An EMS Dispatcher's Hardest Day

By Tony Guido

April 15, 2008 is a day etched on a bracelet I wear round my wrist, the tattoo on my right arm and permanently ingrained in my mind. During National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week (April 12-18) my thoughts hit “paper” to tell a story every dispatcher should read. For some it may hit close to home.

The Tuesday 0630 shift at the Northport Police Department was just another part-time 12-hour tour that honestly paid for my snowmobiling habit, dinners out with friends and the school loan from which I dropped out to pursue a career in emergency services. Coffee and paper in hand, I was settled in for an uneventful day at the desk in our small Long Island town. Or so I wished it had gone that way.

Suffolk PD went out with a 10-10 (motor vehicle accident) requesting heavy rescue. The police were normally calm but not on this beautiful April morning. The tone was very different, something dispatchers learn early in their careers. The first arriving units were all over the radio, they needed help and the situation was audibly critical.

Northport’s district was a mere mile from the accident that occurred in Centerport. As the officers headed to the scene to assist I opened my CAD (computer aided dispatch) and began the normal job of tracking each units signals while starting the narrative. NPD responded to the scene of a 10-10 with PI (personal injury) upon arriving on scene units assisted SCPD (Suffolk County Police Department) with scene.... Then the sector car requested aviation, wow this is the real deal I thought. The Northport Fire Department was also requested for heavy rescue mutual aid for a reported motorcycle involved. At this time this was an all hands operation as far as I knew and my attention was to all frequencies involved.

There is something exciting about being a dispatcher. You know about things before the newspapers and often you know the true story behind those small town rumors that are frequently misconstrued. I was drawn to it, I wanted to be a police officer and thought dispatching was a good start. I got to hang with the cops and become one of the guys, all the while having that inside knowledge we couldn’t talk about outside department walls. However today was not the day to be in the know.

The 29 (vehicle registration) came back on the motorcycle and over the air the words blared “Lorri Varese, 9 ****** Drive, Northport,” with that the sergeant ran out the door telling me to stay calm and handle the desk. I almost passed out. It was my best friend’s bike, the one he loved to ride, the one he impressed girls with by taking them on cruises out to the East End of Long Island. The bike was in his mother’s name but I knew she didn’t ride. It was about the time he would be heading to work, the weather was beautiful it made sense, with that the sector car went over again, “Cancel aviation, 25A is going to remain closed.”

I shook violently at my desk, as a dispatcher you know what this means but you don’t want to believe your first sense. I prayed as I paced the 15 x 8 elevated floor of the dispatch room... please get him to the hospital, just get him to the hospital. I repeated it over and over again even out loud as if someone high above would hear me, but no prayers would be answered, no ambulances were moving patients and my fears were soon confirmed when one of the officers returned from the alarm.

He passed the desk, he couldn’t look at me, he just stared off for what seemed like a lifetime, he finally turned and looked at me “He’s dead, I’m sorry Tony.” That moment plays over and over in my head for the last seven years, I wanted better news but the officer was honest, he didn’t want to be the one to tell me, in fact years later he still would say... “I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”

Charles Joseph Varese was 25 years old. He was for all intents and purposes my brother from another mother. We were in our prime “Living The Dream” somewhere Between Raising Hell and Amazing Grace, a Big & Rich Song we lived by. Now those words are inscribed on a tattoo that bears his name and the bold words BROTHERS FOREVER. He was a decorated firefighter who once ran into a burning apartment building without gear to evacuate dozens of tenants. I was there that night and remember his words, “Go get the truck, I got this.” He was the real deal.

We shared the same likes, volunteered for the same department and grew up in the same neighborhood. My parents knew him like a son and likewise his treated me like one of their own. I lost my brother that day, many lost a son and the community lost an amazing man to the hands of a selfish drug addict who drifted into the wrong lane ending the life of a monumental man.

His Uncle Jimmy was the fire chief who ran the call, his brother Will was riding shotgun in the Heavy Rescue truck that rolled up to a horrific scene as I ran the radio from a few miles away. His father was the new chief of the Northport Fire Department where Chuck followed in his footsteps. It was about as much of a small town tragedy as you can imagine. It’s a story you cant make up, although fiction would have less victims and Chuck and I would be busy planning our next excursion to a NASCAR race, a new snowmobiling destination, or a sailing trip down south.

I didn’t become a police officer. I stayed with dispatching, working my way into quality assurance and education. I enjoy my work but mostly I love helping dispatchers get better, especially helping them cope with hard calls that test their emotions.

I have been a shoulder to cry on for many and it’s because I once cried on the shoulders of others too. I rarely tell this story but today was the day I needed to cry and writing always makes me happy, Chuck would want me to be happy. As my wife and I expect our first child (honestly a little scared), I know he still has my back.

This article is for you, the dispatchers who work late on no sleep, who listen to seemingly unimportant complaints and then moments later provide CPR instructions to a scared caller who doesn’t know what to do. Thank you to all the telecommunicators who serve their communities across this nation. Remember that we handle tough situations and there will always be a shoulder for us to cry on if we need one.