The Case of the Mustachioed Fireman

Occasionally in my role as a children's librarian, I have the opportunity to contemplate some of life's deep questions. Recently, I had one of those opportunities. While preparing for a firefighter storytime, this question came to me: why are there so many male firefighters with mustaches in children's literature? I assure you that nearly every children's book featuring human firefighters has at least one guy with a mustache but no beard. (Oddly, most grown-up books featuring firefighters features a shirtless man on the cover.) I could leave it to you to find proof of this, but what am I here for if not to save you from needless internet browsing?

First up, a characteristic example.


Often, the mustachioed fireman gets to drive the firetruck. Occasionally, he also gets to wield the axe with which to chop down your door.


See? Even in real life, the mustachioed fireman is an axe-wielder.

In this example, note the mustachioed fireman's joy at the dragon's inability to properly hold the hose.


Does he even want the house to be saved? Are mustachioed firemen agents of evil? Well, maybe not, because here's a Sesame Street example, and, with the possible exception of Elmo, Sesame Street is no place for agents of evil.


This is what I'm talking about, though. Sesame Street taught the world that two guys can live together in an apartment without corrupting anyone, that angry creatures live in the garbage, and that vibrating giggling monsters make good toys for 3-year-olds. Clearly they're open to outside-the-box thinking, and yet they bought into the mustachioed fireman trope.

One last literary example:


Okay, I might have doctored the last one. But still! They're everywhere. And in fact, lest you think the phenomenon is limited to literature, I bring you:


We had this guy sitting on our Fire Shelf at my last library in the Chicago area. His jacket is closed by velcro, and at said library, the velcro had been destroyed by years of use. Most evenings he could be found sprawled on the floor with his coat hanging open, looking like he just finished a bender. I will state for the record that this is the only evidence I've seen that mustachioed firemen drink too much.

So what should we conclude about the mustachioed fireman? Is it a coincidence? A conspiracy? Maybe it's just real life. I know only one actual firefighter, and he does, in fact, have a mustache. And given that he is my father-in-law, I won't say here that he is involved in any mustache conspiracy. On the other hand, I'm not going to say he's not.

The gift that keeps on giving

The little storytime darlings have given me a cold. At least I think so - my allergies have been weirdly intense since September. But I went home early today with that groggy-headed cold feeling. There is a certain degree of tragedy in coming down with something on the first week of my two-week storytime break. But when you work with kids, particularly babies and toddlers, you have to accept the gift of their viruses, right along with the scribbled drawings and and the unabashed adoration. Some of them are more egregious in their germ-sharing then others, though. One of the toddlers used to come to my baby storytime, and during the quieter moments he would toddle up to me and put his head on my lap (which, in all honesty, was a little weird in and of itself). Since he was teething, when he got up he would leave a puddle of drool big enough to soak through my pant leg. It's a little like a college party, dealing with wee ones.


Actually, until around the time that they turn 3, kids really are like little drunk people. Lurching around, grabbing things for balance that aren't stable enough to withstand their weight, falling on their heads without getting hurt, spitting up without warning, babbling incoherently, crying for no reason, lifting their shirts to show you what they've got, coming out of nowhere to hug you without asking - my storytime mornings are one big frat party. But with more puppets. Unless you went to kinkier parties than I did.