I was a Black fire captain for KCFD. Racism there is real, and it risks public safety

In fire departments across the country, the brave men and women who serve often refer to each other as brothers and sisters.

But after nearly 28 years serving with the Kansas City Fire Department, I’ve often questioned the authenticity and meaning of this brother and sisterhood.

After my honorable discharge from the Air Force, I joined the Kansas City Fire Department in 1958, at a time when Black firefighters were a rarity, when Black fire chiefs were virtually nonexistent, and when firehouses were segregated.

Not much has changed. A recent investigative series by The Kansas City Star laid bare the racial disparities that exist when it comes to hiring and promotion within the fire department.

In more than a half-century since Jim Crow, fire departments have stopped training their hoses on Black Americans fighting for equal rights, but they have failed to end the systemic racism that would employ more Black firefighters in well-paying jobs.

During my time in the KCFD, I was mortified at how the institutional racism that I witnessed not only disenfranchised Black men and women, but also hindered the department’s mission of protecting life and property.

Historically, Black firefighters were stationed at two firehouses, one near the 18th & Vine Jazz District and another in the West Bottoms neighborhood. I started my career as a firefighter in Fire Station 8, close to downtown, as officials attempted to integrate the department by assigning one Black firefighter to every company citywide.

But integration didn’t achieve equality.

There was a social pecking order within the fire department. There were the workaday crews on fire engines (also known as pumpers) who manned hoses, breached buildings and extinguished blazes. And there was the cadre of firefighters on ladder trucks who operated the specialized aerial equipment critical for search and rescue efforts.

The perceived differences within the department of these two types of crews were perhaps best summed up in the vulgar yet common maxim: “I’d rather have a sister in a whorehouse than a brother on a pumper.”

Black firemen were typically denied opportunities to work certain positions on ladder companies. Namely, there was a racist attitude that Black firefighters weren’t educated enough to operate the “tiller,” which meant driving the back end of a ladder truck outfitted with aerial equipment.

In 1977, I became one of the few Black firefighters to rise to the rank of captain. For years, I had passed the exam but was passed over by my white counterparts with higher scores, prompting me to accept an affirmative action promotion begrudgingly. Recognizing the need to diversify ladder companies, Ed Wilson, Kansas City’s first Black fire chief, tasked me with leading Hook and Ladder No. 11.

I made it my personal mission to give Black firefighters an opportunity I never had: to learn how to tiller. I asked two young, white firemen — who learned to tiller fresh out of the academy — to teach about a dozen seasoned Black firefighters on our crew.

In the early 1980s, a devastating fire broke out at a building near 18th and McGee streets. As crews forced entry into the structure, an explosion blew firefighters onto the street. Two firemen on my crew were wounded, including the white firefighter who usually operated the tiller.

A Black firefighter on my crew — who for years had been considered unfit to tiller for no reason other than the color of his skin — stepped in to replace his brother in the line of duty because he had been afforded the opportunity to learn this skill, saving the department the embarrassment of not having someone to drive the truck back to the station.

The failure to recruit, train and promote Black firefighters imperils the lives of city residents and first responders alike. But there has been little progress to bridge the disparities within the department.

In retirement, I receive emails from the retired firefighters’ association that I belong to, containing, among other things, obituaries of my former white colleagues. They often detail their children, grandchildren and extended family members who have continued their legacy and joined the Kansas City Fire Department. Yet, at 83 years old, I have no successor — and it’s not for lack of trying.

I’ve been told my grandson, who attended college for four years and was fit enough to try out with the Royals, somehow didn’t manage to make the cut in KCFD training. My nephew, who studied construction management at Kansas State University, said he applied and didn’t even get a response.

I called then-Fire Chief Paul Berardi, who was a firefighter during my days as a captain, to ask why. He never called back.

These days, my grandson works as a long-haul truck driver and my nephew works at the city’s water department. I’m proud of both of them. Still, when my grandson loads into the cab of his semitrailer, it’s difficult not to imagine that it might have been a ladder truck. When my nephew tells me how he maintains the pumping equipment at the treatment plant, it’s hard to think he’d be unable to attach a fire hose to a hydrant and proceed to the scene of a fire.

James Toliver is a retired fire captain with the Kansas City Fire Department. He was among the first Black firemen to achieve the rank of captain.

This story was originally published January 31, 2021 at 5:00 AM with the headline "I was a Black fire captain for KCFD. Racism there is real, and it risks public safety."