Life Lines

Even through the holidays, first responders are ready to jump into action. Our police and fire crews have rescued a dog from a rock ledge, cut a child out of a wrecked car and comforted assault victims at the hospital. Here are their brave firsthand accounts of what it’s like to be our lifelines.

LT. Chris Bickett

Chris Bickett grew up hearing his father’s “war stories” of being an Akron police officer and Summit County sheriff’s deputy. After marrying his high school sweetheart, Bickett became a Summit County sheriff’s deputy to have his own stories. He had to work a lot of holidays and often accepted invitations to share a meal with firefighters, gathering around tables at area fire stations and hearing their stories. He loved that camaraderie so much that in 2001 he took on emergency medical services training and paramedic school. He was hired into the Cuyahoga Falls Fire Department in 2003, where the 49-year-old father of two has been ever since.

“There is nothing light in the fire service. 

You have to be that big, bad, tough guy when the job’s going down.

Twice I’ve had to say the Lord’s Prayer with somebody while they were dying. It was tough. 

A young man in his mid-20s was working on an excavator and rolled it [onto him] in front of his in-laws’ house. His father-in-law’s screaming. 

There’s nothing you can do. As a paramedic, you know that the only thing keeping him alive is the pressure. As soon as you release that pressure, you die. 

He doesn’t want to die, and he’s asking, What’s going to happen to me? And I’m like, If you believe in a higher power, now’s the time. We closed our eyes and said it. 

When we took the machine off him, he died instantly. 

What you do is talk about it with people that understand, that have been in similar situations. 

The most powerful place in the fire station is the kitchen table.

A lady went left of center and head on into a semi. Her little boy was trapped inside the car. We had to cut him out — two compound bilateral femur fractures, head injury, broken wrist — what we refer to as circling the drain. 

You go into action, control the bleeding, manage the airway, do what we call treat with gas — that means drive really fast to the hospital. 

We see stuff like that. We treat the patient, go to the hospital and move on to the next. 

Less than a year later, the mom brought that little boy into the station, and he was running around, crawling all over the firetrucks. It’s like, OK, that’s why we do it.

It’s just built into me. I’m eligible to retire within the next couple of months, but I’m not going to. I think I should just be starting in my career, because I’m going to go another 25 years.” 

SGT. Kim Williams

Sporting manicured nails, a tight bun and a warm smile, Akron police Sgt. Kim Williams carries herself with poise and approachability. The 30-year-old’s graceful demeanor stems from her nine years of rigorous training with the Martell School of Dance. A stress fracture in her back shattered her dreams of dancing, so she entered The University of Akron looking for a new career path. After English class bored her, she tagged along with her boyfriend to his profiling serial killers class — and loved it. She graduated with degrees in political science and criminal justice. More than five years ago, she joined the Akron Police Department where her two uncles work. Since, she’s been promoted to sergeant and became a member of a Safety Forces Support Center team and the Summit County Sexual Assault Response Team.

“Women and children love my nails. It’s humanizing. They see something they recognize, not just blue polyester. 

Twenty percent is combative subjects and arrests. A lot of our job is talking to people, solving problems, being compassionate to people on their worst day. 

I was oftentimes the first uniform the victim saw at the hospital. That was one of my favorite parts, to give them that first impression of we’re going to take care of you. 

I’m twisting my neck because in June 2018 I was blocking two lanes of 77 for an accident and a drunk driver slammed into my cruiser at full speed. He pushed me into the traffic lane, and I got struck again. 

Crashes are one of the more frightening parts. I still find myself, when I’m on the highway blocking traffic, looking over my shoulder. 

The job is worth it. I’d rather be that cushion and block for the other officers than leave them out there because I’m nervous. 

There’s a lot of faith involved. 

I was a rookie when we lost [officer] Justin Winebrenner. I was on the same shift as him and working that night. That was a prime example of somebody having an innate desire to help others. 

He didn’t stop. Nothing was going to stop him from protecting everyone in the bar. That is a legacy we should be proud of. 

Fear keeps you alive, focused and alert. There’s the quote: First responders run toward gunfire while everybody’s running away. It doesn’t mean an absence of fear. 

You can work through it. Sometimes you just have to remind yourself, I’m scared, but this person that needs us is more scared. I have the skill set, the backup, the support to be of assistance. 

You can be terrified, but you can’t stop. That’s what makes a difference.” 

Deputy Chief Adam Rockich

When Adam Rockich was in ninth grade, he got a letter recommending a career in the Secret Service. He had taken a career assessment at school, and the mysterious letter encouraged him to pursue criminal justice. That letter, along with stories his grandfather told him about serving in World War II, led him to serve in the Army Reserve, work as a dispatcher and an ongoing 25-year career with Coventry fire department. The 51-year-old father of three is also on Summit County’s water rescue team and the board of the Safety Forces Support Center, which provides free mental health and crisis intervention services to first responders and their families.

“We got the call. The dog

was hanging on the edge of the ledge, probably 60 feet

in the air. 

People were going to go after the dog and hurt themselves. They had clotheslines.

It was a rope rescue team. I got hooked to a harness. The guys lowered me over the edge. You go over and get this dog real quick. 

You get him to the owners — they’re extremely grateful. There’s so many times you’ve been fortunate or blessed to help someone. 

My mom was scared to death before I got into this field. She’s like, People are going to die, and you’re going to be a part of that. I told her, People are going to die whether I’m there or not. If I can do something to help make it where someone doesn’t die, that’s why I’m doing it. 

The mental aspect crews deal with — we had three kids hit by a car, a lady that was texting; we had the boy that was run over at St. Francis school, four people that burned up in that horrific car accident — it takes a toll.

Looking at first responder suicides, the numbers are crazy. We haven’t done enough to take care of our own. 

I’m part of the team that helps do debriefings with people having a hard time getting over a call.

I sat in the debriefing on a drowning we had in Springfield a few years ago. We had the kid out in eight minutes. [But] the little boy had already been gone. 

I’m there to help my guys having a hard time with it, and they asked, What sticks with you? I said, The drowning I had in August 1996 in Springfield. 

It was crazy because here was something I never dealt with from 20 years previously.

We see people start to let some of that go.

Being part of the center is one of the most rewarding things I’ve done.”