R.I.P. CA “Rippy” Allen

On January 22, the first day of the spring semester, my father, Chief Richard Allen, passed away while I was lecturing the incoming FIRE Foundry recruits. I completed the lesson as I believed he would have wanted, then went home to say goodbye.

My father was a legend in the San Francisco Fire Department—a trailblazer in firefighting, both in aqueous and structural rescue, and one of the first firefighter-paramedics in the city. His pioneering work led to the integration of EMS care into the SFFD's job description, met with both enthusiasm and resistance. Yet one cannot dispute that he lived life on his own terms, positively impacting countless others through his courage and dedication.

While his passing did not directly alter my teaching methods, it certainly strengthened my resolve in this profession—a calling defined by unwavering commitment and the knowledge that it may one day demand everything from us, even as we strive to save others. I share his stories with recruits to illustrate how quick thinking and composure can shape outcomes in chaotic situations. His experiences have become allegories that breathe life into our lessons. After all, while facts may fade from memory after tests, stories endure.ine can make all the difference. Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Fall & Recovery

Soon afterward, a follow-up MRI revealed abnormal lumps in two lymph nodes in my neck, one of which tested positive for metastatic cancer. This marked my third battle with the disease since 2016 and became a significant breaking point in my life.

Over the past eight years, my journey has been tumultuous, forcing me to continually assess what matters, what is expendable, and what must die. Fortunately, for ther third time, the cancer was killed off.

Yet, that’s not the whole truth. In many ways, a part of me also died amid the tribulation of treatment. I can no longer afford to waste time. My focus is laser-sharp on what is essential—my family, my children’s future, and teaching EMS to the next generation.

Since my father's death, I try to consider every challenge—every setback, every stumble, and fall— as both a test and a take to share with my students as I prove my own worth. I want my journey to be the example they look to and say, “If Ken could endure all that, so can I.” And if my story doesn’t have a fairy-tale ending, that too serves as a lesson.

My classes have become a haven to focus my heart on passing along knowledge of patient care. My students have filled a special place in my heart, and I’ve woven their narratives into my own. I genuinely care about them. While some EMS professionals advise against forming close bonds with patients—fearing it may lead to sorrow— I believe in the opposite. Embrace their struggles, help when you can, and bear witness to their pain when it is unspeakable, so maybe in time, they’ll be able to move forward

I apply this philosophy in the classroom, and to my joyful surprise, my students are thriving. Success rates have skyrocketed in 2024, a testament not only to my personal approach but also to the recent revisions to the EMT and EMR courses.

To explore these updates further, please see the “Success” link in Year Two.

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