I serve on the board of trustees for a local fire department whose members volunteer to serve our community. We’re working hard to recruit and retain people with high human capital. So is every employer in Gallatin County.

A generation ago our fire district was a tight community of farmers and ranchers who prized self-sufficiency. (They wouldn’t think of calling AAA when a truck wouldn’t start.) They formed the bulk of the department and often responded to, and fought, fires in Levis and flannel shirts. Very few were trained to provide emergency medical services.

Things have changed. We’re now suburbia, and most residents are white-collar professionals. Many bring urban expectations for emergency services. None of the newcomers live here by accident. They’ve elected to be here to take advantage of our natural environment, quality schools, and cultural amenities. Hence, we face a problem common to affluent communities everywhere -- our residents are “oppressed by compelling opportunities.”

How can we get people to walk into a burning building and sacrifice many hours each week learning emergency skills if we provide no compensation? Understanding a basic economic concept, opportunity cost, helps us to craft solutions. This simple concept has powerful implications.

The best measure of cost is opportunities forgone, i.e., the value of alternatives sacrificed. For example, the opportunity cost of becoming a lawyer is not merely the tuition, books, and so on, but also the loss of three years of income from a salaried job as well as lost leisure time.

Money is not our only valuable resource. Just as important, if not more so, is our time. Scarce resources are valuable on a variety of dimensions. Time is no exception. And like all valuable resources it has an opportunity cost. For example, you’re reading this column instead of working, playing, applying to graduate school, or cleaning the garage.

The training required for our firefighters is intense. In addition to fire-fighting skills and strategies, they must learn emergency medical skills, how to deal with hazardous materials, and understand new building and motor vehicle designs. Twenty-five years ago, it took about 30 hours of basic training to become a firefighter. Today, our department offers 400 hours of training opportunities annually.

Our board of trustees is exploring a range of options to reduce the costs to our members of serving our community. For example, one of our members spent $1,000 out-of-pocket for child care so he could make weekly training sessions. We believe we have a strong ethical obligation to reimburse these costs.

By law, our department must review the impacts of proposed subdivisions. We judge only whether the plans adequately mitigate the impacts of new growth in a manner that allows us to provide “adequate and standard service” to our community.

Our staff recently reviewed one such proposal. It required 100 hours of uncompensated time. This is time our staff could have spent offering community CPR classes, home safety visits for the elderly, or coaching their children’s soccer team.

Here’s a question for our elected leaders. Is it ethical to expect that this service, required by law, be provided free by our department? If not, who should bear the cost?

Here’s something else to consider. If a member of our department does not own a washer and dryer (which many young people don’t), is it a good use of taxpayer money to provide this equipment in our fire station? If we understand opportunity costs, it’s a no-brainer. This is not a waste of money, but rather a sound investment in safety.

Why? Because rather than having our member washing laundry elsewhere, we want them in our station, ready to respond. We know a quick response saves lives and property. Understanding opportunity costs enables us to see these expenses as practical investments.

Recognizing this basic economic concept helps our board of trustees develop policies that support our members. This enables them to focus on providing competent and caring services to our customers on the worst day of their lives, i.e., when they dial 911.