Valparaiso Fire Department mascot “Old Joe” as he appeared in a picture on the front page of The Vidette-Messenger on April 3, 1937.
This story was written by Robert Allett and originally appeared on the front page of The Vidette-Messenger on April 3, 1937.
Like the old gray mare, Joe “ain’t what he used to be.” Joe is the eighty-seven pound English Pit mascot of the Valparaiso Fire Department. Now twelve years old, the barrel-bodied old veteran spends most of his time sleeping beneath the department’s card table – sleeping with one eye open for the only job he can still accomplish with efficient dispatch. That job is protecting tires on the two firetrucks from the indignities of stray curs who pass that way.
Joe’s teeth are few and far between, but he’s a heavyweight in the canine field and uses his weight to the best advantage, lunging ferociously at any opponent who might enter his domain. The very force of his massive charge sends all dogs yelping, for no cur has ever stopped long enough to discover that Joe’s bark is far, far worse than his nibble.
Did we say all dogs? Well, not quite all, for we forgot about Fanny. Fanny is a forlorn little lady who needed a home badly last Saturday morning. Joe’s distaste for canine company notwithstanding, the boys of the fire department told him he’d just have to take it and like it when Fanny moved in. Joe took it but he didn’t, and still doesn’t, like it. It’s even worse now that Fanny has added eight puppies to the fire department’s menagerie!
Joe treats the little with all the haughty disdain of a confirmed bachelor – but he doesn’t molest Fanny. In fact, Joe came to the little family’s rescue the other night when a prowling Chow, catching the scent of new-born pups, ventured too near the station.
Fanny heard the marauder first and barked excitedly. The Chow was unimpressed by her feminine yappings and tried to get in through the back door of the station. Old Joe may be down, but he’s still a gentleman, and a lady in distress, even if she is muscling in on your territory, deserves some consideration. So Old Joe came gallantly to the rescue and Mr. Chow, when last seen, was streaking down the alley with an animal, that resembled a pig more than a dog, in hot pursuit.
Joe’s been around in his lifetime. Before he came to the police station two years ago and was rescued from the executioner’s hand by the fire laddies, Joe was a circus performer, believe it or not. His act was a high-diving thriller that put the customers back on their heels with its daring. But Joe has lost his manly figure now and his diving days are over. In fact, all his days of excitement are just about gone.
There was a time when he responded to every fire, sitting proudly on the driver’s seat of the fire truck, following his masters bravely into burning buildings, even when the smoke was so thick he had to be dragged to safety – which is what actually happened once.
Now, however, Joe’s old and fat – and asthmatic. He can’t make the jump from running board to seat now and it’s only when the department answers grass fires in the summertime that he gets in on the fun. Then the firemen have time to boost him into his favorite seat.
But the old warrior still responds to an alarm. He may be sleeping, or he may be eating. He may be chasing a stray cur down Indiana Avenue, or he may be strolling nearby, but when the fire bell rings, he’s still Johnny-on-the-spot. Let the telephone bell ring, however, and it gets not a rise out of Joe. He knows the difference.
There’s one temptation Joe can’t resist, and that’s the cot that sets near the phone booth at the front of the station on nights. He’s not allowed the privileges of such a soft bed ordinarily, having a fine box of straw in the rear of the station. But let the department answer a night call and sure enough, when they return Joe may be found on the cot. He merely looks sheepish when the boys return, slinks back to his bed of straw in disgust.
Joe’s days are numbered now, and the firemen know it. He is assured an old age of ease and contentment but someday soon Joe will fail to respond when the fire bell rings, no matter how loudly.
Guarding against that day – for the firemen want a mascot at all times, one of the eight puppies born to Fanny last Saturday has been picked to succeed Old Joe. Of the remaining seven, six have already been promised and several persons are clamoring for the remaining puppy.
Note: Old Joe was humanely euthanized by a veterinarian on August 2, 1937, surrounded by all of the firefighters who loved him dearly.