams and Parker went through training together, driving to classes together, eating their brown-bag lunches together. Williams says that during the physical testing, instead of just dragging him the required distance, Parker threw him over his shoulder and carried him out.
 
Their families were close, pulled tight by common experience and financial struggles. "We would get together at the Verde River," Parker says. "The kids would swim in the river, and we'd roast hot dogs and marshmallows. We'd have a wonderful time."
 
"It was more than just Danny and I," Williams says. "It was a family."
 
After their training, their paths began to fork. Parker took a job with the Chino Valley Fire District. Williams found work with the Sedona Fire District. The leases on their trailers ended. Williams laughs, "Both our wives were pregnant, so Danny and I had to move all the furniture."
 
"Just the two of us," Parker said, and laughed. "The women were pointing their fingers."
 
Phillip Williams and Wade Parker were born just two days apart. "When Wade was a baby, I held him in my arms," Williams says.
 
Time passed. The kids grew up. In high school, Phillip Williams was on the state-champion varsity wrestling team for all four years; Wade Parker was the captain of his baseball team.
 
Williams says he didn't see Dan Parker often then, but that every time they got together, it was as though they'd never been apart.
 
"When we'd hook up, it was like we'd never missed a beat," Parker says.
 
They both remember the last time Williams saw Wade. It was about two years ago. It was Dan's day off; he and Wade were in the garage. Dan was working on a wooden bow, teaching Wade. Williams showed up. "We pulled up some chairs and sat down and talked," Parker says. "Didn't get a lot of work done on the longbow."
 
"I've seen so many sons who look just like their father and act just like their father, and you can just tell they're going to be a firefighter," Williams says. "Wade was one of those."
 
Dan says that when Wade was about 9 years old, they were driving home when they came upon a car wreck. Four or five people had been injured, but an ambulance hadn't arrived yet. Dan parked the car and ran over to help. Every time he looked up, he saw Wade watching, his forehead pressed against the glass.
 
"When we got done, he was telling me how he thought he wanted to become a fireman, so he would know what to do when there was an emergency," Dan says. "It made me proud of what I do."
 
Williams says that one of the reasons so many firefighters come from firefighter families is because it's a tough job to get, and it helps to have someone in the business giving you pointers.
 
"It's not nepotism," he says. "A lot of it is motivation."
 
Many kids with firefighters in the family start working to become a firefighter at an earlier age and are often more determined in their pursuit, he says.
 
"I think a person that has had the experience and been through the process before can help coach a young man in all the areas he needs to be successful," Parker says.
 
That day in the garage, Wade Parker talked about becoming a hotshot. He was a little nervous about taking the test, Williams says, but they gave him pointers and advice.
 
During Wade's first interview, the interviewer asked him what his goals were, Parker says. "He said his goal was to make Rookie of the Year."
 
Wade joined the Granite Mountain Hotshots the next fire season and was then named Rookie of the Year. "I was proud," Dan Parker says.
 
Williams says that, unlike Wade, his son Phillip wasn't as set on a career path right out of high school. He's working an office job in Phoenix now but still talks occasionally about becoming a firefighter. Williams' oldest son, though, is training to become a firefighter.
 
He has mixed feelings about his sons following him into firefighting, he says. "I know the toll it can take both physically and emotionally."
 
And then, of course, there's the danger. "Danny losing his son … it concerns a father," he says. "How would I deal with that?"
 
But he loved his job, he says — the excitement, the physical challenge, the reward of serving the public — and he's proud of his oldest son and would be proud if Phillip chooses to be a firefighter, too.
 
Parker took time off work after his son's death, and he says he's not sure yet if he wants to retire. "I'm torn, because I love the job so much," he says. "I'd miss the camaraderie of being on the crew, going on calls."
 
On June 30, Williams was hiking in the San Francisco Peaks. He saw the black storm clouds build, saw them blow in over the Yarnell fire. "I had a bad feeling about it," he says.
 
The next morning, he found out that Wade had died.
 
He called Dan that night. It had been awhile since they had spoken, he says, but they spent a long time on the phone, talking and crying.
 
"It's rough when your kids play together," Williams says.
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