215. “I Felt Like a Failure.” The Actor Who Became a Firefighter Paramedic Now TEDx Talks

Morgan Englund

In episode 215 of the Transition Drill Podcast, Morgan Englund’s journey defies convention, weaving together the worlds of Hollywood, emergency medicine, and the Los Angeles Fire Department. Growing up in Santa Monica and the Palisades, he faced a childhood shaped by absence and independence, finding his first sense of brotherhood on the football field. A kidney injury ended his athletic path, leading him into acting and a successful career on stage and television. Yet, when personal struggles and the need to provide for his children collided, Morgan traded scripts for sirens. He became an EMT, then a paramedic, and eventually a firefighter with the LAFD. Fourteen years of service brought purpose but also disillusionment, as the firehouse culture often contradicted the values of brotherhood he long sought. Choosing to walk away before retirement, Morgan embraced music and advocacy, dedicating his life to confronting first responder suicide and redefining toughness, as a public speaker and conducting TEDx Talks. His story is one of resilience, transformation, and the courage to start again.

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Morgan Englund’s story begins in Los Angeles, where the shimmering backdrop of Hollywood often collided with a far more complex personal reality. He grew up on the west side of the city, spending much of his early years in Santa Monica and later in the Palisades. At first glance, his childhood looked charmed, but beneath the surface it was shaped by turbulence and absence. His mother was actress Cloris Leachman, who When Morgan was just four years old, left with his younger sister, while his three older brothers were already several years ahead of him. That left Morgan in a household dominated by a stern father, a man who would appear suddenly to lay down the law before disappearing again. The result was a boy largely on his own, forced to shape his own rules and find his own footing without much guidance.

The loneliness of those years weighed heavily, but it also carved out independence. Morgan learned to move through the world without expecting others to step in. As he entered adolescence, that independence turned restless. By junior high he was drifting in a bad direction, untethered and without clear structure. Then, almost by chance, a friend invited him to try football. The offer seemed casual, but the impact was life-changing. For the first time, Morgan discovered what it meant to be part of a team, to share a sense of belonging forged through sacrifice, sweat, and effort.

The football field gave him something he had never felt before: brotherhood. His team was mostly composed of kids from Crenshaw and Inglewood. As the surfer kid from the west side, Morgan stood out, but the cultural divide melted when the pads went on and the hits started. The collisions on the field built respect, and respect grew into love. It was more than sport. It was connection, loyalty, and family. He described those moments as the first time he truly felt cared for.

His talent on the field carried him forward. After high school he earned a chance to play at the University of Colorado as a preferred walk-on. For a while, the dream seemed alive, but fate intervened. In his senior year of high school, a devastating kidney injury nearly ended everything. Doctors discovered he had a rare condition called a horseshoe kidney, and the rupture left him hospitalized for weeks. They told him football was no longer an option.

Morgan did not listen. He continued at junior college in Monterey, fought his way back, and earned a spot at Colorado. Yet during conditioning, the truth of his injury caught up with him. After weeks of medical testing, he was told by specialists that his football career was over.

The loss stung, but in hindsight it was another test of resilience. With his athletic dream gone, Morgan drifted into acting. Despite his resistance to being tied to his mother’s fame, he enrolled in a respected New York theater program. Before long he was performing on stage and, eventually, landed a role in a soap opera. Acting became his world for several years, a path he had once sworn he would never take.

Acting provided Morgan with opportunity, visibility, and financial stability, but it never fully satisfied his deeper need for meaning. His years on stage and television were successful by any standard. He trained in New York, performed alongside respected actors, and kept a coveted soap opera role for more than five years. Yet beneath the outward appearance of accomplishment, he wrestled with dissatisfaction. The work demanded energy, but it did not provide the sense of brotherhood or higher purpose that football once had. His personal life also reflected this tension. A marriage that faltered, two children to raise, and a gnawing feeling that he needed to provide something more lasting for them pushed him to reassess what kind of life he wanted to live.

The turning point came during a dinner with a friend who also understood the uncertainties of an acting career. They spoke candidly about options and futures. Military service was mentioned, returning to school was mentioned, and then almost as an afterthought, Morgan admitted something he had always carried with him since childhood. He said he had dreamed of doing search and rescue. The idea of throwing himself into danger to pull someone else out felt meaningful in a way nothing else did. His friend looked at him and suggested something that would change everything: why not become an EMT?

That suggestion sparked a new path. At the time, Morgan did not even know what an EMT was, but once explained, it resonated. He enrolled in a three-week course at UCLA and earned his EMT certification. The next step was testing the waters. He volunteered with the ski patrol at Bear Mountain, a decision that combined his love of skiing with the chance to experience emergency response firsthand. What he found on those slopes was intensity, trauma, and responsibility. Ski patrol was not simply skiing with a radio. It meant responding to severe accidents, often under extreme conditions, and it quickly taught him how demanding emergency medicine could be.

Those years on the mountain solidified his interest in becoming a paramedic. He wanted to do more than provide basic care. He wanted to master advanced skills and become capable of leading in moments when lives hung in the balance. With two children to support and a need for stable work, he made the commitment. Morgan enrolled in paramedic school, pushing through the grueling coursework and clinical rotations. The cost was low, but the effort required was immense.

His early career as a paramedic in Oxnard tested him even further. The city exposed him to every form of trauma imaginable: shootings, overdoses, farm accidents, gang violence, and train collisions. Each call demanded composure and competence. Morgan thrived on the challenges, yet he also noticed the darker side of the culture. His very first internship partner seemed less interested in teaching than in breaking him. Other paramedics admitted that the partner had a reputation for failing every trainee he worked with. It was Morgan’s introduction to a reality he would encounter many times in the years to come. The job itself was rewarding, but the culture often felt harsh, competitive, and punishing.

Still, he pressed forward. Being a paramedic provided him with a clear mission. He was helping people in moments of greatest need, and he was building a career that gave him pride and direction. It was not long, however, before the allure of the fire department called. For Morgan, the fire service represented the ultimate test. It was a place to prove himself physically, mentally, and emotionally. Becoming a firefighter meant joining an elite group, and in his mind it was the next step in chasing the brotherhood he had always been searching for.

Working as a paramedic gave Morgan a front row seat to some of the most harrowing realities of urban life. In Oxnard, every shift brought exposure to serious trauma. Gang violence, overdoses, catastrophic car wrecks, and farm equipment accidents filled his days. He quickly learned to manage the adrenaline and the emotional toll that came with treating people in their most fragile moments. The skills he gained, from advanced airway management to cardiac intervention, sharpened his confidence. At the same time, the relentlessness of the job wore on him. Paramedics were often treated as disposable cogs. The partnership with fire crews could feel strained, and the grind of call after call left little space to process what he was experiencing.

The thought of becoming a firefighter grew stronger with each year. Morgan had always wanted to test himself in environments that demanded toughness, grit, and teamwork. The fire service promised those things. More than that, it promised entry into an exclusive brotherhood. To him, joining the Los Angeles Fire Department represented the pinnacle of proving himself. He envisioned being part of a unit that thrived on trust, sacrifice, and shared danger.

When he finally joined the LAFD, the excitement was undeniable. He had already proven himself as a seasoned paramedic, but the fire academy was an entirely different level of challenge. The training was physically punishing and mentally exhausting. For Morgan, beginning this path at age 41 added another layer of difficulty. Many of his peers were younger, faster, and more adaptable to the grind. Yet his determination carried him through, and when he graduated, he felt the same pride he had once known stepping onto the football field.

Early assignments placed him in some of the busiest stations in the city. Morgan sought them out deliberately. He did not want an easy ride or a quiet station. He wanted the action of the truck companies, the roof work, and the constant calls that tested skill and endurance. At first, the work delivered exactly that. Fires, rescues, and emergency medical responses demanded everything he had. The moments of charging into a burning building, climbing onto unstable roofs, and saving lives gave him the rush of purpose he had long craved.

But almost immediately, he began to see cracks in the culture. The firehouse was not the seamless brotherhood he had expected. Competition often replaced collaboration. The older culture of proving toughness by tearing others down seemed to dominate the environment. New firefighters were routinely tested, pushed, and sometimes broken, not always for growth but simply because that was “how it had always been.” Morgan endured hazing and learned quickly that trust was not automatically given, even when your life depended on it.

Still, he persevered. For years, he gave everything he had to the job. He trained rookies, worked grueling shifts, and built his reputation as a reliable firefighter-paramedic. Yet the deeper he went, the more he realized that the brotherhood he had envisioned was not as universal as he had hoped. At certain stations he found camaraderie and respect, but at others he found hostility, politics, and a culture that thrived on cutting people down.

For Morgan, the fire department remained a dream realized but also a reality that carried the seeds of disillusionment. He loved the work. He loved the calls. What began to wear on him was not the danger of the fires or the heartbreak of the medical runs. It was the culture inside the firehouse walls, a culture that too often confused toughness with cruelty. 

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The reality of life in the fire service was a mix of incredible highs and devastating lows. On one hand, Morgan experienced the kind of moments that define a firefighter’s calling. He responded to blazes that lit up entire structures, climbed roofs with fire raging beneath him, and carried the responsibility of keeping both his crew and the public safe. He treated patients in dire situations, often bringing them back from the edge of death. Those victories reinforced the sense that he had chosen the right path, that the sacrifice and training had been worth it.

On the other hand, the culture behind the firehouse doors told a different story. The camaraderie he had imagined as a central pillar of the profession often felt hollow. There were captains who valued teamwork and respected their people, but there were also leaders who seemed intent on breaking spirits rather than building them. Morgan encountered moments when loyalty and trust, the very qualities that should hold a crew together, were undermined by ego and competition. The fire service prided itself on toughness, yet that toughness often came at the cost of humanity.

One of the most painful lessons came in the form of moral injury. Morgan described watching leaders abandon the high standards he believed the job required. Decisions that should have reflected integrity sometimes instead revealed pettiness or cruelty. For a firefighter whose life depended on trusting the men and women beside him, those lapses left scars. At one station, the situation reached a breaking point. Morgan was called into a room where the lights had been turned down, leaving a single harsh light hanging overhead. Seated across from his captains, he was interrogated and accused of actions he had never committed. The setup resembled an old-fashioned intimidation scene. Morgan knew immediately that the rumors were false, but the weight of betrayal was unmistakable. The people entrusted to lead him were tearing him down instead.

Not long after, he responded to a major structure fire. As he moved across the roof with his crew, flames surging beneath them, he felt the unthinkable. A glance back revealed a fellow firefighter whose expression seemed to say he wanted Morgan to fall through. In that moment, surrounded by smoke and danger, he realized he could not trust the very people meant to protect him. The bond of the brotherhood had fractured.

Experiences like these compounded over time. The job itself had never been the problem. Morgan still loved firefighting, the adrenaline of the calls, and the chance to save lives. What eroded his spirit was the environment. Instead of lifting each other up, too many within the department reinforced a culture that fed on tearing people down. That constant undercurrent of mistrust, combined with the relentless trauma of the calls, left him questioning how long he could continue.

Despite the disillusionment, Morgan pushed on. He transferred to new stations, sought out fresh starts, and tried to find the places where true teamwork existed. Sometimes he found it, but the damage had been done. The firehouse that was supposed to feel like a second family too often felt like a battlefield.

By the time Morgan reached his final years with the department, he was running on empty. The calls had not broken him. The endless emergencies, the fires, the chaos on the streets were things he could handle. What wore him down was waking up each shift with dread, knowing that stepping into the station meant facing a culture that no longer aligned with who he was. The camaraderie he had once chased had turned into something corrosive, and the toll on his spirit was undeniable.

The moment of clarity arrived during recovery from a double hernia surgery. He had been pushing through physical pain for years, refusing to acknowledge how much the strain of the job was impacting his body. One afternoon, while speaking with his mother, he intended to discuss ending a relationship. Instead, what came out surprised even him: “I need to quit this job.” His mother’s response was simple but profound. She asked, “Why don’t you?” That single question gave him permission to recognize what he already knew. He did not have to stay trapped in a career that was draining the life from him.

At that point Morgan had been with the fire department nearly 14 years. Walking away was unthinkable to most of his peers. For many, the fire service was not just a job but a lifelong identity. Leaving before retirement age was rare, and when he shared his decision, disbelief was the dominant reaction. At one point, when he returned to work with a smile after deciding to resign, his crew called him into the front room to ask what was going on. When he told them he was leaving, their confusion bordered on suspicion. Nobody just left the fire department.

Leadership’s response reflected the same disbelief. During his official exit interview, the chief asked if there was anything that could change his mind. It was either the day of or the day before he was set to walk away. Morgan could only wonder why that question had not been asked months earlier, when he filed his paperwork. By then, his decision was final. He explained that it was simply time for him to move on, to pursue music, and to reclaim joy in life. He even told them that under his current captains, he might have stayed, but overall he knew his journey in the firehouse was over.

The encounter revealed something larger about the institution. The department had invested hundreds of thousands of dollars into training him. He had mentored rookies, carried years of field experience, and contributed significantly to the mission. Yet in the end, he was treated as a body in a seat, replaceable the moment he chose to step away. That realization underscored what he already felt: he had become part of a system more concerned with filling shifts than protecting the well-being of its people.

Leaving was not easy, but it was necessary. Morgan chose to stop merely existing and instead sought out the chance to live again. Stepping away from the fire department did not mean stepping away from service. For Morgan, leaving the firehouse opened space to rediscover creativity and embrace a new mission. He turned toward music, a passion that had always lingered in the background. Songwriting became a way to process the weight of his experiences, to capture both the struggles of the job and the resilience needed to survive it. One of his songs focused on the drive home after a long shift, the quiet transition from crisis to family life. Through lyrics, he found a voice that could express what many first responders carried but rarely said aloud.

Music was only one part of his new purpose. The other grew from the painful recognition that too many of his peers were not surviving the hidden battle of the profession. Morgan had lost friends to suicide, and he had felt the sting of missed opportunities to reach out when someone asked for help. Those memories never left him. They fueled a determination to speak openly about the silent epidemic of first responder suicide and the urgent need to redefine toughness.

His advocacy gained momentum through public speaking. Morgan delivered TEDx talks that cut directly to the heart of the issue. He spoke about culture, about the way masculinity and competition often overshadowed humanity, and about the cost of pretending that vulnerability was weakness. He challenged first responders to rethink what strength really meant, arguing that acknowledging pain, supporting teammates, and being honest about struggles were not signs of weakness but of courage. His talks resonated with audiences because they were rooted in lived experience. He was not speaking from theory but from years spent in firehouses, on ambulances, and on rooftops with fire beneath his boots.

Along the way, Morgan discovered a community of survivors who, like him, had faced bottom and clawed their way back. Their stories inspired him as much as he hoped to inspire others. They reminded him that people enter these careers with pure intentions, with a desire to help, yet the weight of the job and the culture often twisted those intentions. Sharing stories became a form of healing, both for him and for those who listened.

Today, his work blends creativity with advocacy. Music allows him to connect emotionally, while speaking engagements and writing give him a platform to address systemic issues within first responder culture. He continues to push for change, urging leaders to prioritize mental health, create safe spaces for honest conversation, and remember that the people doing the job are not expendable.

For veterans and first responders facing their own transitions, Morgan offers a message shaped by hard experience. You do not have to stay in a career that is eroding your spirit. You do not have to accept a culture that dismisses your humanity. There are other paths, and sometimes the bravest decision is to step away and create wings on the way down. His journey proves that life after the uniform can be filled with purpose, creativity, and service of a different kind.

In Closing 

Morgan Englund’s life reflects the truth that service does not end when the uniform comes off. From actor to firefighter to advocate, he has continually reshaped himself while staying rooted in the desire to help others. His experiences highlight both the fulfillment and the costs of frontline service, while his decision to leave the fire department underscores the importance of protecting one’s own well-being. Today, through music and public speaking, Morgan carries forward the lessons of his journey, reminding veterans and first responders alike that stepping into a new chapter can be the bravest and most life-giving choice of all.

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