David Craig

I am not a fireman or EMT but I certainly appreciate and respect their commitment and services to our communities. I wrote a poem about my favorite fireman which I would like to share:

A Tribute To
Robert "Sparky" Craig
Poem written by Dave Craig

We are all going to miss him,
there is truly no doubt.
His chrome dome head and
that "Horse Caller" shout.

A more independent man
Would be darn hard to find.
He worked his own businesses,
drank Ten High Bourbon and homemade wine.

He had quite a constitution,
was extremely strong willed.
But it was in helping others
that gave him such a thrill.

Bob got the nickname "Sparky"
From Aunt Bernice when he was young.
Back in the days when elders were respected
and never back talked with heated tongue.

Bob grew up during the Depression,
when helping others was a must.
Small town communities stuck together
and a man's word you could trust.

He was always helping others,
expecting nothing in return.
What a precious lesson
this man had some how learned.

Bob was strong and physical,
as a result of his line of work.
Manhandling drilling machines, wells and sputters
with tremendous pulls and powerful jerks.

He wore a size sixteen ring,
had a barrel chest and stout frame.
But confrontations and fighting others
was never part of Sparky's game.

For all of those in need,
Sparky was always on call.
Just ask the boys who hang
around the Chicora Fire Hall.

As the Chicora Pump House Fire Chief,
Sparky Craig was known county wide.
He had 52 years of service,
an achievement he earned with pride.

How many late lunches and suppers?
Only Ruth and God surely knows.
The fire siren would sound and
like a shot, off Sparky would go.

He would jump into his trusty pickup,
which everyone recognized.
Start that V-8 engine,
put it in gear and let it fly.

His scanner lights would be flashing
where ever Sparky went.
And many a helpless victim
thought of him as God sent.

"I use the scanner to know what's going on."
Bob was heard to say.
He continued this very practice
up until his dying day.

He had a mechanical engineering degree
from The School of Hard Knocks.
We all learned so much from him,
Bob was always willing to talk.

Spark had a knack for solving problems,
especially when things got tense.
By using American Ingenuity
and some good old common sense.

Bob was a Chicora historian,
his knowledge spanned many years.
He was also the family physician,
treating ailments and drying tears.

Spark not only helped the living,
he also helped the dead.
By being a Funeral Director's assistant.
No further words need to be said.

Sparky had his own machine shop,
its sounds I still can hear.
As McGrady machined a "fishing too"
or turned another gear.

Until recently, Chicora had seven bars
and Robert knew them all.
He went there to talk and wet his whistle,
his company was never dull.

He was known for drinking bourbon.
He liked to chew his snuff,
and smoke Camel non-filtered cigarettes.
At times he could look rough.

But if you had an emergency
and things were looking blue.
You could always count on Sparky
to do his best to pull you through.

Sparky's humor was different,
some folks thought it dry.
But give the man some credit,
for trying laughter to get us by.

Bob was known to razz his friends,
in fun he liked to tease.
he ate those darn bean sandwiches.
"Pass the mustard would you please."

When it came to washing his 4 x 4,
Sparky saved water as best he could.
The truck was filled with all kind of stuff;
tools, pipe, cans, filled buckets and pieces of wood.

Robert not only worked with oil and gas,
there was guns he liked to sell.
You visited his house to get a price
after hearing stories he liked to tell.

His father instilled the desire to hunt,
which Robert so deeply enjoyed.
It was part of a Craig tradition
from the time he was a boy.

Shooting grouse off an English Setter,
soon Sparky did easily master.
With his quick shooting reflexes,
many a bird met with disaster.

As a long range shooter, Spark
was clearly one of the best.
He could drop a buck at 300 yards,
with a good lean and proper rest.

Partaking of Mother Nature's Harvest,
really suited Bob just fine.
He had a great cook in his wife Ruth,
whose meals he loved to dine.

Whether to be Uptown or to Kittanning,
Bob was always on the go.
Driving his 4x4 pickup
through rain, sleet, sun or snow.

But a place he enjoyed driving to most
is a camp that we call Frost.
Santo called it "Freezum Up Camp,"
one time when he was lost.

Oh the fun times and enjoyment,
spanning nearly fifty years.
A place where a man could go
to forget all his worries and fears.

Yes, "sometimes" the bourbon flowed like water
and conversation would get slurred.
But it created a friendship and comradery
that can't easily be put in words.

We'll always remember the musty smell
and buzz saw sounds in our heads.
While Bob and Po were sleep talking,
we lay wide awake in the beds.

Bob invited both family and friends
to be a part of the Frost Camp Scene.
Whose many names and faces,
come back to me as from a dream.

Names like Hermie, Wade, Shinnie
and Po, just to say a few.
We packed the place like sardines,
the situation was a zoo.

But Bob always made you feel welcomed,
putting your mind at ease.
As he loaded up the pot belly stove,
so no one there would freeze.

So many pleasurable moments,
too many to count them all.
Frost Camp was an oasis,
Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall.

A tribute to Spark wouldn't be complete
without mentioning Silver Side Pool.
Many local children grew up there,
during the summers after finishing school.

This swimming pool's sloping sides
had a silvery glisten in the sun.
Even if you cut your toe on the bottom,
it was the place for having fun.

Before lawyers and lawsuits changed things,
Silver Side had a contraption called "The Wheel."
Trying to run like heck upon it,
would give you quite a thrill!

The moonlight swims were such a blast,
we would do it all over again.
Swimming at night while listening to
Guy Travaglio's Pepsi Top Ten.

From Memorial Day through Labor Day,
Bob tried to keep the waters clear.
As Ruth stood behind the counter,
selling and greeting with lots of cheer.

Robert enjoyed his family.
His tree grows with the passing days.
He and Ruth had seven children,
thirteen grand plus one on the way.

In recent years, Bob enjoyed seeing things
through the eyes of an innocent child.
It made life much more pleasant,
instead of crazy, hectic and wild.

Spark could teach us so many things,
lessons our children should learn.
On how to be helpful to others,
expecting nothing in return.

The man was a pillar of strength,
to his community, family and friends.
He continued to be that way
right up to the bitter end.

Everyone is going to miss him.
The great loss hurts deep inside.
I'll never forget his funeral
and how we all broke down and cried.

As the preacher spoke at the Cemetery Service,
a far distant rifle went off.
And when the reverend had finished,
I swore I heard Spark's distinctive cough.

By David E. Craig
His nephew and friend
3-7-93

(thumbnail view)
Dave and cousin John 'Chester' Craig
with a successful hunt at Frost Camp

E-mail:
724-445-3174
Web site: www.butlerwebs.com/davecraig