Johnson, 1926

Not long before the airplane ride mentioned in the previous posting, I lived with my parents at the Johnson Hotel in downtown Washington. It was part of a family business involving in one building the hotel and a department store. At the time my parents operated the hotel, which included boarders and a dining room. As part of smalltown life my father was a volunteer firefighter, as were all members of the fire department at the time. Whoever discovered a fire was charged with notifying "central" by picking up the telephone handset. The telephone operator would ask "Number, please?" The caller would announce the location of the fire and the operator would press the button to blow the fire whistle (actually, a siren not far from the phone office). The firefighters were authorized to ask the operator for the location of the fire in response to the sounding of the siren. On one occasion, when I was about two, the siren blew, my father dressed for the fire and ran downstairs enroute to the fire station about a block away. I remember distinctly my own actions on this one occasion. I also ran downstairs, through the lobby, and onto the sidewalk. I was not properly dressed for firefighting since all I had on was a nightgown. I dispensed with the gown about the time a neighbor from across the street, Mrs. Scavens, discovered my predicament and returned me and the gown to my mother in the hotel.
I don't know the details about the fire call.