Fred Hartman: A quiet hero hangs up his hat

SANDPOINT - Residents of Sandpoint always liked seeing the tow truck parked in Fred Hartman's driveway on Church Street. Even if his big rig wasn't on the road, its very presence meant that Fred was on the job.

As of last week, the truck left the drive for good - a symbol of Hartman's retirement after more than 45 years in the towing business. Years earlier, the ambulance that had been parked beside his tow truck pulled out and drove off in the same way, when Fred and his wife, Marge, sold their ambulance service after decades of serving Bonner County in that capacity.

Fred, you see, has a penchant for lending a hand to people. With nine kids to raise, he was also working double shifts to earn as much as possible in his two-pronged career, but the fields he chose - ambulance operator and towing service proprietor - each demanded long, unpredictable hours and an ability to respond to emergencies as soon as they happened.

When he looks back, Hartman can see how the two businesses hemmed him in to a degree. He never had a chance to develop hobbies, because the phone was always ringing to signal his next mad dash out the door. When there were only seven children on the scene, the Hartmans took their one and only family vacation and packed the brood into a decommissioned ambulance for a brief road trip.

But looking back also gives Fred considerable satisfaction in a job well done. He regularly runs into folks who thank him for saving a loved one's life. With no fanfare, he accepts the gratitude of those who often took years to pay off a bill a few dollars at a time as the money came in.

In a world of trash-talking sports figures and self-important performers, Fred Hartman is a quiet hero - a guy who stepped up when he needed to, did business on the foundation of his good word and a handshake and then got the job done.

(An open house retirement celebration will be held for Fred Hartman from 3-7 p.m. Friday, Aug. 6, at 805 Church St. in Sandpoint. The Hartmans extend an open invitation to come by and share refreshments and stories.)

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You seemed to wind up in the business of helping people. Was that your intention?

Yes. I don't remember what year we started, but there was a need in Bonner County to have an ambulance service here in Sandpoint. There was no one else doing it, so we started it right out of this location - right out of our home here.

The ambulance came a few years before the towing service. Along the way there, someplace, I ended up in both businesses. I'd get a call, throw my hat down, change my shirt and run off to the other one.

Sandpoint was a different place back then, wasn't it?

Yep, you betcha. It was a little slower paced. Now, everybody's moving so fast they don't even know who their neighbor is. They don't know who's living right across the alley.

Do you think a person could run the kind of business you were running back then in today's world?

No, no. Definitely not. The public is expecting more now. Even back then, sometimes when we'd go out in the ambulance, they'd say, 'Geez, did you stop for lunch someplace on your way here?' And you were bustin' your butt to go up Rapid Lightning Road to one of those sheds way out there, you know.

Today, there's so many people moving up there in those places - Rapid Lightning, the Pack River drainage - it seems like there's someone living behind every rock. Before, there was not much in the way of people up there.

There's also a lot more red tape involved now. Is that why you decided to get out of the ambulance business?

Yes. And it took a long time to find someone to buy it. I remember, at one City Council meeting, a lady who was on the council asked me, 'Why is it taking so long for you to sell your ambulance business?' I told her, 'Well, you've got to find a buyer first!' (Laughs)

You spent decades building a good reputation and then watched that reputation disappear in a matter of months under the new owners. What was that like for you?

It was hard to swallow. The couple who bought it got a divorce and it went down the tubes. When we agreed to sell the ambulance service, they bought the equipment we had and we got over that hump. Then they came in here and the first thing you know, you could just see it going downhill. It was heartbreaking.

Was it hard to make money running an ambulance service back then?

Oh, yes. It was always pretty tight around here when we ran it. The county used to pay me $8 for a transfer from, say, the rest home to Bonner General. That was any time, day or night. We'd go down there pounding on the desk at the county commissioners telling them, 'That won't even buy a tank of gas!' Nowadays, it wouldn't for sure.

I can remember going up one of the drainages where we had to take a chainsaw and cut a tree that had fallen across the road so we could go on up to the residence and the commissioners didn't offer to pay us anything.

Were there a lot more adventure stories in those days?

Yeah. There were a few rough calls. Back then, a lot of the roads weren't paved. We were lucky to have a little gravel on the road, you know? We were responding all by ourselves. Nowadays when you call an ambulance, you've got six cars and trucks and paramedics and on and on that show up.

Are you aware that you have the reputation of being kind of a local hero?

No, I just helped when I saw somebody in need. If they needed help, we'd help them. I remember one time it was a-snowin' and a-blowin' and the county called and said they couldn't get out there because of the weather. Anyway, we went way out on the Dufort Road with the wrecker and saved these people - a family with a whole carload of kids. The county put them up for the night, because they couldn't get any closer to home.

What was the worst accident you ever encountered?

There's one that really sticks out. I don't remember the year, but we were runnin' the ambulance down to the Granite Hill where a couple of cars had come together. The lady had fallen out and then the door slammed shut. It slapped her around the neck and her head went rolling down the road.

There were only two of us there, and an officer. And there was nothing you could do. (Long pause)

We gathered up the people that were still alive and took them down to KMC. Then we picked up the deceased and brought them here to the coroner in Bonner County.

Do you think the level of care has improved - on the ground, at an accident - with all the agencies that now respond and all the training they're required to have?

I'd have to say yes to your question. But there's a lot of employees, now, that just fall by the wayside. For instance, when my wife passed away, there were three cars, an ambulance, a city car and a county car that showed up. Hell, you couldn't park anywhere along this block, there were so many of them.

It's almost too much response. I think they need to tighten that up a little bit.

How about the way you did business? Was that also a reflection of simpler times?

Oh, yes. If you couldn't pay your bill, we'd have to write it off. People would come to me and say, 'Fred, I don't even have $5 to pay you this month.' And I'd tell them, 'Well, let's wait and see what next month brings.'

We had people who paid us a little bit at a time for years and they were appreciative.

You raised nine kids on what you made between the tow truck and the ambulance. Were there months when you and your wife would get a little wide-eyed and wonder where the money was going to come from?

Sure, there were. But she always seemed to be able to pull a rabbit out of the hat and we'd get by, somehow or other.

We'd do the paperwork right here at this same counter and, when we were done, we'd fold the book and that's as far as it went. We kept the business separate from the family.

Do you get stopped a lot by people who say, 'You saved my family member's life?'

Oh, yeah. As of this date, I still have people who come up to me in the grocery store and say, 'Oh, Fred - do you remember this or that?' And I just stopped in to get a loaf of bread, you know? (Laughs) But you don't tell them that, of course. You stop and you listen, because it's important to them.

We talked about a terrible moment that has stuck in your mind, what about a great moment? Was there one call that left you feeling like you were walking a few feet off the ground?

I can remember going up Rapid Lightning one winter - now they've got a road that goes all the way up there, but it didn't back then - and when we got up as far as the road went, as far as we could take the ambulance, it turned out the people lived about 300 feet farther down the hill. There was a woman down there with a broken femur.

It was really snowing and we pulled her up to the top of the hill in one of those round pans - you know, one of those round sleds that kids use. We used some of the stuff that we had brought along, like air packs and whatnot, and brought her out on that sled.

That was a proud moment.

When you look back on your career, are there other proud moments?

In that other room there, right above my desk, there's a letter from the governor (former Idaho Gov. Dirk Kempthorne), thanking me for my response and service and so forth. That was a pretty big deal.

You always cared a lot about the quality of your work and how you conducted business. Did you get the impression that the 'higher-ups' shared that view?

Well, I can remember that something was bothering me about a call or whatever and one of the gentlemen that was in charge of us as far as the ambulance was concerned stood right there in that front room and said, 'You don't need to be so thin-skinned, Fred. Don't let it bother you. You're only dealing with the public.'

I just shook my head when he said that.

But when you're big-hearted, things do get under your skin, don't they?

Yep. Mm-hmm. Yeah, they do.

You've owned a lot of vehicles over the years. Did you have a favorite rig?

If you mean wreckers, it would be that roll-bed right out there (hitches his thumb in the direction of a blue Chevrolet Kodiak parked in the driveway). I've had three or four wreckers over the years. I had a red one and a black one but I found that blue one over in Seattle and, within two days, we drove it back. It's a '94 with about 200,000 miles on it.

What was your first ambulance like?

The first one was pure white and I think we picked it up from a government sale in Spokane. It was a military station wagon with a little light on it, no windows and a door that opened up in back.

Have you got any idea how many people worked for you over the years?

A lot of them. They'd come and go. A lot of times, they just couldn't handle it. I don't know if you're medically inclined or not, but if you're the kind of person who ends up arguing with the patient over which one of you is going to throw up in the bag in the back of an ambulance, you're probably not cut out for this kind of work.

We used to take whoever was available and take them on calls. Way back when, we had an ambulance over in Priest River and they used to take whoever was in the jail at the time a call came in and put them in the back of the ambulance to help out.

How has the medical community changed in North Idaho?

Things have gotten bigger and it's gotten better. They have more doctors who specialize in things like fractures now. Way back then it was, 'Don't bring 'em here!' They wouldn't even let you unload. The E.R. at Bonner General was basically just a first-aid station.

I remember you'd go up to Priest Lake or somewhere at midnight to pick up someone with a compound fracture and take them to Bonner General and they'd say, 'No, no, no - we can't handle that here. Take them to Spokane.' Even KMC couldn't take 'em back then. So, off you'd go to Spokane.

But I could get there in less than an hour. One of the doctors used to joke, 'Hey Fred, you goin' to Spokane today? I'll drop in behind you and ride your wake.'

Date of birth: Nov. 10, 1930, in Lucille, Idaho

Family: Nine children, 18 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren

Education: High School, U.S. Army and Idaho EMS Tech training.

Number of hours on average you work in a week: Before retiring, 24/7 when running the ambulance and the tow truck.

Number of hours on average you sleep in a night: Before retiring, 5 ... but could have been interrupted by a tow or an ambulance call. People never had good timing. Now naps are a daily occurrence.

Hobbies: No hobbies really - never had time. I was always working, but when I had spare time it was always nice to tinker on cars and spend time with family.

Favorite travel destination: Never really traveled other than in the Army, where I spent some time in Germany. Not bad, but I prefer the good ol' USA.

Favorite movie: Any old western

Favorite type of music: Old country: Charlie Pride, Charlie Rich and Johnny Cash

Any one person who most influenced your life: My late wife, Marge. She was the glue that kept both businesses running. If it weren't for her raising our family and dispatching both businesses I am not sure where we would be today. She was the grace of God for our family.

Quality you admire most in person: Honesty. Back in the day, it was a trusted handshake and your word. Nowadays it is a rare trait in people.

Best advice you ever received: Do what you say and say what you do - people will respect you for it.

Any one thing you would say is your greatest accomplishment: Knowing that while we served Sandpoint and the surrounding areas for so many years, we did it with respect, honesty and sincere devotion to everyone we touched. And, it goes without saying, my family.

Favorite quote: "My friends were poor but honest." - William Shakespeare

Personal philosophy: Live one day at a time and don't forget to tell the ones you love that you love them every chance you get.