Checking the mood at a fire station

I figured I was the last person the firefighters at Station 10 wanted to see -- a newspaper columnist perceived as a department critic, tagging along behind Los Angeles Fire Department Chief Doug Barry.

Barry agreed to let me join him Wednesday morning at the fire station near Pico and Olive, one of 90 fire stations he has visited in his year as chief.

He came in with orders to spread the word that hazing has got to stop. “It’s a different world now,” he reminded the men gathered around the fire station’s kitchen table at least a dozen times.

The lawsuits, frat house-style photos and government findings of discrimination “are overshadowing everything positive you guys are doing,” Barry said. “Horseplay is just not acceptable.”

I watched them watch him. A few heads nodded, but most stared back impassively.

And I thought better of wisecracking -- “There’s no dog food in this, right?” -- when a young firefighter handed a cup of coffee to me.

It would have been a cheap shot, and I’m glad I didn’t say it. The Tennie Pierce case, in which a black firefighter got a $1-million settlement after station mates slipped dog food into his dinner, is still a sore spot in the department.

These firefighters at this station -- all men, a mix of whites and Latinos, veterans and a few who looked like high school kids -- seemed in no mood for kidding.

Barry introduced me, then plunged right in. He’s plain-spoken and listens as much as he talks. He knows that morale is low in many fire stations because of blunders by department brass.

According to a 3-year-old city audit, leadership failures are to blame for the department’s hazing scandals; disciplinary and promotional systems are arbitrary and unfair; and poorly trained rookies have strained relations in many fire stations.

Barry addressed those issues in a 20-minute speech and then opened the meeting to questions.

The first was something about utility belts. The next dealt with paramedic calls and collecting patients’ debts. Another dealt with hiring exams.

They asked about the kinds of practical, personal issues familiar to any employee of a company in the midst of turmoil. Promotions, overtime, salaries. . . . In other words, what’s life going to be like for me?

During my visit, there was only one question about hazing. A Latino firefighter, gesturing toward the red-haired guy seated next to him, wondered, “If we’re joking with Greg and he doesn’t mind and another guy hears and gets offended, what do we do? Have we done something wrong?”

“Good or bad, right or wrong,” Barry answered, repeating his mantra, “we’re in a different world today. Even if you’re just playing around, you’ve got to be careful what you say.”

Of course they do, whether they like it or not. This has been a staggering year of public hits for a department considered among the nation’s best.

Now firefighters are wondering how calls for change will affect the nuts-and-bolts of their jobs.

I was surprised, but Barry wasn’t. On his rounds, questions run the gamut from tattoo policies to station garbage disposal to whether the jail should have its own paramedics.

“A lot of what comes out are emotional issues, some the chief can’t really do anything about,” said Capt. Armando Hogan, the public information officer who accompanies Barry.

An hour into our session, a mustachioed veteran politely suggested that firefighters’ questions were muted by “the media’s presence.” It was the first time Barry had brought a reporter with him. I took the hint and left, figuring things would get interesting after I was gone.

But Hogan told me later that the focus of their questions didn’t change. I guess they’re as tired of talking about hazing as I am of writing about it. They want the tools to do their jobs well and the public’s confidence again.

But Barry’s got big reforms to make and a culture to change. He plans to broaden recruitment, improve training, standardize discipline and beef up internal investigations. But that’ll cost money, and the city faces a budget deficit of $155 million this year.

He doesn’t know yet how much of a hit the department will take. He answers budget questions carefully, wary of ticking city leaders off.

“There are certain realities we all have to face,” he said. “But when you get enough money to hire fire inspectors and no money for their cars or phones or computers, you understand that plans won’t be enough.”

When former Chief Bill Bamattre was fired for letting the hazing scandal fester, City Controller Laura Chick, the architect of the department audit, said the next chief ought to “go to every single fire station and sit with them and look at them and say, ‘Hazing is going to stop, and this is how and this is why.’ ”

Barry’s doing that. It’s easy and it’s free, and I wish it were enough.

But what seemed like boring questions were more important than I first thought. They went to the heart and soul of the department’s problems -- how it hires, trains, disciplines, promotes -- and it’s going to take money to get them solved.

sandy.banks@latimes.com