Back during the early 1950’s, Rockingham and environs relied
on their volunteer firemen.  The main fire station at that time
was located on North Hancock Street, one block east and then
one block north of Harrington Square.  The old fire station
building was still there the last time I looked last fall.  They had
two beautiful red fire engines, which is all the old fire station
would accommodate.  I think they had at least two full time
firemen on duty at all times; this would imply they had a total
staff of about ten full-time firemen.  Usually in response to an
alarm, there would be at least six or seven volunteer firemen
responding also.  So the volunteer staff did the lion’s share of
the fire fighting.  They covered more than just the city limits of
Rockingham.  I can remember a fire at Midway to which they
responded.  That was one or two miles outside the city limits at
the time.  

They had a very loud whistle, or maybe I should call it a horn.  
You could easily hear it for at least five miles from the center of
town.  They also had a similar whistle at one of the East
Rockingham mills (maybe the Safee Mill or the Hannah-Pickett)
that always blew exactly one long blast at exactly twelve-noon
everyday except Sunday.  Many workmen used this to know
when to start their lunch breaks.  The fire whistle was more
eerie sounding than the noon mill whistle; so you would never
get them confused.  The fire whistle would blow a code number.  
For example, it would blow seven times, and after a couple
seconds, it would blow three times.  The “seventy three” was a
code that would tell the volunteer firemen where the fire was
located.  They would repeat the entire whistle sequence about
thirty seconds later.  All the firemen knew the codes for the
whistle; however, it was not available for public dissemination.  
You only knew it was in your area when you heard the siren.  It
would blast you out of your bed at night; we were located a
about a half-mile (maybe a little more) from downtown.  We
didn’t have that many fires in Rockingham back then, but when
you did everyone knew about it.

Mr. Perry Covington was the Volunteer Fire Chief; I think he
was also the overall Fire Chief, but I’m not too sure of that.  He
ran an Amoco station at the corner of Hancock Street and Court
Street.  He had a son (Perry, Junior) at the LJ Bell School who
was either one-year ahead of me, or one-year behind me.  I don’t
know any of the other Firemen by name, but they were a mighty
fine group of men.  There may have been as many as twenty-five
in total since everyone was not on call at the same time.  Right
below Mr. Covington’s Amoco station was the Studebaker
dealership (at the corner of Hancock and Leak Street).  I’m not
totally sure, but I think Mr. Covington drove a Studebaker
pickup truck.  He used the truck in his business and also to
respond to the fire whistle.  I do specially remember they had a
red Studebaker truck up the hill from Mr. Covington’s Amoco at
Yates Grocery Store, which faced Franklin Street across from
the side rear of the old Post Office.  They stopped making
Studebakers by the early 1960’s.           

I can remember one fire in the Midway area where a lady had
left her cooking without turning it off, and then she got
distracted.  They lost their house, but were able to save most of
their furniture.  My mother did something like that one night.  
She had left a pot of greens on low heat.  She forgot about it,
and we went to the evening service at the Pee Dee Church.  
When we returned, the house was filled with smoke.  She was
able to carry the very hot pot to the back door and throw it into
the back yard where it burst into flames on contact with the
ground.  That’s a close call we will never forget.  I remember I
rode over to Midway to a fire with Shad Morris who lived across
from us on Sand Hill Road (now South Caroline Street).  He had
just returned from the Korean War; and, needless to say, he was
one of my heroes.  His father ran an electrical shop in
downtown Rockingham.  He had lost an older brother during
World War II.  We just followed the fire truck (which of course
was illegal).

Another fire in the Midway area was a farmhouse.  By the time
we were able to walk the mile over there, we found where the
house had burned completely.  The volunteers did what they
could; they were able to save the barn.  This appeared to be a
fireplace fire as it was mid-winter.  There was a dog chained to
the doghouse, and he was still there when we arrived.  This
implied that the owners had left on a short trip or errand, and
their house burned down while they were gone.  I bet that was a
shock when they finally returned home.

Now, let’s switch to the Great Rockingham Oil Fire.  Just east of
the old Rockingham depot, there were two oil terminals.  I think
they are still there.  One was Sinclair and the other was Amoco.  
The distance was about half of a football field; so let’s say it was
one hundred and fifty feet.  About half way between the depot
and the terminals was a sidetrack used for loading or unloading
boxcars.  I had seen as many as five boxcars parked there on
previous occasions.  The fire whistle alerted us to a fire, but the
sirens got mighty close to us as they converged on the depot
area.  The Amoco terminal had caught fire, and the building was
burning with flames that went at least twenty, maybe forty feet
onto the air.  The fire trucks and all the Volunteer Firemen
were there by the time I came on the scene.  The firemen were
concentrating their water hoses on the two large holding tanks.  
I now estimate that each of these tanks would hold between two
to three thousand gallons of something.  Was it heating oil or
was it gasoline?  I assume it was heating oil.  If it had been
gasoline I don’t think their water hoses would have kept it from
exploding.  That was a mighty hot fire.

There were about twenty spectators who had climbed on top of
the parked boxcars to watch the fire.  I climbed up there too, but
I shortly realized if those tanks exploded, we would all be
covered with burning oil.  So as I made my exit, I suggested to
the others the danger we might be in.  They didn’t pay any
attention to a ten-year-old boy, and they stayed.  I went back to
the bridge across Falling Creek and watched the fire from there
for a while.  This was about two to three hundred feet from the
fire, but I still didn’t feel safe even from there since I was still
concerned that there might be gasoline in those tanks.  Surely
the Fire Department knew what was in those tanks.  It was
somewhat dangerous for them if the tanks contained heating
oil, but it was suicidal if they contained gasoline.  Anyhow the
Volunteers were eventually able to control the fire.  Although
the terminal building was practically destroyed, the tanks were
still intact.  They later rebuilt the terminal building, and one
year later there was no outside visible evidence of the fire.  
Today’s firefighters would use special heat resistant (asbestos?)
suits for fighting this type of fire; however, they did not have
those available back them.

I remember the gentleman who ran the Amoco terminal, but I
don’t remember his name.  About a year before the fire, I had
noticed they had some Amoco banners at the Amoco stations
that when paired would make nice tents.  I was able to talk this
gentleman out of two of those banners that I used for my tent in
our front yard.  I made sure the Amoco labels were noticeable
from the street, as I had promised my benefactor.  This poses an
interesting dilemma.  If this terminal were associated with the
gasoline stations (since they had the banners), wouldn’t they
have been the suppliers for the gasoline stations?  If so where
did they store the gasoline?  Underground?  They couldn’t have
stored gasoline in those above ground tanks; else I wouldn’t be
here today writing this essay.

So let’s all be thankful and appreciative of our Volunteer
Firemen.  Gastonia had only full time firemen spread over five
or more fire stations in town.  Property tax bills had a high
charge for that service.  In Greensboro, we have both full-time
and Volunteer Firemen.  Where I live today (about seven miles
south of the center of town), we have the Volunteer system
similar to Rockingham’s in the 1950’s, except we don’t have the
whistle.  I assume they use cell phones today to communicate.  
The next time you see or meet a Volunteer Fireman:  If you are
a man, shake his hand; if you are a woman, give him a good hug.