William F. Lusher, 85, retired Seattle firefighter
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William Frank Lusher, who followed his father down into the Butte, Mont., copper mines before taking his own family west to Seattle during the Depression — eventually finding a career here as a firefighter — died Friday at his Queen Anne home of complications from multiple sclerosis.
He was 85.
"He was a quiet man," said Jerry Lusher who, like Mr. Lusher's other two sons, became a police officer. "He didn't ever want to be out in front or have notice made of him. Even in his last days he couldn't figure out why everyone was coming out to visit him. 'Didn't we have better things to do?' he'd say. That was his attitude his whole life."
Born March 3, 1916, in Butte, Mr. Lusher had few options after graduating from high school — the first in his family to do so. He wandered for a while, working as a cowboy at nearby ranches, then setting up pins at his uncle's bowling alley and driving a gravel truck at the Fort Peck Dam on the Missouri River.
In 1937, when Mr. Lusher married his high-school sweetheart, Catherine, he needed a steadier job. One of the few around was with the now-defunct Anaconda Copper Mining Co. The Butte copper mines were once known as "the richest hills on Earth," Jerry Lusher said.
Still, it was dangerous work, recalls Mr. Lusher's family — involving iron bars and sledgehammers, dynamite and tunnels. And he was looking for opportunities to leave it behind, said Madeline Crumby, Mr. Lusher's older sister.
In 1942, Mr. Lusher packed his family into a homemade trailer — by then he had two sons — and drove to Seattle, where World War II had generated many defense-industry jobs. But thousands throughout the West had the same idea and Mr. Lusher competed for housing, shacking up in a chicken coop and a flooding basement garage before settling in a High Point housing project.
After a brief stint in the shipyards, Mr. Lusher started working for the Seattle Fire Department as a driver at Station No. 7, which used to be at the corner of 15th Avenue East and East Harrison Street.
There were openings there because many of the firefighters had been drafted. Mr. Lusher was exempt from the military because he was colorblind.
At the station, Mr. Lusher was known as a steady, dependable companion who could cook anything, said Nolan Sundberg, 81, who often worked the 24-hour shifts beside Mr. Lusher.
Mr. Lusher also became chairman of a muscular-dystrophy-awareness association; he and other volunteer firefighters took children afflicted by that disease to swimming pools where they could exercise.
"He was quiet, but he wasn't afraid to get involved, in union work, in muscular dystrophy," Sundberg said. "Somebody needs some help and somebody had to take the bull by the horns and he did it. He was a good man and he helped a lot of people."
In 1962, Mr. Lusher was fighting a large fire at a Seattle business when he fell through a charred basement, breaking his tailbone. While recovering at a hospital, Mr. Lusher's doctor diagnosed the multiple sclerosis, a debilitating nerve disease. Mr. Lusher eventually lost the use of his legs.
He kept himself busy, gardening and tinkering. Throughout his life, Mr. Lusher was known to find scrapped machines, disassemble them, clean them and find some use for the parts — toys for his children, tools for himself.
"He found use for everything," said Mr. Lusher's middle son, Farrell. "His basement was full of scavenged things."
A year or so after he was forced to retire, Mr. Lusher penned a poem titled, "Not Ridin' the Rig Anymore," which was published in an international firefighting magazine. It begins, "An old fire dog with a head full of smog, but don't rub it in, I implore. For I've just one regret, as I sit here and fret. I'm not ridin' the rig anymore."
A memorial service will be held tomorrow at 2 p.m. at the Bayview Manor Chapel, at 11 W. Aloha St.
Mr. Lusher is also survived by his wife, Catherine; his youngest son, Emmett; eight grandchildren and six great-grandchildren.
Michael Ko can be reached at 206-515-5653 or mko@seattletimes.com.