I wrote a couple columns relating to the fire company of my youth. At the time, "Big John" Lenhardt was the Chief and as you can see in the column I wrote back in 1983, I was not cut out to be a fire fighter. My buddy, the late Jess Anderson was the epitome of the perfect fireman. I can still see him parked in front of my Hartley Avenue house as the distinctive Colonial siren went off. He'd hop into the 40 Ponitac, kick over the starter and zip up Newkirk hell bent for leather. Some of the names I remember from that great Colonial gang, beside all the Lenhardt boys, were Costigan, Norm Bade, and the Peterson boys.