Born in San Antonio to a family deeply rooted in military tradition, Collins Martin’s life is a testament to service, perseverance, and an unwavering commitment to community. His father and maternal grandfather both served in the U.S. Air Force, and when his grandfather retired as a Lieutenant Colonel in the late 1960s, he established a small retirement community off John’s Road in Boerne. Though Collins spent his early years in Georgia, the family’s tragic loss of an uncle—who drowned in Cibolo Creek—prompted a return to Boerne to continue the family business.
Collins’ upbringing revolved around hard work and responsibility. “I grew up mowing grass and hauling trash for 125 mobile home sites. Summers were busy—twice a week we hauled all our own trash, too,” he recalls. His father, a fixture in the Lions Club, Masonic Lodge, Shriners, and Berges Fest, led by example. “My dad worked a full day at Vapo Butane and then came home to clear brush, pour slabs… he was a hardworking son of a gun.”
A serious accident between sixth and seventh grade—being struck by a car on I-10—left Collins in traction for six weeks, ending any dreams of sports. “I guess God had a different plan,” he says, chuckling.
After graduating from Boerne High School in 1984, where he participated in drama and an athletic trainer program, Collins admits he wasn’t exactly a model student. “I’ve been accused more than once of not applying myself. I skated by in high school,” he laughs. His post-high school plans faltered, and after a stint working in Georgia making VRS pagers, he returned home to Boerne, working full-time with the family business.
It was a rocky road early on. After clashing with his dad, Collins bounced through jobs—working for Boerne Homes setting mobile homes, and even briefly at the iconic PoPo Family Restaurant, which a family friend, Jerry Tilley, had purchased. Following his father’s motorcycle accident, Collins quit his job to help run the parks so his dad could recover.
The real turning point came in 1989 when Collins enrolled at Texas A&M’s Fire School. “That was the first time I really applied myself,” he says. He graduated #1 in his class, and a fire was lit. Collins took an EMT course at Turtle Creek Fire Department and began a dual career—working days for Ricky Stewart, maintaining gas station storage tanks, and nights training in emergency medicine. His first full-time fire job came at Alamo Heights Fire Department.
“Somewhere in there, I joined the Boerne Volunteer Fire Department,” he notes—”somewhere in there” being a recurring phrase Collins uses when describing his busy and colorful life. As a volunteer, he also earned a license to shoot commercial fireworks, launching July 4th displays around Texas for 20 years. “Some of those mortars were so big, the blast sucked my hearing protection out of my ears!” he says with a grin.
Beyond firefighting, Collins’ thirst for knowledge and service led him into technical rescue. After attending an early swift water rescue class, he co-founded Rescue Safety Training (RST) Associates with fellow firefighter Darrin Smith. “Our idea was simple: teach cool stuff, buy cool toys, and have fun doing it.” RST trained first responders across the Hill Country and San Antonio, teaching water rescue, rope rescue, confined space rescue, and more.
A pivotal figure in RST’s success was Jim Segerstrom of Rescue3 International. “Jim loved Boerne, loved PoPo’s—he really looked out for us,” Collins says. Their relationship catapulted RST into national visibility, including TV appearances. Collins laughs, recalling, “In the fire service, if you get on TV, you owe ice cream to everyone—I bought a lot of ice cream!”
Though RST grew, Collins never wanted to leave firefighting behind. “I never did any of this stuff for the money. If you could find something I did just for the money, I could show you where it didn’t go right,” he jokes.
Through his work, Collins helped shape the swiftwater rescue protocols for Texas Task Force 1 and assisted with developing disaster ambulance staging strategies during hurricanes Ike and Harvey. Despite these achievements, he remained humble. “If I had been more accolade-motivated, I could’ve stayed a whole lot tighter in it, but it wasn’t about me—it was about helping people.”
His career also included some harrowing moments. During a job cleaning up an ammonium nitrate spill at San Antonio’s Union Stockyards—a situation dangerously close to disaster—Collins and his team successfully averted catastrophe. “Everything rusted. You could literally watch things rust around you,” he remembers. “We called ourselves toxic janitors.”
Collins spent 10.5 years at Alamo Heights before moving to Schertz Fire Department, where he rose to Battalion Chief. “It was arguably the best job ever. I worked with good people and good firefighters,” he says warmly.
Health issues eventually caught up with him. After retiring in 2018, Collins faced a series of life-threatening illnesses, including a rare bacterial pneumonia and reactive arthritis. Despite hospital stays at Methodist Stone Oak, University Hospital, and even a trip to Mayo Clinic, answers were slow to come. His faith remained strong throughout. “The Lord has blessed us in so many ways we can’t even quantify it.”
Post-retirement, Collins and his wife, Cindy, launched Firehouse Fare, a catering business that started as a food truck and quickly became a local favorite. “I loved cooking at the firehouse. It was always about family to me,” he says.
When COVID-19 hit and shut down events, they kept their staff on full-time for six months despite no income. “You don’t turn your back on your people,” Collins insists.
At the heart of it all, Collins’ proudest role has always been family man. He and Cindy, who recently celebrated 19 years of marriage, built a blended family anchored in love, loyalty, and hard-earned respect. “When we stood on the rock in front of the Plaza, my vows included Cindy’s children,” Collins says proudly. “They’re mine, just like Chase and Hunter.”
His approach to fatherhood echoes the lessons he learned from his own father and grandfather: hard work, service, and humility. He made it a point to teach his boys practical life skills—from pulling trailers in reverse to the finer points of carpentry and plumbing. “You’ve got to be diverse,” he says. “If you focus on just one thing, that’s all you’re ever going to be good at, and people will take advantage of you.”
Chase, his oldest son, reflects on that upbringing: “He taught me how to work with my hands and to be proud whenever I could accomplish something like fixing a busted waterline or repairing a vehicle. It feels good to know I don’t have to call somebody—I can fix it myself.”
Hunter adds, “My dad is an incredibly intelligent, strong, dedicated man who can do anything he puts his mind to. I learned my work ethic and how to critically think about things from him.”
And then there is Cindy, Collins’ wife and partner through every challenge and triumph. “Collins—big, loud fireman—that’s what most people see and think. But there’s a side to him most don’t see. He’s big-hearted, passionate, caring, and lovable,” she says. “People would always say, ‘Wow, he’s loud and stubborn,’ and I’d tell them, ‘He’s passionate.’ When he finds his passion, it’s all or nothing. There is no half-ass anything.”
She continues, “He’s the most knowledgeable man I’ve ever met. Constantly reading, learning, and studying. And with this knowledge, he works hard to pass it down to our children — and to others we’ve helped raise over the years. It wasn’t unusual for us to have two or three extra kids living with us. Collins never closed his door to anyone.”
Collins’ love for community service also drew him into local heritage celebrations. He served two separate terms with Boerne Berges Fest, covering everything from parades and parking to treasury and security, even serving as President. “My dad did Berges Fest twice, so I guess it was in my blood. I did it because it was fun—the community loves it,” he reflects. Despite knowing the headaches that come with running a major festival, Collins didn’t hesitate to jump back into service when Das Festival of Kendall was formed. “People ask if I’d learned my lesson after Berges Fest, and now Das Festival… I guess not! The community deserves it. It’s important to give back.”
Advice to the men of Kendall County? Collins sums it up simply: “Try to behave in a way that your kids could be proud of. Your legacy isn’t necessarily money or things. You have to look yourself in the mirror and be honest with yourself.”
And his advice to the youth: “Pursue happiness, not the dollar. Learn a skill. Enjoy nature. Live.”
Fun fact? “I own more pairs of shoes than most men would care to admit—some I’ve never even worn!” he laughs.
For Collins Martin, legacy is not measured by accolades, but by lives touched, lessons taught, and a community made stronger through a life well-lived.
“You can buy dirt and you can buy tools—and dirt and tools will always give back to you,” he adds, a fitting testament to a life built on hard work, humility, and heart.
His legacy might not be etched in marble or shouted from rooftops, but you’ll find it in firm handshakes, weathered tools, shared wisdom, and the quiet pride of a job done right — and for those reasons, Collins Martin is The Kendall Gentleman.
