As a summer afternoon in Middletown wore into evening, a small team at Volunteer Hose Co. relaxed around a small table amid fire trucks and racks of gear. There was casual chitchat and good-natured razzing as they waited to see if anything would happen on this evening watch.
Before long, something did. An ambulance crew had responded to a local hair salon after a report of a person having seizures and they called for backup. The volunteers dropped their conversations and jumped into vehicles, speeding to the strip mall with lights flashing and sirens wailing.
At the back of the salon, EMTs and fire volunteers gathered around a collapsed stylist. It was graver than seizures—this was a cardiac arrest.
In a TV drama, emergency responders shout and rush around, their faces intense. Here, paramedics and firefighters remained calm, holding emotions inside or saving them for later. The loudest words came from counting as they administered CPR.
And then it was over. The patient was lifted into an ambulance and whisked away to the closest hospital. The rest of the team filtered back to the station to wait for the next call.
Scenes like this play out frequently at fire stations large and small around the state.
Volunteer fire companies in Delaware go back generations. Firefighters on parade drive antique trucks that their grandfathers drove before they did. Auxiliaries become known for their Christmas bake sales, and annual fundraisers take on a colorful life of their own.
Yes, volunteers put out fires. But they also give Santa a ride in the Christmas parade and offer their buildings to host community meetings and serve as polling places on Election Day. Fire companies are one of the few remaining places where people actually hang out with their neighbors.
Despite all that, the ranks of volunteer firefighters are declining. The Delaware Volunteer Firefighters Association estimates the state has about 3,400 volunteers at more than 60 departments, but they need closer to 4,000. They’ve launched a multiyear campaign to attract new recruits.
The state’s situation closely tracks national trends. According to the National Volunteer Fire Council, the majority of stations are made up of volunteers, supplying 65% of firefighters. But there are fewer than 677,000 volunteer firefighters nationwide today, compared to nearly 900,000 in 1984, despite a much larger population and service calls that have more than tripled since then. Firefighters are increasingly aging as well.
Even professional stations aren’t immune. John Looney, chief of the Wilmington Fire Department, the only fully paid station in Delaware, cites recruitment issues over the past few years. “This is a statewide issue,” he says. “It’s a struggle for all the departments.”
Looney, who started out as a volunteer in 1981 with the Talleyville department, says he’s definitely seen volunteer ranks shrink since then.
“It’s becoming more and more challenging,” agrees Frank Bailey, longtime chief of the Middletown Volunteer Hose Co. “I think our volunteers’ personal lives are so busy now. Everybody’s working at least one full-time job. Many are working more than one job to get by.”
In the past, people would serve for life and pass the tradition along to their family and friends, explains Kent Swarts, deputy chief at the Rehoboth Beach Volunteer Fire Co. That model is breaking down. When young volunteers leave for college, they might not return. They go on to start families and careers and get bogged down in the daily demands of life.
Firefighters point to other factors as well. In some areas like the beaches, where housing is very expensive, volunteers can struggle to afford the cost of living. Additionally, more training is required today than in the past.
“The (fire) school is challenging, there’s no sugarcoating that,” says Tim Lintz, who recently joined the Middletown Volunteer Hose Co. alongside his son, Sam.
Stations have changed over the years with the demand for new services. Many now need full-time paid paramedics.
Delaware has many new residents who may have moved from states that have paid departments and might be unaware of the need for volunteers. Ironically, part of the reason outsiders are drawn to our area is because of the low property taxes.
Volunteer fire departments saved Delaware taxpayers $320 million in fiscal year 2022 alone, a state auditor’s report found. It estimated that paying for fire services would cost homeowners an extra $1,317 in property taxes a year per $100,000 of assessed value.
Always at the Ready
In a volunteer system, don’t look for a scene out of a children’s book with firefighters sitting at the station ready to slide down the fire pole and to hop in the truck with their Dalmatian. Although some stations, including Middletown, do bring in a few volunteers for evening shifts, most volunteers in the area remain at theirjobs or homes on alert for fire calls.
An emergency alert comes in via a pager, or more likely now a phone app. The message shares the level of emergency (using a Greek letter code) and basic information. Some volunteers might be able to drop what they’re doing; others might be stuck, depending on the time of day and the flexibility of their work.
When an alarm goes out, firefighters have only a few minutes to get a truck on the way. That doesn’t leave time for stretching and having a cup of coffee, even in the wee hours.
There’s something for everyone: driving a truck, helping with hoses at the scene, or even administrative work, fundraising, and other supports.
Monty Carey, a nighttime volunteer with the Millsboro Fire Co., keeps clothes at the ready where he can quickly throw them on. He figures he and his son, also a volunteer, can be out the door in a minute or less.
An entire day might drag by with no calls, or a company could be hit with a major fire and a serious car crash almost at the same time, requiring other area companies to come to their aid.
The disasters are varied. A call might take volunteers to a lawn mower engulfed in flames, or a car struck by a train. It might be a leaf fire or a blaze consuming a home and threatening to spread to neighbors. In our beach towns, a crew might hop on a motorboat in the ocean to rescue a boater bailing a leak. Electric vehicle fires can throw a curveball—firefighters have recently received special training on this particular challenge.
These days, it’s often a call from an automatic fire alarm system, a phenomenon that frequently wastes valuable volunteer time chasing false alarms.
![Some departments are seeing a growing number of women firefighters. Taylor Luck, a young volunteer with the Middletown department, sees her volunteerism as a chance to care for others before herself. Although her family worries about her, she says, “I just put [those concerns] to the side.”](https://kodixml.kwglobal.com/Kodixml/Today_Media/DELAWA-Jan25/img/delawa_jan_2025_a019_004.jpg)
On scene, it can be hard to see what’s going on in a smoky building, or even outdoors—and conditions can change in a second, explains Kathy Millner, a volunteer with the Millsboro department. She remembers a fast-moving fire in a nearby crop field, fueled by the wind. Many departments responded, and a state police helicopter hovered overhead. But what the chopper pilot perceived and what individual firefighters saw was very different. As they sprayed water and raked fire lines to deprive the fire of fuel, they could hear it crackling, but the tall stalks often hid their view of the blaze.
“All of a sudden it would sprout up, the flames would just come out of nowhere,” Millner remembers.
Firefighting is physically demanding, too. Equipment is heavy, from protective clothing and helmets to air tanks. The clothing is hot even before firefighters get close to a blaze. Millsboro Chief Dennis Swain notes that firefighters must rotate more often in summer.
“It’s definitely not easy by any means,” says Millner, who uses a local gym to “keep my cardio and my strength up.”
Band of Brothers and Sisters
When an alarm sounds, volunteer firefighters must be ready to put their plans—a kid’s soccer game, dinner with the family—on hold. “I can still have a life,” Swarts says, “but I can’t have a glass of wine with it.”
Still, the camaraderie is a big draw. Fellow firefighters are like family, working and hanging out together at the station, running fundraisers, and celebrating at annual banquets.
“We fight like brothers and sisters, and we love each other like brothers and sisters,” Swarts notes.
For Tim Lintz, it was a chance to continue a sense of community he’d found in his career with Delaware State Police. “I kind of missed that when I retired,” he says.
For years, Millner hesitated to join, but she craved the dynamic it offered. “Why would I not want to be a part of something like that?” she says, urging others to join. “I have absolutely no regret.”
Taylor Luck, a young volunteer in Middletown, says her family worries about her. “I just put [those concerns] to the side,” she says, seeing her volunteerism as a chance to care for others before herself.
Sam Lintz, 19, wishes there were more volunteers his age. He joined the Middletown department at the same time as his father and plans to become a career firefighter at a paid department. “I’ve learned a lot about myself,” he says.
Warren Jones was hanging out in firehouses at age 5. He’s kept it up in the decades since, now serving with the Rehoboth Beach Volunteer Fire Co. and the Delaware Volunteer Firefighters Association.
“We touch people’s lives, make a difference…and that’s the most rewarding part,” he says. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”
Anyone Can Volunteer
Who is Rehoboth Beach’s ideal firefighter? “Anyone,” Swarts says. He’s trying to get the word out to people who traditionally might feel like they wouldn’t fit in.
There’s something for everyone: driving a truck, helping with hoses at the scene, or even administrative work, fundraising, and other supports.
“I have noticed that in some of the stations surrounding us, I’m starting to see more and more women on scenes,” says Millner, one of a handful of women serving as active firefighters in the Millsboro department. She loves the physical challenge of the job. “I think that’s just what I’m made for.”
Luck grew up hearing stories from her grandfather, who served with the Fire Department of New York. She thought, “Wow, I would love to do that,” she remembers.
As a Black woman, she enjoys teaching kids about fire prevention and showing them “they can also do this—there’s not just one set of people that are doing this.”
To learn more, reach out to your local station to schedule a tour, request more information via their website, or visit firefighter.delaware.gov.
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