By Jason Fields

The first thing you notice when walking into the firehouse on Henry Hudson Parkway at 242nd Street is an undercurrent of anticipation.

Everything is ready.

At the entrance is a rack of thick coats, waterproof and fire resistant. Over the hanging coats is a shelf where helmets are lined up, each with its owner identified with a label.

Below the coats are pants tucked into boots, with suspenders hanging down. Two steps into the boots, a sharp pull on the suspenders, a tug on the waiting coat and helmet, and a firefighter can be properly equipped and on his truck moments after a call comes in.

The behemoth-sized vehicles, an engine and a ladder truck, also stand red and ready, with all major equipment checked twice a day at shift changes. Each valve is turned, every engine revved and every cutting tool checked. The sound of power saws is nearly deafening as they’re tested in the driveway of the firehouse with the garage doors rolled up.

Stuffed toys are tied to the front bumper of an engine, one a oncefluffy puppy that now seems to be kind of a grayish-pinkish color. It’s lying flopped on its stomach. Next to the puppy sits a doll with the name Zeke carved into a high forehead surrounded by bushy hair. The doll looks a bit like Larry of the Three Stooges, but with piercing blue eyes. He’s wearing a full firefighter’s kit, complete with helmet and boots.

When asked about these talismans, firefighters say that every company individualizes its engines, though not all in the same way. Some write slogans on side panels or windows, others may name their engines. No one could think of another company that has a display quite like Zeke and the notso- fluffy puppy. The adornment may be unusual, but they’re tied on tight, and the firefighters are tied to them.

“They stay,” said Sean McLiverty, who’s only been at the house for seven months. “They’re fixtures of the rig.”

Firefighters who’ve been on the job for less than a year are “probies” for their probationary status. They’re on the lowest rung of a firehouse’s ladder.

The probies play an important role in the kitchen, the men in the common room say. A probie is sous chef for his or her first year on the job, assisting the cook at every lunch and dinner. If a recruit comes in not knowing how to cook, they’ll learn or they won’t make it as a firefighter, period, the crew of the firehouse say, and it’s clear that they’re just barely half kidding.

Cooking is a big part of the life of a New York firefighter. Lunches and dinners are joint productions, with everyone kicking in money to pay for the ingredients and taking turns as the head chef.

The strong men with muscles that turn their cheeks into flat planes are all accomplished cooks, making lasagnas, shrimp Parmagiana and meals that are sometimes more adventurous. Boredom is an enemy fought with good food.

The kitchen is good-sized, well equipped, well-worn, but clean, with Formica countertops as scarred as any veteran in the department. Outside the kitchen is a dining table that can seat about 20.

People gather at the table, whether or not there’s a meal being served, and it seems like someone is always laughing, or at least chuckling. They are constantly making fun of each other and themselves. Even with visitors in their midst, they seem fully at home.

The kitchen area has a common room that’s divided from the dining room only by sofa backs. There’s a big-screen TV and leather chairs and couches, a cross between a home-style and a dorm-like living room.

Firefighters who are working 15-hour shifts — which they do twice a week, back to back — are allowed to crawl up to bunks on the floor above if things are quiet after midnight, but they’re up near dawn to make sure all the equipment is ready for the day shift.

On the day shift, firefighters work for nine hours for two days before rotating. There are three shifts in each house, so despite the 48 hour, four-day weeks each shift works, there’s always a full crew on hand at the house: an arrangement for which Riverdale is grateful.