Ken Harris, a fixture in the Woodbridge Fire District for more than 40 years, retired Friday. (Jennifer M. Howell/News-Sentinel)

Woodbridge operations chief Harris turns off fire radio after 42 years

For the first time in 42 years, Ken Harris doesn't have a fire radio serving as background noise for his life.

His four children, 10 grandchildren and four great-grandchildren have never been in the house without hearing the fire tones and chatter between dispatchers and firefighters. In fact, old friends and colleagues still aren't sure that Harris is really retiring as operations chief of the Woodbridge Fire District, where he has spent more than four decades.

"My two sons have bets with their kids: If I really retire, my oldest son has to eat a bug," Harris said Friday. "One grandson already has a bug picked out — he has a praying mantis in a jar."

Harris' long stint with the fire department, much of that time as an unpaid volunteer, drew to a close Friday. For the occasion, he donned his black suit with fire emblems, yellow stripes and a string of stars around the cuff of the left sleeve.

"I'm proud of my uniform, but I'd rather be in my gear, out there on the lines," he said.

That's typical Harris, who has helped shepherd countless young firefighters into the profession, which involves more medical aide than fighting fires.

"There's an old saying here, 'Hi, my name is Ken Harris and I'm your friend.' There's a lot of truth in that," said Fire Chief Mike Kirkle.

Many of the new firefighters get experience in Woodbridge and then move on to bigger departments that offer a bit more excitement and better pay. That's fine with Harris, though, because he keeps track of them and proudly watches his one-time probationary firefighters (he called them "probies") move up the ranks.

And once upon a time, Harris was a new firefighter, too.

Ken Harris, Operations Chief of the Woodbridge Fire District, retired Friday after 42 years with the department. Harris talked to his grandson who, moments before, graduated from the Coast Guard. "Today I end my career as you begins yours," he said. (Jennifer M. Howell/News-Sentinel)

Born on a military base in San Luis Obispo during World War II — his father was overseas, so his mother went to an Army hospital — Harris grew up in Lodi, where his mother had also been born and raised.

At some point Harris decided he wanted to be a firefighter, though in those days most positions were volunteer. Despite the lack of pay, there was still a waiting list.

By age 22, Harris had been waiting for a year to become a volunteer.

"Christmas week of '65, I got a call that someone was quitting and there would be a position open by the end of the year," Harris said. "I got in my car and went over to the chief's house. It was 9 at night when I banged on his door and said, 'I want this job.'"

Harris got the position.

After 42 years, he still remembers the first call he went on: A vehicle had caught fire on Highway 12 at DeVries Road, which in 1966 was called Telegraph Road.

"I was proud as a peach. I got to grab a hose off the truck and put some water on it," Harris said with one of his subtle grins that soon encompasses his whole face.

Over the years, he went to an untold number of fires, car wrecks and medical calls. He went to help when the old Lodi Union High School — now the site of Hutchins Street Square — burnt down in 1974.

He worked a 1981 natural gas rig fire on McDonald Island north-west of Stockton, a blaze that could be seen from Lodi, Harris said.

He was part of a strike team sent to Colorado in 2002 to help battle that state's biggest fire in history.

And he has seen many gruesome, tragic scenes. He doesn't dwell on them, and didn't name any specific incidents Friday, but said some will forever haunt him.

Harris volunteered for 28 years, which meant he needed a paying job, too. He went to work for a Stockton Ford dealer, spending 25 years there and eventually becoming general manager of parts and service before going to a Lodi dealership.

In 1993, Harris wanted something different. By then, Woodbridge Fire was growing and actually had some paid firefighters, and the chief suggested that he apply.

So, at the age of 50, Harris applied to be a firefighter. He got the job, though it meant a pay cut of $2,200 a month.

After so many years of volunteering, Harris went through the mandatory fire academy, alongside firefighters half his age. He didn't mind.

In 1999, Harris was on duty when he suffered a major heart attack. Fellow firefighters shocked him six times with a defibrillator, saving his life.

At the hospital, a nurse told his wife that only immediate family could be in the room. His wife, Harris recounted, told the nurse, "You've got a problem: There are 15 firefighters waiting to see him. You go tell them they can't come in." The firefighters were allowed in.

His wife, whom he married in 1977, had long since gotten used to Harris' job. When he'd get called out of bed in the middle of the night, she'd sleep right through it.

The whole family was accustomed to the firefighting world, partly because they're all close: When the family is around — which is frequent — that doesn't mean a few people are at the Harris home. It means there are 30 to 40 people gathered.

That family, Harris said, is what will help him get used to the empty sound of no fire radios chattering in the background.

Two of his granddaughters have drafted him to be their chauffeur to and from school. His youngest granddaughter, age 5, already talked him into planting 100 flowers in a garden for her, and she pedals along on an attachment to Harris' bicycle.

Harris timed his retirement so there's plenty of time to go camping and fishing with his sons during the summer. For Christmas, the family is going to Disneyland. And then in January, Harris will start remodeling the kitchen and bathrooms, ending with a large amount of painting.

His grandfatherly pride became even more obvious Friday morning when his cell phone began ringing, playing the song "Oh When the Saints Go Marching In." On the other end of the phone was his 19-year-old grandson, calling from the East Coast, mere minutes after graduating from the Coast Guard.

"I'm proud of you," Harris said into the phone. "I've always been proud of you."

Contact reporter Layla Bohm at layla@lodinews.com.