Coffee at 8 p.m.? No thank you. Chief Willeford of the Dallas Fire Department shrugged and smiled as if to say, “Suit yourself, kid.”

The Chief slurped his coffee one recent night and leaned way back in his desk chair in station 28, located off of Greenville Ave. This firehouse contains a crew of eight, a medium sized crew for a station, according to Willeford.

The fire fighters here serve an area of Greenville Avenue, up through the strip of bars many SMU students frequent, and all the way back down past Knob Hill Road.

“It’s a lot like a family at home,” Willeford said of living in the station when he is on duty.

The Chief sat at a large desk in an office that he shares with Command tech driver engineer, Dan Carter, located just off the station’s garage. Red glints off the fire truck through the window in the door.

The firefighters are on a 24-48 schedule, which means they work for 24 hours, and then go home for 48 hours. They are able to rest in bedrooms furnished with twin beds and desks, much like a dorm.

“Testing the speakers at zero six thirty,” the speakers suddenly sounded throughout the building.

It is a sound that alerts the old crew they can head out. Speakers are tested every morning at 6:30 a.m. In their free time, the fire fighters test everything from knobs and screws on the trucks, to the speakers inside the house.

“Checking your equipment just making sure it works, as close as it can be to a hundred percent. We make sure we check it every single day,” Willeford said between more gulps of thick, black coffee.

Everyday for 30 years, that’s how long the Chief has been in accordance with such a schedule. But, he says, he was born into it. Willeford’s father was also a fire fighter in the Dallas Fire Rescue. For him, this schedule is the only one he’s ever known.

“It’s an interesting job, it’s rewarding, I can’t imagine doing anything else,” he said looking over at Carter, who is seated at the desk with him, for agreement.

Then:

“Dan used to be a teacher!” Willeford said with his coffee cup held high in declaration.

“Not a very good one!” Carter chimed in.

After a bout of laughter the two continued working on their computers and telling stories of their time in the house. Between shifts, they explained, most of the crew hangs out as they would at home.

In the TV room, a fireman was sprawled across a recliner, arms overhead, with his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear. Light from the TV illuminated the room, volume low in the background.

Another fellow sat in the back of the garage chatting on the phone. His feet rested up on a chair and his elbow leaned against a ping pong table. The garage TV protruded from the wall, casting a blue glow over the red hue from the trucks.

Another man sat at the kitchen table enjoying dinner.

“It’s cold,” he said sarcastically.

He had just gotten in off a run and was eating late. The meal was home cooked, though, the crew had fixed dinner earlier. The pots and pans hang over the center island in the kitchen from a ladder the men had hooked up to the ceiling.

Willeford filled up his cup and marched back to his office to join Carter at the desks again.

Just another day at the office.