In the early hours of a quiet morning, around 6:00 am, the call came in—a fire was tearing through a cluster of old industrial buildings off Cleveland Road in Ravenna, just south of the Erie crossing. The complex, once the bustling home of the Quaker Mills Company, had since become known locally as the Manhattan buildings. Now, it was an inferno threatening to consume an entire section of the city.

Ravenna firefighters rushed to the scene, greeted by walls of flame that lit the dawn sky and sent embers swirling across the city. Recognizing the scale of the blaze, calls went out for help from nearby Kent and Mantua Fire Departments. But the fire itself had cut off communication—the telephone lines running toward those towns had already been burned through. Only after a desperate relay through the Akron telephone exchange were the calls for aid received. In Kent, the town’s fire siren wailed through the morning air, summoning its firefighters to join their brothers in battle.

When the Kent crews arrived, they were met with a daunting sight. Fire roared from multiple floors of the old mill buildings, threatening to jump to nearby homes. The Kent, Mantua, and Ravenna firefighters joined forces, working shoulder to shoulder to hold the line. Explosions inside the burning structures rocked the area, showering debris around the nearby buildings and homes.

As the fire raged on, a hoseline was placed to protect a nearby exposure building—one last defense against the spreading flames. Manning that line were Kent Firefighters David Barber, Jay Ferry, Ed Smith, and Bob Clark, along with Ravenna Firefighter Frank Murphy. Together, they stood just inside a large doorway, their faces lit by the glow of fire, their boots sunk in the ash and water pooling beneath them.

Then, Ed Smith noticed something—a tremor in the wall, a movement in the corner of his eye. Realizing the danger, he shouted a warning. It was 7:45 am when the wall gave way.

The men turned and ran as bricks and debris thundered down. Smith and the others made it clear—but two did not. David Barber of Kent and Frank Murphy of Ravenna were buried beneath a wall of bricks.

Injured but driven by to find his missing colleagues, Ed Smith and his fellow firefighters clawed through the wreckage. They found Frank Murphy first—stunned and bloodied, but miraculously alive. Moments later, they uncovered David Barber. It was clear that he had been killed instantly, struck by the full force of the collapse.

The news rippled through Kent and beyond. When the day of David’s funeral came, it drew one of the largest gatherings the city had ever seen. Firefighters from across the region came to pay tribute to a man who had given his life in service to others. The fire truck that had carried him to Ravenna that morning now bore him one final time—to his resting place in Standing Rock Cemetery.

At the service, Reverend W. B. Robinson stood before the grieving crowd and said simply, “I shall attempt no eulogy. David’s eulogy is already written in your hearts.”

And so it remains—etched not only in the hearts of his community, but in the enduring story of courage, sacrifice, and brotherhood that defines the fire service to this day.