Clarendon County Fire Rescue Chief Michael Johnson retires after 25 years

Clarendon County Fire Rescue Chief Michael Johnson ended his career the same way he spent it — focused on people first.

After 25 years with the department, Johnson retired Friday, closing a chapter that began as a young firefighter who “just wanted to help the community” and grew into a chief known for steady leadership, a deep respect for his crews and a home life anchored by his wife, Parker, and their two sons.

“It’s kind of weird to say, but I don’t know what normal is,” Johnson said as he contemplated what his day-to-day life will look like in retirement. “The fire service was normal to me.”

Johnson started with Clarendon County Fire Rescue in 2000, after first going through training as a teenager and coming back to complete it in 1999-2000. He rose through the ranks — from firefighter to lieutenant to captain — before becoming chief in 2019. Along the way, he watched the department evolve, he said, from an era with fewer career staff and a strong volunteer backbone into a larger, more complex organization serving a growing county.

At a retirement drop-in last week, colleagues and friends praised Johnson not only for his accomplishments, but for the kind of man they’ve known him to be. Assistant Chief Ridgeway recalled a structure fire where Johnson’s presence brought calm to a chaotic scene — a quality, he said, that defined Johnson’s leadership. Ridgeway also cited Colossians 3:23, saying it summed up Johnson’s work ethic: “Whatever you do, work heartily.”

Deputy Chief Mahoney, holding back tears, told the crowd “Monday won’t be the same,” while State Fire Marshal Jonathan Jones said he couldn’t imagine the department in better hands. Jones noted that wherever he travels, people speak of Clarendon County Fire Rescue as a place that feels like family — a legacy his father, the department’s founding chief, wanted to build.
Johnson said he’s tried to lead, and live, with the same values he expects from a department built on trust and teamwork. Before the interview, he shared Ephesians 4‬:2-3 and explained it has guided him through his career and at home: “Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” 

A 1997 graduate from Manning High School, Johnson didn’t set out with a long-range plan to become chief. Like many firefighters, he said the job pulled him in — the variety, the adrenaline, the purpose.

“It’s not the same thing every day. It’s always something different,” he said. “You’re doing cool things … and you’re getting to go help somebody that you don’t know.”

But the work also comes with a weight few outside the profession fully understand, he said. Some calls never leave you.

“I can still picture to this day,” Johnson said, describing a head-on crash on Interstate 95 early in his career. He remembers a man pinned in a vehicle, looking at him and pleading, “Help me. Help me.” Johnson said crews got the man out alive, but he later died.

“To know I was one of the last people that he talked to, and to hear those words … it still resonates with me today,” he said. “It’s tough.”

Johnson said the burden is part of why first responders lean on each other — and why the firehouse humor outsiders sometimes don’t understand can be a lifeline.

“Our people know each other so good that they can tell when something’s off,” he said. “Most of the time, they try to solve each other’s problems and if it gets to a certain level, our people are trained enough to know, ‘Hey, we need to get them some help.’”

One of the defining moments of Johnson’s tenure as chief was guiding Clarendon County through the merger of fire and EMS. The decision came soon after he was appointed chief in 2019, he said — and it required two different cultures to become one team, even as the COVID-19 pandemic complicated the work.

Johnson said collaboration made the difference. Department leaders visited other agencies that had already merged services, learning what worked and what didn’t. He also chose to earn his EMT certification during that time, even though he didn’t have to.

“I felt I needed to know, I need to know about EMS,” he said. “I need to learn EMS jargon … ultimately, I need to know how to treat the patient, but at the same time we need to be able to handle a conversation.”

Today, Clarendon County Fire Rescue operates 17 stations and includes roughly 100 full-time staff and about 100 volunteers. Johnson credits the county’s strong volunteer spirit to something he tried to protect and model: looking out for each other.

“The cool thing about the volunteer service is they don’t have to do it,” he said. “They choose to.”

At home, Johnson said, the steadiness people see in him at work has been shaped by his wife. The two met in high school and dated for 10 years before marrying in 2006. Parker, a nurse who now works in home health, has been his constant sounding board — especially on the days he didn’t want his struggle visible to others.

“Parker has been like my rock,” he said. “She watched me struggle many times, but she would never let me give up.”

Their oldest son, Allen, is 15 and already eager to join the fire service. Johnson said Allen has been around the station since he was little, often eating dinner with the crew on holidays when Johnson was on shift. Allen recently told his father what he values most about the firehouse isn’t the lights or the gear — it’s the way people treat each other.

“Y’all are not arguing over anything. Y’all are all working together as a team,” Johnson recalled Allen saying. “Y’all are like a true family who cares for one another, and that’s what I want.”

For now, Johnson said he’s stepping back — intentionally.

“I’m going to back up for just a little while,” he said. “I need to decompress. I’ve listened to a radio every night for 25 years of my life.”

He’s looking forward to being home with his family, taking on more of the day-to-day load at home, and “having the most epic garden ever.” He said his late father, who died in 2024, always grew vegetables and gave them away — something Johnson didn’t fully understand as a younger man.

“I know why he gave it away now,” he said. “Just to see the smiles on people’s faces … to make somebody’s day.”

Eventually, he expects he’ll return in some capacity, likely volunteering and training others, including his son.

“I want Clarendon to be the most successful it can be,” Johnson said. “I’ll volunteer and I look forward to hopefully being able to teach Allen.”

For a chief who built a career on service, even retirement sounds less like an ending than a shift change.