By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist
We don’t have to look far to find the worst in humanity — to witness selfishness, greed and acts of evil so egregious they make us sick when held in our minds for too long. That’s how I felt reading the news on Sunday about a man in Coeur d’Alene who started a brush fire and ambushed the responding firefighters. It was the kind of story that made me want to avert my eyes.
For all the darkness we see, there’s a flipside: the brightest lights — beacons of courage, community and hope. As close as we are to the worst in humanity, we are just as near to the best — the people who run toward danger with selflessness and purpose. In the wake of this week’s tragedy, I wanted to talk to someone who could speak to that side, the side of light. Someone who rises in moments of crisis with camaraderie, clarity and courage.
I reached out to Bonner County EMS Captain Paramedic and Schweitzer Fire District Fire Chief David Ramsey after seeing his recent Facebook post. It read: “Never have I been more proud to wear the uniform. To be there for my fallen brothers. It was a rough evening. Keep the families of the CDA Fire and KCFR in your thoughts and prayers.”
Schweitzer Fire District Fire Chief David Ramsey. Courtesy photo
It struck me how a person could experience something so devastating and still speak of pride and purpose. There are so many other possible reactions: fear, anxiety, even reluctance. But people like Dave seem to reach for something deeper. They know the stakes, and they go anyway.
I asked him where that mentality comes from — what drives someone to put on the uniform and walk into fire, trauma and uncertainty when so many would run the other way.
“I can’t name it,” he said. “That thing that makes us responders… that innate sense of servitude or community. I guess it’s just there.”
He spoke of how certain jobs find the right people and how purpose, for some, reveals itself only over time.
“A lot of people search their whole lives for meaning. I had to grow into it. But eventually I came to realize this is probably what I was meant to do. Whatever spiritual belief you have — God, the universe — if it was talking, I was listening.”
Dave’s career began in 1998 — “the late 1900s,” he shared, with purposeful levity — when he signed up for an EMT class. The decision was sparked by a climbing trip in which a friend fell, and Dave wanted to be the guy who knew how to help in times of crisis.
Some people, like Dave, when confronted with hardship, square their shoulders and decide to dedicate their life to being the person who knows what to do.
After establishing himself as an EMT, Dave became a firefighter, then a paramedic. He raised his hand in 2001 when his fire chief asked who wanted to go to New York to help after 9/11. He raised it again when the tsunami hit Japan, helping teach disaster relief. After moving to Sandpoint 12 years ago, he’s been on the scene at countless life-changing moments.
When I asked how someone stays in a career like this for 27 years, he reflected on what it means to simply be there with people through the hardest parts of their lives.
Emily Erickson. Courtesy photo.
“A lot of times, my words are the majority of my medicine,” he said. “I’ve got like 50 drugs I can use, but I often wonder what’s more effective — the drugs, or the person administering them? I think our biggest job is just bearing witness. That’s what we do.”
“The other day, we responded to a lady who was having a bad day. We got to the hospital, and while actively having a heart attack, she looked at me and said, ‘Thank you for being so kind.’
“It wasn’t about the IV that we started or the medicine that made her feel better; it was gratitude for how I was present with her. That’s what I tell my kids — emulate the world you want in return. So that’s why I do what I do, I guess.”
I asked Dave about the bond between people who do this work — people who’ve seen things most of us couldn’t imagine. He showed me a photo of the crew that had responded alongside him on Sunday night, and I was struck by how much courage could be captured in a single frame. I thought of the countless others still out there fighting fires, responding to emergencies and doing the job despite all that it means (now, and always).
“It’s a connection you probably wouldn’t get anywhere else. It fulfills this deep pull to be part of something bigger than yourself. At the end of a hard day, I can talk to someone outside the job, and they might say, ‘That’s awful,’ and I appreciate the sympathy. But when I talk to a colleague, they know. They can empathize.”
That quiet camaraderie showed up even as Dave and I sat and talked. Another member of the Sandpoint EMS team stopped by, said ‘Hello,’ and invited Dave to go mountain biking. It was simple, casual, but full of meaning. They understood, without needing to say it, that on the hardest days, it’s even more important to do the things that remind you you’re alive.
Dave told me that after the events of the job, the ability to hop on a bike isn’t something he takes for granted. It’s a privilege. A perspective that sharpens with every call.
In that spirit, he shared a poem that, for him, captures the heart of the work — and the people he’s honored to stand beside when doing it. It’s called The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. A few lines stood out:
“I want to know if you have touched the center of your own / sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have / become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. / I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it…
“I want to know if you can see beauty even when it / is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life / from its presence…
“I want to know / if you can get up after the night of grief and / despair, weary and bruised to the bone / and do what needs to be done to feed the children. / It doesn’t interest me who you are, / or how you came to be here. / I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.”
All I can say is a far-too-small, “Thank you,” to the people who answer those questions with an unequivocal “Yes,” every single day. I’m amazed that Dave is but one of many people who walk the path of bravery in the face of adversity and tragedy in our community. It will never feel like enough, but I carry you, and the entire firefighting and EMS community, in my heart.
Alongside all of North Idaho, I ache for the families and loved ones affected by this week’s events, and for the ripple effects that will continue long after the news cycle moves on. My gratitude for your strength, your service and your humanity is renewed, tenfold.
To support the families affected, you can visit the Kootenai County Fire & Rescue Department’s Facebook page for direct links, donate in person at any First Interstate Bank branch or give to the JW Foundation.
