The “fire laddies” were out in force on Sept. 16, 1907, a century ago yesterday. Bangoreans loved a parade, and what better group could oblige than the heroes of the hook and ladder with their shining brass and breakneck horsemanship.

Bangor hadn’t had a full-scale firefighters’ parade with a band and a police escort within the memory of the present generation, said the Bangor Daily News. It had had a near disaster, however, just a few years before when the former fire chief had decided to demonstrate the speed with which his wagons could get around town.

“So at 4 o’clock one afternoon box 23 was pulled for an exhibition run. The thing was well-advertised and West Market square was packed solid. … Then came the little incident by which many pious and well-meaning citizens came near being deprived of their lives,” recalled a reporter for the Bangor Daily News. “The engine from Central station lurched into the curb in front of Frey’s restaurant on Central Street, spilling the driver. The galloping team, with the swaying machine behind them belching smoke and fire, headed right for the sidewalk in front of Pol’s corner, cleared a pole by a sixteenth of an inch, and continued on the sidewalk, until Patrolman Simon O’Leary stopped them in front of the electric car waiting room on Main Street, after nearly losing his own life.”

The reporter did not tell this story to embarrass anyone, especially not anyone in the fire chief’s family. The fire chief at the time of this unfortunate event had been John Mason, father of the chief in 1907, William Mason. John “had built the department up from nothing into a small but crack organization,” stated the reporter. And, as we will see before the end of this column, William was the hero of the moment in the eyes of Queen City residents in 1907.

At 2 p.m. on that Monday, Sept. 16, the parade left East Market Square (at Harlow, Park and State streets) on a circuitous route through the downtown that would bring it back to the same spot.

First came two platoons of police with their white gloves, bright buttons and big nightsticks making a fine showing, according to the description in the Bangor Daily Commercial that afternoon. The Bangor Band came next, followed by a barouche carrying the city’s fire committee “all of whom were kept busy doffing their hats in response to applause along the line.” Following them was a buckboard containing an assortment of ex-chiefs, including John Mason and chiefs from other communities.

“Then came the fire laddies on foot, two lines of them in single file led by Chief [William] Mason and Assistant Chiefs Youngs and Granville.” Eighty strong, they marched like soldiers, said the newspaper.

The apparatus, which everyone was waiting to see, came last. “First was Joe Mann and his team of handsome grays in Hose 1, then Charlie Johnson and his big hitch in the hook and ladder truck, and the other companies in their number with all the steamers of the department.

“The new engine, Metropolitan No. 5, with its hitch of three handsome grays driven by Fred Drew was probably the most attractive feature of the parade. Every inch of the big engine was polished until it shone. The horses, groomed until their coats were like satin, danced on their toes and kept their drivers’ arms strained to hold them,” recounted the reporter. As the parade passed up Main Street, some young ladies ran out and presented the dashing Drew with a handsome bunch of sweet peas.

As Bangor parades went, this was not a record breaker. It couldn’t compete with Buffalo Bill or the circus or the Labor Day or Memorial Day extravaganzas to name a few. But, as the Bangor Daily News noted expansively the next day, “It gave [residents] a chance to see the firemen at their best, and the apparatus at its best, and the horses at their best. It gave them some sort of an idea that Bangor is more than a country village, and that there are other little circles in the town than the one in which the particular spectator may move.”

The parade “showed too that the old-time heritage of rivalry, which has been handed down from the ‘Tiger’ and the ‘Eagle’ days, has not disappeared – and it will be a sad moment for the department when it does,” continued the reporter. He was referring to an earlier era when local firefighting units competed to get to a fire first so they would get the credit for putting it out.

That day and evening at Bangor’s new movie house, The Nickel, hundreds of people packed in to hear Arthur Huskins sing “The Man with the Ladder and the Hose,” described by the BDN as “a catchy sort of novelty.” The chorus was illustrated by moving pictures showing “a vivid episode in a fireman’s life – the hitching up of the big fire wagons, a long run into the suburbs and finally a sensational rescue from a burning house.” It was the kind of song that “stirs one’s sluggish blood a bit.” Poor Huskins had to sing the chorus six times.

When the song was finished, a big photograph of Chief Mason flashed on the screen and scores of firefighters and hundreds of their friends in the audiences, which packed the theater again and again, applauded wildly. “For the audience appreciated, you see, the good work which Mr. Mason is doing for the local department and the fine showing which the department had just made in the parade,” wrote the reporter. Unlike many other cities, Bangor had yet to experience a really devastating fire, however. The Great Fire of 1911 was still nearly four years away.

Wayne E. Reilly can be reached at wreilly@bangordailynews.net.