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by Ralph F. Couey
The winds of change blow wildly these days, particularly where ethnic symbology exists. Sports teams who have used Native American symbols and names, some for more than a century, are just now becoming sensitive to how those portrayals are perceived by those who hold that real life heritage. The Washington DC football team has shed its controversial "Redskins" moniker, but as a replacement is still being debated, will be known this year as...the Washington Football Team. Practical, if not particularly inspirational. The Cleveland Indians have stated that they will be considering a change to another name as soon as one is nominated that everybody can agree upon. Other teams are feeling the pressure as well.
The Kansas City Chiefs were not named after Native Americans, but rather a former mayor H. Roe Bartle, whose nickname was "Chief." But the symbology adopted by the team after their move from Dallas to KC has reflected the Indian motif. The association went beyond the helmet symbol, the touchdown flag, and the stadium name to include a horse named "Warpaint," who galloped around the field after every touchdown, rode by a team employee wearing a ceremonial headdress. Fans as well chose costumes such as the headdress, painted faces, and one Arrowhead legend known as "Arrow Man," who showed up at games wearing the opponent's jersey liberally perforated by arrows. But as cultural awareness has started to mature, even this team is looking at alternatives.
One of the choices, the most popular, as I'm given to understand, would be the Kansas City Fire Chiefs. Firefighters are some of the most universally loved public servants in America, but this new association dates back to a tragedy that happened almost 32 years ago.
In the early hours of November 29, 1988, KCFD Pumpers 30 and 41 responded to a construction sight to find two fires burning. What the crews did not know was that this site was also storing 50,000 pounds of ammonium nitrate, fuel oil, and other explosives. The fires ate into those storage containers and in a massive blast that broke windows all over South Kansas City, six firefighters died instantly. Two other blasts also occurred, each one leaving a crater 80 to 100 feet wide.
The response to the disaster was widespread and heartfelt throughout the Metro. That incident, as well as several others that have resulted in firefighters' deaths, remain indelibly imprinted on the community conscience, as well they should.
Firefighters have always held a special place in the hearts of the communities they are sworn to protect. There's not a kid alive who hasn't rushed to a window at the sound of that approaching siren to watch excitedly as the big trucks roll by, the kids wishing with all their hearts that they could join them. The fire station has for decades been that neighborhood landmark, visited by kids and adults, and welcomed by those brave souls. I remember my Dad taking me to an open house at our nearby station. I particularly have vivid memories of being lifted into the seat behind that enormous steering wheel, and getting to pull the rope that sounded the air horn. Those firefighters instinctively understood the heart of a child, and I think were every bit as excited as I was. It was a day that lives still in my memory.
That close, personal, and emotional relationship was reinforced on 9/11 as we heard and read about those FDNY souls who climbed up those endless stairs toting hundreds of pounds of equipment as everyone else went the other way. We all, I think, felt deeply the loss of those 343 brave souls.
If the Chiefs decide to change to this very attractive and deeply meaningful alternative, I thought about what that new symbol might look like. I attempted to draw my idea out, but the resulting mess convinced me that as an artist, I'm a pretty good motorcyclist.
So take a look, if you will at the graphic at the top of this post. In the background is the familiar Maltese Cross that nearly all fire companies employ. Instead of the words "Fire Dept.", imagine "Fire Chiefs." On the blank leaves, the letters "K" and "C". Behind the helmet are two crossed axes, a familiar and common tool of the firefighting profession. More on that in a bit.
This symbol would fit comfortably on the sides of a football helmet, and the team would be able to keep their red, white, and gold colors. Arrowhead, the name for the stadium since its construction might be re-named "The Firehouse."
The more I thought about this, the more ideas came to mind. Think about this: When the time comes for the team to take the field for home games, a real-life firefighter stands at a big brass bell, and clangs rapidly as the team sprints out of the runway, accompanied by the sound of a siren. Maybe after a touchdown, two other firefighters in vintage uniforms, drive a horse-drawn firewagon around the field, while someone else lights off CO2 fire extinguishers. Instead of headdresses and war paint, fans are decked out in fire helmets and turnout gear.
But here's the best part! Remember the crossed axes? Now, the Tomahawk Chop, a act of growing controversy, instead becomes the swinging of a firefighter's ax, accompanied not by a song, but a rhythmic HOOH! HOOH! HOOH! which surely would shake the rafters. The chop, an enormously popular action, is thereby saved, as something within a whole new acceptable and popular context.
We are told that Native American activist groups as a whole don't really have a problem with the Chiefs name, per se, although most of the accompanying traditions do grate on them. And we have no idea if the Chiefs are even seriously contemplating a change. But if they do decide to drop the current name and all the accompanying fan-based hoorah, there is an already popular alternative ready and waiting to honor some real American heroes.
And when the winds of change blow through The Firehouse, it will be a welcome and perhaps overdue breath of fresh air.
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