The End for Station 54

We were sitting at the firehouse when the fire tones went off for Station 69, right up the road from us. In many cases, our tones would follow them and we would end up responding to a fire or auto accident together. In this case, Station 69 was being dispatched alone to a car fire at a car dealership near their firehouse. We all made or thought about comments for a moment, then got back to watching television, forgetting about the call on the other side of town. Forgetting about a nearby fire call in a firehouse means, we slide it to the back of our minds and don't talk about it, but we all have one ear on the radio to hear what is going on, we just don't talk about it. This was evident when the Fire Chief on the scene called the dispatcher and reported several cars involved in fire and requested an additional pumper out of our station. Suddenly, with no words spoken, we all jumped from our seats and headed out toward our fire gear.

Most of us were already in our bunker pants and grabbing coats and helmets when the fire tones finally went off. I stepped up into the jumpseat behind the driver, and Rick stepped up into the jumpseat behind the officer seat. I immediately started pulling my air pack on over my shoulders, before we even had a driver in the truck. Rick next to me was also donning his air pack and other firefighters were running into the firehouse.

Soon, we had a driver jumping into the truck, and an officer jumping into the cab, and the engine roared to life. The inside of the firehouse was bathed in red flashing lights and we were just waiting for the buzzer from the back step, signifying the guys on the back were ready to respond.

I stood up in the jumpseat and yelled back toward the guys on the backstep,

"Let's go, you guys ready, hit the buzzer!"

The buzzer went off and the truck pulled out of the firehouse. It had only taken a matter of minutes, but sitting and waiting to respond seemed like forever. The truck manuevered through traffic with the siren and air horns blaring. It was only a five minute ride, but we knew it was a real fire, and we were being asked to assist another company, so we made it to the scene in what seemed like seconds.

We turned into a rear driveway and as I stood and looked up over the roof of the cab, I could see the flames from several cars light the night time sky and illuminated the usually dark lot.

Rick and I pulled a hose line off our engine and advanced it toward the cars we were assigned to. The firefighters on the back step pulled a supply line and began hooking up to a hydrant at the end of the driveway. Firefighters from 69 were fighting another group of cars burning nearby as Rick and I called for water. In front of us were a row of junk cars burning, the heat began to singe our faces just as the water arrived in our hoseline. Rick took the nozzle as I lifted the hose out of the mud behind him. I wanted to take the nozzle but as Lieutenant, I was getting used to stepping back and letting someone else take the nozzle as I gave orders and led my crew.

Rick and I moved closer as we began extinguishing the raging flames. We knocked down the first car then moved to the next. Large clouds of smoke hung low and began surrounding us. We could only see the flames and each other for a few minutes. We could hear voices but we couldn't see through the smoke to the other side of the burning vehicles. Suddenly, without warning, Rick and I were hit right in the heads with a straight stream of water from a hoseline on the opposite side of the cars. Rick and I both hit the ground, soaked, but so far, not injured.

I stood right up and looked through the vehicle trying to see the other side. With all of the smoke billowing out of the cars, I couldn't see a thing.

"Who the fuck put another line over there!" I yelled to nobody in particular. "Just stay right there," I said to Rick still down on his knees. I walked wide around the cars trying to get out of the smoke to see who was shooting water at us. On the other side, wrestling with a hose line as well, were Dave and Dan, two of our firefighters who had ridden on the backstep to this call. I quickly walked back toward our apparatus where our Assistant Chief was standing.

"Really? Two handlines on either side of a car fire...really?"  he looked at me confused, but I think he knew what I was referring to. He just didn't want to be proven wrong by a mere Lieutenant.

In roughly an hour we had all of the vehicles under control and we bagan to mop up. Mopping up consisted of looking for hot spots, shutting our hose lines down, wrapping up and repacking the hose. It was during this time I was able to get up close to Dave and Dan. I began to make light of the fact they had hit us with a straight stream of water almost knocking our helmets off, but soon I detected the problem. I could smell the odor of alcohol on Dave as he stood next to me packing the hose back on to the engine. I reported what I had suspected to one of the higher officers there and hoped the problem would be taken care of. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. As a few days passed, nothing was done, and it looked like nothing was going to be done. And as luck would have it, I would have to deal with the issue myself a few days later.

It was a Friday night of crewing the station with the group of regular guys. I was sitting on the couch in the TV room when Dave walked in from outside and hopped on to the other end of the couch beside me. It didn't take long to realize he had been drinkng again.  After several minutes of listening to him acting inappropriately, laughing and basically causing a scene, I advised him he would have to leave the firehouse if he was drunk. His drunkeness continued as he ignored my requests.

"Dave, I will have to suspend you if you don't leave the property..." I stood up awaiting his response.Hearing none, I continued advising him to leave.  "C'mon Dave, let's go, you have to go."

Dave finally stood but was still giggling drunk.

"Thats it, let's go, now I have to suspend ya..."

I followed right behind him as he started walking toward the pool room door.

"You're gonna suspend me?" Dave asked as he walked from the TV room into the pool room.

"Yes Dave, I'm going to suspend ya..." I almost had all of the words out when I looked up and in an instant, saw Dave stop, turn and was swinging his right fist toward my face. The last thing I remember is his fist just inches from my face before it connected with me right in between my eyes. I walked right into the first punch of my life.

When I opened my eyes, I saw blood on the ground, then everything went black. I reached out and grabbed either side of the doorway.

"Somebody got him?" I yelled out to anyone nearby. I couldn't see and couldn't tell if he was swinging again, or leaving or what. Someone guided me back to a seat in the TV room and someone else grabbed Dave and escorted him from the building. It just so happened, Greg, one of our firefighters who was attending medical school, happened to be watching TV there when this happened. When my eyes opened and were able to see again moments later, I saw Greg looking at my face and yelling out for someone to get an ice pack. Of course that was encouraging. Within minutes, it was decided Greg was taking me to the Emergency Room.

By the time they were done treating me, and Greg drove me home, my eyes were swollen shut, my nose was broken, and the bones below both eyes were broken.

The sight of my face, once I arrived home, sent my mother into the kitchen crying. It took weeks for my eyes to heal, but it was only then I could go into surgery to straighten my nose and put plates under both eyes. It was hard to believe one quick punch caused all of this damage. But the unbelievable part of this incident hadn't happened yet. After a few months of recovering, it was time to return to the firehouse where I had been serving as Fire Lieutenant. I had been requested to attend a Board of Directors meeting before going back to active duty.

I remember the look when I walked in and saw the administrative officers all sitting around a long table. I was offered a seat at one end and the Chairman of the Board began the proceedings. Little did I know, while I was laying in a hospital bed, the board had met to discuss the incident. I really didn't want Dave to be thrown out of the firehouse but I had a feeling it would come to that.

Unfortunately, the Board voted and decided both of us needed to be expelled from the firehouse. When I inquired as to why I was being thrown out, the answer stunned me. As a Lieutenant, I was suspending a member for being drunk on our property. The Board decided I was involved in a fight, and as an officer, I should not have been involved in a fight with another member on firehouse property.

That night I left the firehouse, and never returned. If they think being struck in the face by a fist, meant being involved in a fight which deserved an expulsion, I didnt't want to be an officer of that company any longer.

Fortunately for me, I had already joined the fire company near my house, and that is where my story continues.

1984, A Life Changing Year

I had been in the fire service for two years. As a firefighter with a company responding to well over 300 calls a year at the time, and training once during every week and most weekends, I was slowly becoming pretty good at this, I thought. I kept it in my head, however, that you can never stop learning, especially in this field. There would always be a scenario we could be faced with which we didn't think of, and we would have to know how to handle it. For this reason, we took pride in our training. At one point, I became part of the training officers. It became a challenge to design a training session that would really test our guys, or provide a good beneficial refresher on previously learned skills.

We found ourselves training on ladders, whether it was throwing ladders at the firehouse, or travelling to a commercial building in our area to do some ladder work to its roof; we travelled to an old mill building one Tuesday night, laddered the building, ascended to the roof, and practiced rapelling down to the ground. It may sound extreme, but it was something we might be required to do in an emergency, and that wasn't the time to realize we didn't know what to do. One by one, each of us put the harness around our waists, tied off to an anchor point on the roof, and with the guidance of the crew, slowly lowered ourselves over the edge of the building. If done correctly, we would walk down the wall until we reached the ground. Since this was new to some, and just rusty to others, it didn't always go as planned.

I was part of the crew on the roof at one point when we readied a firefighter to go over the edge. His feet were positioned on the edge facing the roof, the rope was secured to his harness and everything was in place for the operation. As we gave the rope some slack, he bagan to lean back over the edge. As he became level with the roof level, he was supposed to start taking steps down the outside wall. Instead, the firefighter never moved his feet, but we never stopped lowering the rest of his body. As a result, the next thing we see are two fire boots shooting straight up in the air, the rest of him hidden below the roof level.

We had lowered the firefighter's upper body, but his feet staying in one place acted as a pivot point, and soon, the firefighter was hanging upside down on the outside of the building. We slowly got the firefighter righted, and we lowered him to the ground. Funny, scary, dangerous. They all came together at one time. As a result of that experience, I learned how important it was to keep your feet moving when rapelling. Lesson learned. As all training sessions should do.

I always took training seriously. I had it in my head, as a member of a Rescue Company, that no mater what problem or situation a person can themselves into, we had to be the one's to know how to get them out. If they got stuck in an elevator, we had to get them out. If they were stuck on a roof, we had to get them off. If they were stuck in a hole, we had to get them out. If they got stuck on the side of a building, we had to get them off. If they were stuck under a vehicle or in a machine... it was us they would call to get them out. As a result, I wanted all of the training I could get. Between 1982 and 1984, most weekends for me were spent at the Delaware State Fire School, attending a series of fire schools. Beginning with Firefighting I, through Firefighting III, Strategy and Tactics, Staff and Command, Pump School, Vehicle Rescue, Basic and Advanced Firefighting and more. Back home during the week, I would attend a variety of different schools and classes accumulating a binder filled with Fire and Rescue certificates.

My intention for attending so many classes was simply to be prepared. It was a dangerous job, and I wanted to know as much about it as I could. My father always said, "Whatever you choose to do, strive to be the best at it as you can.." He didn't care if I was a trash man or a rocket scientist, he just wanted me to do my best at it. And this is what I was trying to do.

It was late 1983 when I first realized all of this training and preparation would really be noticed, and actually benefit me somehow. It was something I never expected, and hadn't really thought about too much at all. I had been hanging out at the station one day when the Chief called back to the TV room and asked me to come into the office. I walked in and saw him sitting at his desk, and took a seat at the empty desk across the room. I can't remember the preamble and bantering that we always did together, but my volunteer fire service career took a dramatic turn with one sentence...

"How would you like to be my Lieutenant next year?"

The Chief's words simply stunned me. I had never in a million years would have guessed he would choose me to be one of his fire officers. I guess I was too busy preparing for it that I didn't even see what I was preparing for. My response was hesitant and stuttering. I actually asked why he wouldn't pick someone else, and he actually argued in my favor. Well, I thought, if even the Chief has an argument why I should be Lieutenant, who am I to disagree? But I did have to question it. Would I be a good leader? Would I be able to be in charge at fire calls, or be able to lead a firefighting or rescue crew? And more importantly to me, would the firefighters respect me as their officer?

Well, I went ahead with it and decided to go find out.

A few weeks later, in mid December, the fire company held their yearly election of officers. We had to vote each year for the Chief and President, among other administrative positions, and then the Chief appointed his staff. Fortunately, the Chief who wanted me as his Lieutenant, won the election. That New Years Day, I took office for the first time, and was handed my first white helmet as Fire Lieutenant.

A few months later, I was attending the Annual Fire Company Banquet in the banquet hall on the second floor of the firehouse. It consists of an awards ceremony, dinner, drinking and dancing. The 1984 banquet was my third, and I always looked forward to getting dressed up, hanging with my firefighter friends our dates, and getting drunk knowing we were off duty until morning. This banquet night was no different. I sat with the same group of friends who I usually spent the weekends with, training during the day and running calls at night. It felt good to just sit and have a good time knowing there was no chance of getting interrupted by a fire call. It would be the only time during the year we could completely and totally relax. And thats what I was doing, when I was struck again, completely off guard.

The Chief and President were standing at the podium saying their thank you's, and acknowledging all of the good work we had been doing over the past year. Finally, they were going to announce the award recipients and we could get back to the open bar. Awards given out during this event included Fireman of The Year, President's Award, Chief's Award. Highest Runner, etc. The Fireman of the Year Award was voted on by the firefighters, while the others were chosen by the Chief or the President.
We only half listened to their comments and introductions of special guests in attendance, and continued to drink and enjoy the company of our girlfriends and brother firefighters.

We paused the whispered conversations as the Chief walked to the podium with the Fireman of the Year plaque in his hand. Once again, I don't recall the preliminary comments, but the introduction of the winner will forever be etched in my mind...

"...this year's Fireman of the Year Award goes to.... Pat Finucane..."

The room erupted into applause, as all of the blood drained from my head and legs. I became lightheaded, and my legs were weak. I instantly recalled the day I was in an assembly at Coebourn Elementary School. We had been gathered one day in late May to present our Athletic Awards, and to my complete surprise, they called my name to come up for a T-shirt. I will never forget the feeling in my legs as I stood and walked to the stage.

At the Fire Company Banquet, many years later, that feeling came back once again. It almost felt as though people could see my legs wobbling, but I don't think they could. I shook hands with the Chief and President, turned to the applauding crowd and nodded in appreciation. There wasn't a word I could think of to say, so I just stared at the plaque with my name engraved upon it, and carried it back to my table, before I passed out.

Once I took my seat again, my girlfriend leaned over and gave me a hug, my friends nearby all congratulated me. I just sat in shock staring at the plaque, still in disbelief, and could feel my eyes tearing up. Fortunately, nobody witnessed the "Fireman of the Year" crying, and soon we were back to our mission at hand, getting drunk. And, after being handed this award, I was taking my mission seriously.

The night went on with drinking and eating and some dancing. In the midst of the dancing, the Chief made his way to various tables and I could tell he was up to something. He wasn't just mingling, he was organizing something. Finally, he made his way over to our table.

"Hey Pat, at midnight I need you to meet me downstairs for a few minutes."

The request had me very curious. What else could this night bring? Maybe the Chief had special gifts for his officers? Was he the type of Chief who would call a meeting on Banquet night? I slowed the pace on the drinking just in case it was something important.

An hour later, as the hands on the clock stood straight up, I noticed the other officers leaving their tables and heading for the exit. I leaned over to my girlfriend and explained I would be back in a few minutes, and meandered through the dance floor and slipped out the exit.

Downstairs, the Chief led us through the TV room and into the engine bays. I stood in the group that included all of the officers the Chief appointed just a few monts ago, including his Deputy Chief, the Assistant Chief, the Captain and a couple engineers. We gathered behind the two pumpers which sat quietly for the night while we partied upstairs. The Chief sttod with his back to the trucks and addressed his officers...

"I want everyone to take a look at this," he said pointing toward the diamond plated back step. "No matter what you do this year, I want you all to remember where we all started. Never forget where we came from..."

Initially, his words didn't really hit home with me, I just thought it was him being dramatic again. However, those words stuck with me for the rest of my time in the fire service. If there is anything I will remember of that Chief, its those words.

He was right. As I progressed through the years, and climbed the ranks higher and higher, remembering where we came from became very important. I rememberd how it felt to walk into the firehouse for the first time as a firefighter; I remember the feeling the frist time the siren blew for my first call; I remember my first emergency response hanging on to the handrail and standing on the diamond plate, watching the yellow line and black top fly by underneath me; and I remember the feeling the first time we pulled up outside a house with smoke pouring from it's windows.

That one statement, during a pause in the festivities, definitely helped me every day since, helping guide the newer guys coming up through the ranks. I can only hope that it also helped me become a leader who others looked up to, respected and maybe even learned something from.

As things would turn out, my officership in 1984 would be the first of five officerships I would hold over the years, including Lieutenant, Captain, Assistant Chief, Deputy Chief and Fire Marshal. In my 28 years in the fire service, I would hold a fire officer position for over half of that time. Still, I remember the day I was asked to be Lieutenant for the first time, like it was yesterday, and I am just as honored and thankful today as the day I agreed to give it a try.

Ladder Work

It was never really a secret that I wasn't a big fan of ladders. I don't think it was ever a case of being afraid of the heights, it was more concern for my lack of balance when standing on a 1" x 1" rung up in the air. So in any case, if my assignment had to do with a roof operation or up on a balcony or ladder, it would get done, but maybe a little slower than others doing the same because one hand would be locked tightly on to something in case I lost my balance. If I could get on to a stable roof or position, I would then work like a banchi. I didn't mind cutting roofs open, taking second or third floor windows out, or checking the top of the chimney after a chimney fire...once I got there.

I do believe I have one particular incident to blame for my lack of full confidence while working on ladders. One evening, I was at the firehouse when we were dispatched to the Granite Run Mall for a fire alarm. This was no stranger to us since almost every weekend we were sent there for the faulty fire alarm, and maybe once during the week. We all stood immediately and walked to the engine bays, assuming this would be a run up the road and eventually turned around when someone got there to confirm it was another faulty alarm.

As we pulled out of the station, me in the jumpseat behind the driver, and Greg in the jumpseat next to me, I debated whether to pull the airpack on yet, or just enjoy the ride up and back. I decided to hold off and just go for the ride, after all, usually within a few blocks we would kill the flashing lights and siren, and just head back at normal speed. Riding in the open jumpseats of the pumper made it very difficult to hear the radio, if at all sometimes. We had to keep an eye on the officer up front to signal us with either a thumbs up, or down, depending on what reports he was getting from other units or the dispatcher. The cold winter night air kept me tucked into the engine as tight as possible, and I felt bad for the guys standing on the backstep getting a face full of cold wind until we arrive. I was expecting the speed to decrease any minute now and the truck to turn around. Instead, the officer stepped on the siren and if anything, we sped up entering into a six lane intersection against the red. Greg and I both turned and looked through the back window of the cab to look ahead of us, and then looked at each other. We could tell, if we were speeding through this intersection, it wasn't just a faulty alarm.

Both of us turned and sat up in the seats, pulling the shoulder straps down over us. In unison, we tightened the shoulder straps, buckled the waist belt, giving it a quick tug to tighten, reached up for the air mask and threw its strap around our necks. I pulled my gloves from my coat pocket and glanced over at Greg pulling his gloves on. We were now ready to work. While this donning procedure was going on, we barely noticed the sirens and airhorns as we negotiated highway traffic in front of the mall. In my head, I recalled the predesignated assignment our apparatus had been given, and had practiced time after time. Within seconds, we were arriving at the fire hydrant in the parking lot we were usually assigned to. Greg and I looked around and saw no other fire apparatus. I looked up to the officer and saw him talking on the radio just before the engine roared again, and we were moved to the rear of the stores.

As we turned the corner I saw the ladder truck from Lima Fire Company nosed into the building, and the driver was swinging the main ladder around and raising it up to the roof. We came to a stop across the lot at a secondary hydrant.

"I need two guys to hook up to the hydrant and two to go to the roof on the Ladder Truck!" the officer yelled down the side of the truck as he jumped out of the cab. Greg and I reached for the tools on the engine cover. I grabbed the axe, he grabbed the haligan tool, and we were off to the Ladder Truck, air packs on our backs and airmasks dangling from our necks.

We met up with the operator of the Ladder Truck and he showed us how to get up onto the ladder, since this wasn't our apparatus. The chief of Lima walked over to us as Greg and I began climbing onto the truck.

"We have a strong odor of smoke inside the store, we're looking for maybe an A/C unit on the roof burning..." he explained as we kept moving.

I followed right behind Greg as we held our tools in one hand and climbed the ladder with the other. As we reached the top of the facade above the large JC Penny sign, Greg stopped and sat on the laddder.

"We'll need a roof ladder to get down from here." he said turning back to me.

"Take this, I'll grab it." I handed him the axe and began to climb back down. "We need a roof ladder!" I yelled down to the truck operator.

I stood on the turntable and waited as he pulled it off the truck and handed it up to me. I positioned it over one shoulder and began my climb back up to Greg waiting at the top.

"Sorry, I forgot, you're the one with the bad back, I could have gotten it..." Greg said as I approached him carrying a ladder over my shoulder. It took me by surprise because I really don't have a bad back, but I was getting used to people guessing what was wrong with me. I brushed it off without a word.

"No problem, can you reach the roof with this?" I slid it up into his hands and he positioned it down from the top of the false front to the actual roof level, about six feet below us. I took the tools from him to allow Greg to switch from the main ladder to the roof ladder, and climb down onto the roof of the mall. I watched closely to see how he was doing it, so I could do it the same way when he was done.

Once Greg was up and over on to the roof ladder facing me, I climbed up further to the top of the ladder. Once there, I could see across the roof of the mall, and it seemed like we were about to land on the moon. The roof was covered with a thick layer of untouched snow from a snow fall days before. I handed the tools over to Greg and he dropped them down on to the roof. I stared at the rungs in front of me, and for a split second I thought about what people say about parachuting, and why they would jump out of a perfectly fine plane. Why would I now leave a perfectly fine ladder to do a balancing act on the edge of the mall roof?

"You okay?" Greg's voice kept me focussed.

I kept one hand locked on the top rung and stepped off onto the top of the six inch wide brick wall front. Once both feet were on the top of the wall I reached out to the top of the roof ladder just a few inches to the left of me. I then spun around and stepped slowly down on to the ladder that lead to the roof. Once positioned securely on the ladder on the roof, I sighed with relief. While I was still high enough to do so, I looked straight down to the parking lot below me and took note of the distance. I chalked it up to a sense of accomplishment, something I could check off the list.

I climbed down onto the snowy, and silent roof top, fairly proud of myself. Greg and I trudged through about a foot of snow, as if climbing up one ladder, back down another, all while carrying tools and wearing full gear and airpacks wasn't enough of a workout. We walked from one air conditioning unit to another. We found no signs of smoke, no noticed odors. Everything on the roof seemed to check out okay. We reported to the chief by radio what we found and he advised us we could return to the parking lot.

We trudged through the snow all the way back to the ladder. We noticed we couldn't hear the roar of the apparatus, or see the flashing lights and it seemed ironic that we were still on a fire scene. I got to the bottom of the roof ladder that lead up to the top ledge of the wall. Next to that we could only see the tip of the ladder truck peeking up over the side. I began the process of getting off the roof just like we did to get on it, only in reverse. I climbed the ladder first to the top of the brick wall. Once there I could once again see the lot filled with fire apparatus, flashing lights and now spectators. I looked straight down the wall and saw the top of the JC Pennys sign. On the main ladder from the truck I saw the Assistant Chief climbing up toward me. He was going to assist with carrying the roof ladder down so we could just come down with our tools in hand. I got to the top rung and reached out to the top rung of the ladder truck. I was prepared now to take my step off the laddder to the top of the wall, spin, then go down the larger ladder to the truck. As I shifted my weight to step off the ladder, the bottom of my laddder suddenly slid out in the melting snow beneath it. My grip on the top rung of the ladder truck tightened like a vise grip, and my eyes, looking straight into the face of the Assistant Chief on the other side of the wall, widened just short of falling out of my skull. My heart pounded and the adrenaline pushed its way through my veins with quite the urgency.

"Pat what happened?" the chief asked climbing still higher to help out.

I turned and looked down and saw Greg scrambling to secure the laddder under me, in the deep snow. He stepped up on to the bottom rung and said,

"Okay, got it, go ahead."

Every muscle in my body had tightened and it was taking a little time for me to get all of them to agree that it was okay to relax. My hand never let go of that rung until I was up on top of the skinny wall, and finally stepping on to a ladder that was safely secured to a fire truck.

Slowly, I did make my way back down the ladder to the ground. When Greg followed and we were both safely on the blacktop parking lot, I did laugh about it. Of all the times for a ladder to slide out from under me, I have to be perched on top of the mall facade, staring down at the parking lot below.

So no, it's not necessarily the height that gives me a concern, it's more the ladders themselves, and whether they are going to stay put while i'm on them, which concerns me the most.

One More Thing Before You Get Home

I had just spen the day driving an ambulance throughout the City of Philadelphia. I was a paid EMT for an ambulance company which provided routine and emergency transports, and somehow, I was lucky enough to be assigned Philadelphia as my territory. After a long day of city traffic, and city hospitals, I was looking forward to getting home and relaxing. As luck would have it, the relaxing would be delayed a bit. I was half way home when my fire pager went off...

"Station 50, Ambulance 69, Rescue 54, Bortondale Road and Knowlton Road, Middletown Township, an auto accident with entrapment..."

My mind raced trying to figure out how I could get from where I was to the firehouse as fast as possible. I realized I was actually a lot closer to the accident scene than the firehouse, so, off I went. The blue light was pulled out from under the passenger seat and tossed on to the roof and soon I was racing through back streets cutting a path toward the scene.

The "response" was always an interesting part of each call. The only thing we had to go on at this point, was the location of the call, and basically what type of call it was. Minds always wondered what we would be faced with when we arrived, sometimes we were correct, sometimes we could have never predicted. One thing was for sure, with all of the training we put ourselves through on a weekly basis, we would certainly be able to handle whatever it was we were faced with.

In this case, my trip to the accident scene only took a few minutes and I would be first to arrive on scene. I pulled past the acccident and parked on the side of the road. As I walked back to the vehicle involved, I surveyed the scene. I looked around quickly for anything that could be a hazard, like low hanging or downed electrical wires, fuel spills, then turned my attention toward any injuries.

The vehicle involved was a small pick up truck, and it had come to rest over the top edge of a steep embankment. Inside was a girl in her late teens who had lost control trying to learn how to drive stick shift. Somehow she turned right while travelling down a hill and ran off the road, with the left front corner of the truck coming to rest against a small tree. I talked to her through the driver's window and began to assess her injuries. She was complaining of pain in her right leg and arm, and bleeding from her mouth. I could only get a few words out of her before she became groggy and slightly confused. I knew she could be going into shock, but the driver side of the truck was too damaged for me to open the door to help her.

I climbed through the brush and trees to the other side of the vehicle and opened the passenger door. Climbing inside I could then see the deformity on her right leg. I was sure it was fractured at this point.

"Hey Connie, it's me Pat again, look at me..." I yelled to the injured driver trying to keep her awake. I positioned myself inside the truck so I could begin treatment as soon as the ambulance arrived.

I tried talking to her about how the accident happened just to keep her responsive. I looked out the rear window and the position of the truck hanging over the embankment, kept me from seeing the roadway. Soon I could hear voices around us, sirens getting closer and finally a fire officer walked down through the brush to the side window where I could talk to him.

"Chief I have a leg injury here, and let the Rescue know we will need to take the door and probably the roof to get her out." the Chief looked at me, the driver then scurried back up the embankment to dispense with the orders.

Soon the Rescue arrived and I saw guys from my crew dragging tools and hydraulic hoses down the embankment, setting up for removing the damaged door. Another EMT from the ambulance was handing scissors and gauze through the window to me so i could syart treatment while the rescue crew worked on the vehicle.

"Connie, it's going to be noisy for a few minutes, we need to force your door open so we can get you out ok?" I tried to explain to the injured girls step by step to keep her calm. "I am going to stay here with you the whole time..."

I began cutting her jeans from the bottom of the leg straight up the seam. I needed to expose the broken leg so I could decide how to begin treating it. I could see the fractured bone pushing out of the skin just below the knee. I placed my hands on either side of the fracture to try to keep it still as the rescue crew began tearing the driver's door off. I experienced broken bones before and knew how much pain she would be in every time her leg was jostled.

"Hey i'll need another EMT in here as soon as that door comes off!" I yelled out to the Rescue crew. With one last cut, and a mild bounce, the driver's door dropped to the ground. A breeze of fresh air blew into the truck and chilled the sweat gathering on my forehead.

The rescue crew were assessing the roof removal when all of a sudden the truck jerked forward. The injured driver screamed and I grabbed her leg to keep it steady as the truck rolled down the embankment until finally striking another larger tree. When the truck finally came to a halt, I was lying across the front seat almost upside down so I could get to the injured leg. I could hear the brush rustling as the firefighters ran down the hill to our new resting spot.

"Pat you okay!" a voice yelled in from behind me.

"We're still okay in here, but ya think we could tie this truck off so we don't do that again?" I responded from the floor of the truck to the anonymous voice. I did everything I could do to keep my voice calm so the driver didn't get any more upset than she already was.

Soon the vehicle was tied off to fire apparatus on the street, and the crew continued their extrication. By the time we had a backboard in position to get her out, I had the leg splinted and bandaged. We gathered four firefighters to grab each corner of the backboard and carry her up the hill to the ambulance.

As they walked up the hill, I sat in the passenger seat of the truck, still pointed downhill. I took a few breaths, wiped the sweat from my face and followed the patient up the hill.

"Connie, these guys are taking you to the hospital for me ok, you'll be fine. They'll take care of ya." I yelled into the back of the ambulance.

I walked over to the guys still packing up the rescue tools. I wanted to help them cleaning up but since I had no protective gear with me, I wasn't permitted to touch the hydraulic tools.

"Hey, nice job in there," a familiar voice said from behind me. I turned to see the Fire Chief of Station 50 smiling at me.

It was not often a patient got a chance to thank us for either treating them or extricating them from a wreck. But it did feel good when one of our peers recognized the work we did.

Firefighter Initiation of Sorts

Our company would get together every Tuesday night for regular training, and sometimes on Saturday mornings for special training exercises. The first time I joined the company for a Saturday session, it was at the old State Police Barracks which had been given to the fire companies for training after the Police relocated to new offices. The building was empty, with the exception of some old furniture which had either been left behind, or brought in by the fire officers to replicate a house environment. On this day, I was being taught how to use the Self Contained Breathing Apparatus (SCBA), or "the air packs."

About a dozen or so firefighters were there in the chilly morning air, all a bit anxious to get started. Inside the building, our Chief, Assistant Chief and Captain were laying out the scenario, and setting up the props. Since this was the first time for me, I stepped back and let the others line up at the front steps in front of me. I had already reviewed the air pack at the firehouse, and in the Fire School Class the week before, I just needed to get one on and use it in a fire situation to demonstrate my ability to the instructors. After graduating the Fire School Class, then using it hands on, I would then be certified to wear it on real emergency situations.

One week prior to this, I was scheduled to attend a similar training. The intense fear inside me was so great, I came up with an excuse why I couldn't go with the rest of the company to practice on the air packs.

"Sorry, I just got back from the doctors...got a respiratory infection..."

I tried to explain my situation to the Chief, but I am not sure he bought it. I have learned since, he probably didn't care what I had to say. You are either coming, or you aren't, doesn't really matter why or why not. And after all the thought I put into that excuse.

I watched intently from the front yard as, two by two, firefighters pulled their masks on, ducked down below the billowing smoke, and entered the building with fire hose under their arms. I knew in my mind that this is what it would take for me to become a firefighetr for real. I didn't want to just be a guy who comes andd stands outside and maybe helps carrying hose, or running for tools. I wnated to be the guy on the inside making the hit on the flames. That's where the action was, and they were the stories I had heard back at the station. I wanted in on those stories.

It wasn't too long before the guys who entered the building would emerge carrying the hose out, with smoke trailing behind them. That alone got my adrenaline pumping. It looked like a scene right out of a movie.

"You ready to go?" a voice snapped me out of my amazement. The Captain was moving the firefighters through like an assembly line. I nodded back to him as I reached down and grabbed my air pack from the ground, swinging it over my shoulder on to my back. I had the full on act going as if I wasn't nervous at all, and just couldn't wait to get inside that smokey building. Yeah, I could feel my heart beating clear out of my chest actually, and my breathing was already out of control, and the mask wasn't even on yet.

I stood for one second and began to think... 'They wouldn't put us in any danger that could hurt or kill us...they have guys in there watching in case anything were to happen...and look, everyone else just did it and everything worked out just fine. I figured, in just a few minutes it will be over, and I would be outside talking about how it was inside the beast.

I pulled the shoulder straps tight and cinched up the waist belt. I removed my helmet and placed my mask on my chin, then pulled the straps up over my head. Suddenly, I could hear every breath I was taking, and nobody else could hear anything I was saying. Quite a different environment, and I wasn't even in the smoke yet. I was assigned a partner, and together we walked up to the front door where the nozzle was laying on the porch floor. I felt like I was in a coccoon, but I think that was the idea. I still wasn't sure I would be able to move enough to be productive under all the gear, but I realized, this was the way it had to be. I summoned all the determination and courage I could muster, and nodded to my partner. I was ready to rock.

He grabbed the nozzle and I backed him up, humping the hose in from behind us as we advanced under a thick layer of gray and black smoke. I could barely hear the voices up ahead of us over my own heavy breathing.

"Let's go hustle, get in here!" I recognized the Chief's voice yelling from another room. "It's getting hot in here, let's go, knock it down before we lose it!"

My fear turned to urgency. I thought of nothing but getting the hose in there as fast as we could, get in behind my partner to back him as we hit the fire, just like it reads in the text books. The smoke blurred our vision and at times the only thing we could see was the cloth hose in our gloved hands. We had to move quickly, but find our way by feeling the walls and doors.

Finally, we found the kitchen door, where the fire was reported to be located. Voices yelled, and things were banging loudly as we made our way into the room. In the midst of the darkness I made out a glow in the corner of the room. My partner yelled back to me that he found the fire, and he was going to open up on it. My job at this point would be to get right behind him and take all the back pressure off of him, mainly by pulling the hose in from behind us and leaning forward. With all of my fire school notes going through my head, I almost forgot I was inside of a burning building.

The nozzle opened up and I pulled the hose forward battling the pressure pushing back. The glow in the corner darkened and once again, we were bathed in black darkness.

"Okay switch positions!" a voice yelled from behind us somewhere.

The two of us clumsily crawled around each other, clanging tanks together in the narrow doorway, as I took hold of the nozzle, still dripping from being opened already. As I got into position on one knee and ducking down as low as I could, the voice yelled through the darkness again...

"Over here! We have extension! It spread over here, you didn't get it all!"

We crawled further into the room until I saw the glowing again. This time I could see flames licking up the walls from behind some appliances on the kitchen counter. My partner pulled more hose in, then got right behind me, placing one hand on my shoulder. I grabbed the handle with one hand, and pulled slowly back on the bale, as it is taught in the textbooks, so as to limit the kick back of the water pressure. Soon I was flowing water and lobbing it at the corner of the room, darkening down the flames. Just as I began my "attack" on the fire, something happened that wasn't in any pages I had read in class. With one large "whoosh," the whole wall lit up, and flames rolled across the ceiling above our heads. A loud bang came from what I thought was the refrigerator, and it seemed to feed the flames above us.

"Hit the ceiling, Hit the ceiling!" a more urgent tone of voice screamed from another doorway to my right. I just opened the nozzle up more and turned the knob to straight stream when I was struck in the head and shoulders with falling pieces of ceiling tiles and other debris.

"Back out! Back out! Shut down and back out!" In the corner of my eye, I saw the Captain coming through the smoke with another hoseline from another doorway.

I shut down and dropped the nozzle to the floor next to me, and immediately turned back to my partner who had already started his retreat. The flames made it much easier to see our way back out of the building as we felt for the hose to lead us out to the front door.

Once we made the front door, I noticed a few guys on the porch pulling our hose out for us. "You guys okay?" "Holy shit, what happened, you aight"

Voices swarmed around us, although all I could hear best was my heaving breaths inside the mask. Once in the yard, I turned back and watched the front door with its billowing smoke pouring from inside. For the first time ever, the fear of the smoke had disappeared, and I almost wanted to get back inside with it. It was then I realized, it's not a feeling of being fearless about fire and thick smoke, it's more of a respect you gain for it. You know how to treat it, how to operate around it, but keep in the back of your mind it's power, and it's ability to turn on you in an instant.

"What the hell was that in there?" my partner exclaimed as he pulled the mask from his face.

"Not sure, but whatever they did was pretty cool!" I couldn't believe how exciting it was, and was mad I gave some poor excuse to skip out the week before.

"Cool? Hell, I thought we were losing the building!" my partner explained. This confused me for a minute. He had been a firefighter longer than me and had done these exercises before several times. I was thinking to myself, 'why doesn't he realize that the guys inside set that up, whatever it was.' Just then, the Captain and the Chief came out of the building, their hot gear steaming in the cold air.

"You guys okay?" One asked. "Yeah sorry bout that! But good job not panicking!"

"Was that a test to see if we panic?" I asked as I undid my straps.

"No, that was a real live explosion we didn't plan for!" the Chief said smiling at the Captain. "Somebody left the gas on I guess! Damned refrigerator or stove or whatever moved a good foot away from the wall!" the two walked away still commenting on what just happened right in front of my face, laughing and shaking heads.

For a moment, a fear creeped back inside my chest. I realized then that it wasn't a neat little prop they had staged, and that the falling ceiling was real, the flames were really rolling over our heads out of control. Then just as quick as it came, the fear left and was replaced with a real sense of courage, and pride. I was faced with a real fire emergency, and handled it calmly, didn't panic and run, and simply did what I was taught to do. I had just proven to myself, that I was going to be okay.

I sincerely believe, this incident which was mostly an accident, broke me in just right. I suddenly knew what it looked and felt like to have the proverbial "shit hit the fan" and come down on top of you, when you're on the inside.

I was quickly becoming a "real firefighter."

My Legs Hurt Like Hell!

I became an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) in 1984. This was born out of responding to accident after accident, where they always needed just one more EMT, for just one more patient, and had to WAIT for just one more ambulance to respond in.

I was never the most studious person in the world when it came to my school studies. But, when it came to passing the EMT class, I was all about it. I recall sitting on the porch of our rental shore house in Avalon New Jersey, flipping through the pages of a text book riddled with disgusting photos of injuries, from minor to serious in nature. And this time, I was doing more than just looking at the pictures, I was actually studying the text about how to treat those pictured injuries. I studied harder for this class than any I had taken before graduating high school. And as a result, passed it the first time.

Soon, I was riding ambulance calls and helping save the lives of the sick and the injured. Since I scored really high on the Trauma sections of the class, I usually leaned toward the injured more than the sick. Soon after I received my certification, I obtained a fisherman's tackle box and converted it into a first aid kit with enough gauze to save lives at a school bus accident. The box was never far away, and usually stored in my trunk. Whenever I showed up at a call before an ambulance, I would leap from the car and whip out the box to help the nearest patient. Very doctor-like I must say, I was only missing the white coat.

One of these incidents occurred just before sunrise, some time in the four o'clock hour. When my fire pager went off, I was sound asleep in my Brookhaven home with only a few hours left before I had to get up for work.

"Station 50, Ambulance 69, Rescue 54... Rt 352 in the area of the Penn Dot shed, an auto accident reported with entrapment."

Within seconds, I was pulling on pants and sneakers and running for the door. Even in my early morning daze, I recognized the address as being close enough for me to respond directly to, instead of having to go to the firehouse and respond with the Rescue truck. I drove through the empty streets and saw only the reflection of my flashing blue light on the surrounding trees and buildings. Listening to the fire radio as I drove, I could tell I was the closest to the scene and nobody else was responding yet. As I pulled out onto the highway, I drove right into a fog. I saw nothing but the blue flash in front of my hood. I suddenly understood exactly how the accident occurred, zero visibility made it awfully difficult to get to the scene.

I travelled about a mile or so down the road when I noticed flashing lights on the opposite side of the four lane highway. I recognized it as the early morning trash collection crew, so I leaned into the accelerator again, disregarding the flashing lights. Fortunately, just as I passed by the trash truck, something behind the truck caught my eye. I slammed my brakes on and spun the car around to pull up behind the truck. My headlights finally illuminated the scene. Before me I made out the back end of a small red MG convertible which had buried itself under the back end of the larger trash truck.

I jumped out of my car, and in one swift fairly smooth motion, I popped the trunk, threw my firecoat on and grabbed the box I was so used to having with me on medical calls. I'm not sure who the man was, but as I was walking from my car to the trash truck, a man hurried back passing me as he spoke...

"That guy is in bad shape!" as he never even slowed down trying to get away from the scene.

Standing on the side of the truck were two guys wearing reflective vests, obviously workers from the trash company. As I walked closer to assess the scene, I saw a red sports car under the back of the truck, with the entire hood buried up to the windshield. I leaned down to speak to the injured driver and noticed his legs were pinned under his dashboard, and his face was bloodied. I opened the box and pulled out the penlight so I could look and see how bad his legs were injured. As I was beginning my patient care, the driver became insistant with me.

"Don't worry about me, check the guy in the truck!" I stood and looked up toward the front of the large garbage truck where the driver would have been.

"Sir, I really don't think he even felt you, he'll be okay..."

"No! Check the guy in the truck, really!" the severly injured driver became almost angry with me trying to disregard his requests.

Just as I was about to explain the difference in weight between a small sports car and the diesel trash truck, I heard an approaching siren. I stood up and stepped back away from the car and looked in each direction into the darkness. The next sight I saw will stay with me until I die. As I was glancing around the scene waiting for the approaching ambulance to arrive, my eyes caught a glimpse of blonde hair waving in the breeze. However, the hair I saw was in the back of the trash truck where all of the garbage is dumped. In other words, he was the "guy in the truck."

I stepped up and leaned into the back of the truck and saw a man lying on top of the garbage pile, face up. He looked over at me and almost nonchalantly said,

"Can you get me outta here, my legs hurt like hell!"

I looked at this man and scanned his body quickly to see if he was also injured, and discovered an incredible sight. The man's body stopped just below his waist. I looked closer to see if his legs were beneath the garbage pile, but they weren't. It suddenly became apparent that this man's legs were both amputated by the sports car as he was dumping a trash can into the back of the truck, and this was where he landed after the collision. The legs which "hurt like hell," were no longer attached.

I stepped back and turned to see the first ambulance pulling up next to the trash truck. The doors were barely opened when I shouted to them...

"Bilateral leg amputation, still in the truck, I need backboard and heavy duty bandages!" I climbed up on top of the car and stepped into the back of the truck to see how we could move this guy from the dirty position he was in. I pictured how infected his legs would get if he sat in this garbage any longer. Two more EMT's joined me at the back of the truck and started packing the leg wounds, and began trying to manuever the backboard under him so we could lift him out.

"Advise the rescue we do have entrapment in the car too...ask for a medic and additional ambulances...we will need the help!" As we worked quickly on the amputation patient, I didn't want to abandon the driver trapped in the car. The next unit to arrive was going to be assigned to his care and removal. For now, I had to prioritize. And, afterall, the driver did insist I check the "guy in the truck!"

Within minutes the scene was quite chaotic. We removed the man from the truck, which created quite an odd vision. We placed him on the stretcher but we couldn't help but notice he only took up half of the stretcher. The next thing we had to do was locate the legs and see if they could be saved. As the Rescue crew worked on lifting the dashboard from the driver's legs, we had other personnel climbing all over the truck, under the truck, next to the truck, under the bushes... we had no luck locating the missing limbs. It wasn't until the rescue crew extricated the driver, and pulled back away from the wreck that we decided the legs were under the car. One was partially intact, the second was too damaged for it to be used. We placed the limbs in bags and assigned another ambulance to transport the limbs to the trauma center in case there was any chance of reattaching the limbs.

Unfortunately, the limbs were too damaged, and the legs were too infected. The surgeons had to take both legs at mid-thigh and this trash collector ended up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. It turned out the driver of the sports car was driving home from a night shift, and dozed off behind the wheel. There were no skid marks found behind the truck. Apparently this car just drove right into the back of the truck without slowing down, and cut the garbage collector standing behind the truck in half. The driver of the car, as with most accident victims we care for, we never heard from or about again.

With all of the tools wrapped up and returned to the Rescue truck, and all patients transported to their respective hospitals, my work here was done. Within the hour, I was back in my warm bed, resetting my fire pager on the night stand...ready for the next run.

Sometimes You Have To Be Creative

This firehouse was unique in the way it covered two very different sections of the township. In the village the building was built in, and had since grown in, the majority of the residents were blue collar, low income, hard working people. Their small houses ranged from small single wood frame houses with no more than a one car space on the side of the road to park or some were twin homes with the wooden porch in front. The roads were narrow and filled more often than not with pick up trucks with gun racks and fishing rods mounted on them. The terrain was pulled right out of a mountain town with steep hills and bends with the houses positioned wherever they could build. The roads made it a challenge for fire apparatus to negotiate. We had to learn how to make tight turns, how to negotiate railroad underpasses on an S-bend, blind corners, steep hills and narrow bridges. Once you became an apparatus driver here, it was thought we could drive apparatus anywhere.

If you pulled out of the firehouse and turned right, travelling up the hill out of the village, within a minute you would be surrounded by large houses with two car garages, large front yards and driveways. The cars would often be washed in the driveways by the white collar owners over the weekend.

It was almost two different worlds.

This particular day we had been hanging out at the firehouse with really nothing going on short of planning dinner. Were we going to order pizza, were we going to Denny’s, going to the pizzeria…etc etc. We sat around the table in the game room throwing ideas out but nobody making a decision.

The tones hit and we were all caught off guard. Usually someone hears our neighboring township companies being dispatched and it will give us a little warning that we may be getting dispatched. This call happened to be outside the township, just over the line on the other side of the creek that meandered through the mills at the bottom of the hilly terrain.

With the sounding of the pagers and the firehouse siren winding up outside, we jumped from our seats and ran to our gear racks. I yanked on my sneakers, already untied in preparation for a fire call, and tossed them aside. I pulled the bunker pants out from under the hanging coat and helmet, pulled them up to my waist, grabbed the coat in one hand and the helmet in the other.

“What is it, anybody hear what it is!” I yelled over the engine starting and siren wailing.

“Mount Road for a house fire!” an anonymous voice replied.

As the loud siren outside wound down I yelled back to Rick,

“We have a crew let’s go!”

I didn’t want anyone to slow us down. We were within minutes reach of this address which meant we could be first in, even though it’s located in another township. This is equivalent to a team coming in to someone else’s field and beating them on their turf. The only obstacle we had to slow us down were the damned roads we had to take to get there.

Jumping up into the pack seat I pulled my coat on, pulled the chin strap tight on my helmet and looked over for Rick who was doing much of the same in the jump seat next to me. With each response we made together, it was an unwritten and unspoken truth that we may not come back, and that at some point my life may be in Rick’s hands, or his life in mine. We knew this as do most firefighters when they make responses into unknown, dark, hot situations. You just never know which call will be the last. You just watch each other’s back like they were family. Rick and I ran so much together as pack partners, I was perfectly comfortable knowing he was with me, the trust I had in him, unwavering.

With each turn and hill of the trip over the creek, Rick and I both tried to peek over the cab to see if we could find any signs of smoke or fire. Finally, as we got closer and closer, we both sat down in the seat and pulled on our air packs. If we did this too soon we wouldn’t be able to stand up and look for the column of smoke we had hoped for. We had both gotten skilled enough that we could wait until the last moment before throwing our air pack on, and still be ready to make the initial attack on the fire.

Our engine made the last turn on to Mount Road and the siren echoed off the rows of homes on both sides of the road. I looked out the side window and noticed the houses were crammed together with small alleys between them. The wood siding was bathed in red flashes from our lights as we raced by. I glanced back over the hose bed to see who was riding the tail board. I saw a helmet I recognized as Donna, my on and off girlfriend at the time, and one or two others. I thought to myself, hope this isn’t much or she would have to hook up to the hydrant to get us water. Donna had attended fire school, I just never thought of her as a “firefighter.” She was a “girlfriend.”

As we approached the block we were looking for the engine slowed. In the cab I could hear the radio blaring, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. It turned out an officer from the local company made it to the scene and requested our engine to lay a supply line from the hydrant into the front of the house. Our driver pulled just past the yellow hydrant on the side of the road, right in front of a small hillside church. A black wrought iron fence lined the front of the church, two stained glass doors were at the end of the short sidewalk, and a tall white steeple rose into the trees surrounding us. Before the guys on the back could wrap the hydrant, I looked up at the cross on the steeple and wondered if I needed to pray. Was someone trying to tell me something?

My thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the back of the truck.

“Go, Go!” a firefighter was waving us on after he had pulled a hose off the truck and wrapped it around the hydrant.

As we pulled away, almost one thousand feet of hose fell to the street off our hose bed all the way into the fire scene. The firefighters left at the hydrant would now have to quickly hook the hose up to the hydrant and feed us water at the scene before Rick and I pulled our hose line into the house and emptied the water tank on the engine. This is where teamwork comes into play. Everyone has a job, and everyone depends on someone else to get the job done.

As the engine came to a stop I noticed this house was built on a hillside, making the front door on the ground level, but the rear door was downstairs. One level on the front, two or more levels from behind. I could see and smell smoke coming from the lower level of the house as I stepped off the truck and pulled my air pack straps tighter.

By the time I got to the other side of the truck a hose was being pulled off and across the front porch. I threw my mask on quickly as I followed the hose to the front door. Rick was in front of me and once we pulled our gloves on, we gave each other the thumbs up, and we both grabbed the hose and crouched down low as we went in through the door. The officer behind us was yelling that the fire was in the basement. This I believed since we could barely see our hands in front of our faces through the smoke. No fire on the first floor, but it was floor to ceiling smoke, there was a great chance the fire was below us. To find the basement stairs we crawled along the outside of the room, feeling every nook and cranny until we found a door knob.

We slowly opened the door and found that it was the stairs leading to the basement. I pulled extra hose up behind us in preparation for the run down the stairs. Rick and I looked at each other and yelled through the plastic face pieces, “You ready?” “Yeah, no stopping, just keep going!” I pulled my eqar flaps down and the collar on my coat up, trying to cover as much of my skin as possible. It would still be a while before we got used to wearing those new nomex hoods. We were still using our earlobes as a thermometer, to determine whether or when to evacuate a building.

We knew we couldn’t be slow once we made the stairs. The staircase would act like a chimney where nothing but heat roared upward into the floors above. If we stopped for any reason it surely meant getting burned, or at least taking a lot of extreme heat.

Rick picked up the nozzle and when I gave the signal he dove into the heat. I humped the hoseline down to him as fast as I could so he didn’t get held up, then I followed behind him. When I cleared the stairs and reached the floor of the basement I could feel the temperature cool slightly. The air was clearer on the basement floor and we could make out a small path between piles of boxes, clothes, toys and everything else you could possibly toss into the basement. We made our way toward the back of the room where we suspected the fire to be burning. Both of us proceeded on our hands and knees, Rick still holding the nozzle, me still humping hose up behind us. We were only half way through the room when we found what we were looking for. Suddenly the end of the room in front of us lit up with bright red, orange and yellow. The change from the dark, gloomy, eerie gray smoke was almost welcomed. Not only did the flames light up the room, it became our first point of reference within this blackened room. But the welcome feeling didn’t last long. Not only did the flames shoot up to the ceiling in front of us, it quickly grew in size to start licking across the ceiling above our heads.

I instantly feared a condition called “flashover” when everything in the room reaches an ignition temperature and explodes into flames all at once. The hose in our hands was filled with water and tough to maneuver. I yelled and pointed for Rick to open the nozzle and hit the ceiling to knock down the flames, and cool down the temperature. If we could just drop the temperature at the ceiling we might be able to prevent the flashover I feared. Rick had been holding the nozzle in his hand while we crawled across the floor and ended up holding the hose too far up toward the nozzle to bend the hose back easily. I didn’t want to waste any time repositioning, still realizing the ceiling temperature wasn’t going to wait for us to get a better position. As a result, I wrapped my arms around Rick, still holding the nozzle, and leaned back, pulling Rick back on to my lap. This gave us a better angle to hit the ceiling, and Rick opened up shooting the cool water into the flames rolling above us.

Within seconds, the bright flames darkened back down, and retreated back to the floor level in front of us. I released Rick from my grip and he proceeded to go after the fire at our level, as I fed him some more hose. Within minutes, our low air alarms began ringing, advising us we only had a matter of minutes to get out of the building. By this time, other crews were arriving and were ready and eager to come inside and take over for us. By the time we decided to leave the basement, the fire was all but under control. For the fresh crews the job now was to ventilate and check for extension. Firefighters began filling this small house, inspecting all floors and rooms, and walls for any hidden fire.

Rick and I made our way to the basement exit door since our air bottles were almost empty. We needed to get out into fresh air as soon as possible. As we made our way out the side door, and up the hill to street level, we noticed the bustling scene looked a little different than when we arrived. Flashing lights bathed the surrounding trees in a red glow, a crowd had assembled across the street and a yellow hose wound its way from the back of our truck, down the street and just around the bend out of sight. I looked around for Donna and with no success, I figured she was still at the fire hydrant in front of that church.

It wasn’t long before Rick and I were out of our air packs and sitting on the back of the air bank, snickering to each other about our unique fire attack technique. The point was, however, we responded quickly, made a quick fire attack, knocked the fire down before it ever left the room where it started, and we lived to talk about it, with earlobes intact.

It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last…

A Lesson In Discipline

Like most weekends, our firehouse was filled with volunteers from Friday evening through Sunday morning. By 6:00pm Friday, the chalkboard in the radio room would have names scribbled on it with riding positions next to them. It was like a reservation list for the bunk room. When the list was filled, nobody else could spend the night.

It became a habit for me and Rick to sleep in each weekend. We both lived pretty far from the station and usually wouldn’t make a truck if we responded from home. Months went by with Rick and I spending the weekends there, which meant we did everything together while we were there. We ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together. We would go to the mall, watch TV and go to movies together. Most importantly, we would fight fires together.

Rick and I were always the first to sign up for the air pack seats on the first out engine. This would mean it would be us pulling off the first hose line and making the initial attack on any fire we responded to. We got to know each other’s moves, expectations, and abilities and limitations. The bond that was formed is one not easily broken, and it would last for me many years after our volunteer fire service careers.

As luck would have it, just after we all lay in our squeaky bunks, and the room would be dimly lit with only the voice of the fire dispatcher echoing from the room next door, we could almost predict a fire call, especially if we were all to get up for training early the next morning.

Usually it would happen as I had just rolled over and thought about the next day’s agenda. I would have to get up early, and drive all the way to Dover Delaware to attend the Delaware State Fire Academy. It would be one of many trips I would take to the academy to become certified in various courses. Sometimes Rick would attend with me, other times I would find myself in the back seat with three other firefighters all getting some training in over the weekend.

Our dispatch involved a two-tone alert followed by the dispatcher’s voice advising what company was due, what the address was and then the type of emergency, whether it be house fire, brush fire, car fire, vehicle accident, etc. Those of us who had been doing this for a while learned the tones for each firehouse, and would end up guessing what company was being dispatched just by the tones going out. Sometimes we would be right, other times we might be one or two numbers off. As the tones got higher, so did the number. Station 32 had lower tones than Station 59. After a while, we could tell by the first of the two tones if it might be us. In fact, usually my heart would become used to getting a jolt of adrenaline just after our tones went off, so even if I wasn’t paying attention, if our tones went off, my heart would jump.

As I lay staring into the darkness on my creaky bunk, I could hear the speaker from the next room. Sure enough, I recognized the first tone… then all hell broke loose. The second tone hit, beepers went off, lights blinked on and speakers blared. Of course all at once, all of our bunks squeaked to life as we all jumped up and headed for the apparatus bays. I was on auto pilot as I walked from the bunk room, through the TV room and stepped into the bays where our gear hung behind the apparatus. Rick was nearby pulling his bunkers on as I pulled mine from the rack. With just a glance at each other we both headed for the pumper, Rick walking up the passenger side as I walked up the driver’s side to the jump seats just behind the cab. I stepped up into the seat and stood buttoning my coat looking over at Rick doing the same on the opposite side. Behind us on the back step were two more guys, including Rick’s older brother Greg. Up front the Assistant Chief hopped into the driver seat since we didn’t have any other driver for the first-out engine, a position he really didn’t favor over riding the officer seat. Unfortunately for me, he would do anything he could to get out of driving.

“Is Pat here!” I heard a voice yelling over the noise of the bay door raising.

“Right here!” I yelled to nobody in particular as I fastened the last of the buttons.

The assistant opened the driver’s door and as he leapt out of the can he yelled back to the crew…

“Engine Two! Everybody switch over, taking engine two! Pat you drive!”

Part of me was let down, I was all geared for packing up and being on the attack line with Rick, again. But part of me also became anxiously excited, because I was driving! I had to switch gears from moving in auto pilot to actually thinking.

How do I start the truck, how do I shift the truck, how do I get to the scene, what was the fastest route, how do I position the truck, how do I pump the truck….????

I quickly unbuttoned my bulky coat and tossed it and my helmet back to the jump seat of Engine Two, where Greg had moved up to take my place as Rick’s partner. He would hold on to the bulky gear while I drove, and when we arrived I would have to put it back on. With a loud roar, I brought the engine to life, hit all the switches that bathed the firehouse walls in glowing red, and in seconds we emerged from the warm firehouse and pierced the cold night air.

I maneuvered the apparatus through the back streets, shifting as I climbed hills and rounded bends. With an old truck like this, the driver was tired by the time they arrived due to the double clutching and manual steering. It was always a joke throughout the station, that driving this engine was really driving an engine! The new apparatus with automatic transmissions and power steering provided little challenge to the driver. In the old days, the driver could work up a sweat just getting the crew to the scene.

I was almost relieved when I finally caught a glimpse of the street sign as the red lights flashed upon it and we turned on to the street we were looking for. I was proud of my performance to this point as well. I never missed a gear, didn’t stall the truck, kept it running at a good clip the entire way.

“Pull up just short of the fire and we’ll stretch a line from there…” the Assistant Chief finally spoke and it almost startled me. I was in a zone. The level of concentration to keep this truck moving up and down the hills was mentally tiring.

I stopped the apparatus, engaged the brake, put the truck into pump gear, and finally hopped out of the cab. As I walked down the side of the truck to get the wheel chock, my crew had already disembarked and was pulling their hose off the bed, almost ready for me to supply them the water for the attack.

“Charge the line as soon as you can!” somebody yelled back at me standing at the pump panel.

I stared up at the gauges and levers and buttons, trying my best to wake up and remember how I was taught to pump this truck. In my head I reviewed the procedure…

“Pump gear, open tank to pump, open discharge, throttle up, discharge pressure…”

I looked at the flat hose lying in the leaves next to the truck, and finally it began to fill and grow with water. Water I was pumping into it. The sound of the nozzle coughing open with water was a delightful, relieving sound to my ears. It really wasn’t until this point that I noticed the fire we were racing too was just a pile of leaves that were gathered against a huge tree. The flames had already consumed most of the leaf pile and were now racing up the center of this old hollow tree trunk. As I watched Rick and Greg wrestle the hose into position and flow water into the towering tree, I decided I could now take a minute and throw my coat and helmet on. I hopped up into the jump seat where Greg had ridden, but I didn’t see my coat. I walked around to the other side checking the seat Rick rode in, but again, no coat or helmet.

“Hey, where ya hiding my stuff?” I yelled up the line to Greg still backing Rick up on the hose line.

“Oh, we lost it back on Glen Riddle Road on that last bend!” Greg said as he adjusted his grip on the heavy hose.

I smiled, shook my head and returned to the pump panel.

Within the hour, I was out of water, the flames had subsided, maybe not out, but they weren’t going anywhere, and our hose was picked up and packed back on the truck. On the way back I slowed down to a crawl as we rounded the bends on Glen Riddle Road, hoping to recover my fallen gear. Unfortunately, nobody on my crew spotted the coat or helmet, so I returned to the station with only the bunker pants I was wearing.

While standing amongst the gear racks, Greg explained he was buttoning his collar when I rounded the last turn quickly and he wasn’t able to catch my coat sliding off the diamond plate. Again, I just shook my head, and thought how I would be getting a new coat and helmet once the officers came to the station in the morning.
After a few more post-fire discussions, the crew once again fell silent into our squeaky bunks. I quietly hoped we wouldn’t have any more fires until I got my own coat, or maybe we would have a rescue call where I would drive again, not requiring the full gear.

The pagers remained quiet for the rest of the morning and we all slept in a little late due to the early fire call. When I finally stirred, I could hear voices in the next room, and the light was shining in the bunk room from above the partition separating the bunk room from the pool room. I soon realized I was one of the last guys out of the bunk room so I decided to wander out into civilization. Unfortunately for me, the Fire Chief had arrived, and was not too happy about the lost gear from the overnight call.

“So what are you doing about the gear from last night?” he said as I walked into the radio room.

“We checked the area on the way back, I can go check again now that the sun is up I guess…” I replied nonchalantly.

“How did this happen?” the Chief asked almost angrily.

“Greg was holding it so I could drive, we rounded a bend and it slid off the truck before he could catch it…”

“So did you handle it with Greg?”

“Handle what? It was an accident…” I couldn’t believe he was actually mad like someone needed to be disciplined over this.

“Lieutenant, just because Greg is your friend doesn’t mean you don’t discipline him..”

“For what? What did he do exactly?” I didn’t even let him finish and I walked away as I saw Greg standing behind the apparatus.

“Greg, I am telling you now, next time you let gear slide off the truck by accident you will be in trouble…” I shook my finger at Greg and was loud enough for the Chief to hear. Greg smiled in response.

I walked away from Greg glancing back at the man in the radio room as I walked back into the TV room. I didn’t always agree with some of the Chief’s decisions or ideas, but this was ridiculous. It was clearly an accident, not anything that required any form of discipline.

The crew had been gathered in the TV room for just over an hour when there was a knock at the door.

“That’s us!”

“Still alarm!”

“Here we go!”

The room instantly filled with comments from the anxious firefighters laying around the furniture in a variety of contortions and shapes. The one thing we all had in common was the need to get back on the apparatus, race to another call and fight some fire or tool some cars apart.

A “still alarm” was when someone actually stopped at the firehouse to report a fire or car accident instead of calling 9-1-1 and having it dispatched. When a car pulled into the lot, the phone rang or someone knocked on the door, it would certainly spark a few firefighters up and someone would beg for a still alarm.

In this case, I didn’t move from my comfortable couch position, while at least two other guys jumped up to see what was going on at the door. I just didn’t see the need to crowd the door. If someone was reporting a fire, we would all know soon enough, until then, I waited inside.

I could tell by the tone of voices, this was no emergency being reported outside the door, and tried to get back into the television show we had been watching.

“Hey Lieutenant! Think this belongs to you?” one of the firefighters at the door returned to the TV room carrying a fire coat. This finally made me jump to my feet.

“Where was that?”

A female voice came from behind the firefighter holding my coat…

“Found it in my yard and brought it in my house, I figured it belonged here…”

What are the odds of a coat falling off a truck in the middle of the night, then the resident coming home at that hour to find it and keep it in her house? Apparently good on Glen Riddle Road. After thanking the resident for bringing the coat back, I couldn’t help but walk it past the radio room with a big smile.

“Chief, she found the coat in her yard last night and brought it back… imagine that!”

I turned to Greg standing a ways behind me... “…good thing nobody got in trouble.”

Injured and Trapped...How Embarasssing

Like clockwork, the pager went off just as we left our local and was driving across the neighboring township. But, as the rookie firefighters we were, Bill and I turned around and tried to make the truck from …well, too far.

As Bill negotiated the three point turn, I unraveled the cord around the teardrop blue light, plugged it in and threw it onto the roof of Bill’s small red Toyota, giving us the most Starsky and Hutch like feeling we had ever had. Bill had recently graduated from high school with me and eventually decided to join me in the volunteer fire service. It had only been a few weeks since his application was approved when we got this call.

I held the handle of the passenger door tightly as Bill sped off the main road onto a hilly back road, a shortcut we had gotten used to, to get to the firehouse. I was thinking ahead trying to give Bill tips about driving with a blue light on since this was his maiden blue light voyage. The words seem to fall on deaf ears as Bill just seemed to get faster and faster passing cars without hesitation.

We turned from Convent Road on to Red Hill Road, To our right was an open pasture with horses at the far end, bordered by a white wooden fence. To our left, woods. The road was only two lanes wide with a small yellow line in the middle. Just ahead was a sharp bend to the left….and we were approaching a car in front of us. I was more familiar with these roads than Bill since I had been using them to respond to calls much longer than him. I knew that just around the bend there would be a wider open area of road where we could get around this car with ease. I tried to tell Bill …

The words were completely formed in my head and were only beginning to emerge from my lips when it happened…

To my shock, Bill turned the wheel and moved the car into the oncoming lane just three car lengths away from the sharp blind bend. He accelerated enough to get by the slower car in front of us but, not fast enough to get back into our lane. Suddenly I saw headlights coming toward us. The mid afternoon sun was shining high above, but the large station wagon coming toward us in the same lane, had their high beams on. And in the next split second, we collided.

The next thing I remember was waking up in the passenger seat, Bill lying across my lap, my right arm searing with pain, and my vision blurred by the blood dripping down my face. I looked out the front windshield and realized we were now sitting in a field, down an embankment, but facing the road. At the top of the hill cars were stopping and people were making their way down the grassy hill to our car. I couldn’t move my right arm, and Bill was not answering my calls to wake up or to move off of me. The bystanders trying to help us weren’t able to open either door.

Things started becoming clearer to me. We had just been in an accident. We landed in a field off the road. Bill is unconscious and covered in blood. I am hurt, and apparently we are both trapped. The next thing I remember is waking up again, and there is a rescue truck parked at the top of the hill. I see George Baldwin, the old school Fire Chief walking through the grass toward the car wrapping a splint with gauze. I see John Richardson manhandling the large box containing a hydraulic tool kit which typically requires two men to carry. John picks it up by the two handles and carries it down the embankment by himself. I scan across the scene and then find Donna, my girlfriend at the time, sitting on the back of the rescue truck crying, being consoled by another firefighter. Each one of these observations added up to one thing in my mind, we were in a serious car accident and these guys were scared. And now, so was I.

I looked around the inside of the car and realized Bill’s legs were pinned under the left front side of the car which had been pushed in by the collision. Somehow he repositioned himself and was now lying between the two seats, with his legs still hidden under the metal. I was just able enough to reach out with my left arm to the button on the cassette deck to stop the Kansas music still playing. My right arm only moved above the elbow. I would try to reach for the door handle, and only the top part of my arm moved. My hand never left my lap. In front of the driver’s seat, the steering wheel was crushed and the windshield was shattered. My side of the windshield wasn’t broken. This made me feel a little better about my own condition, but I was extremely worried about Bill. He had only muttered a few words and lost consciousness again.

I watched as crews used the Jaws of Life on Bill’s side of the car. As happens in many accidents, the metal began pushing inward instead of out away from the patient.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I yelled with all the strength I could muster. I could see the metal coming closer and closer to Bill’s legs from my side. Again, I lose consciousness.

The next time I wake up I am being wheeled along side the rescue truck on a stretcher. My right arm is wrapped up and feels like its tied to something like a splint. As we pass Donna she reaches out for my hand crying. We keep moving to the back of an ambulance parked nearby. After I am loaded into the ambulance I recognize the crew I am with. I knew Walt was driving and Joe was the EMT in the back with me. It was nice to have familiar faces along for the ride, but that didn’t matter for long.

The ambulance ride from the scene to the ER at Crozer Chester Medical Center was the longest ride of my life. It became very apparent that I had broken my right arm above the elbow. Because of this, I felt every crack in the road, every bump, every turn…

The excruciating pain of two bones rubbing together lasted for as long as the ride to the hospital. At one point I yelled to Joe,

“Tell him to slow the hell down!”

I was calmly advised by the helpless EMT that we were already crawling way under the speed limit. Still, the sharp pain ripped through me with every bump.

Inside the bustling Emergency Room, nurses and doctors swarmed around me. From all angles faces leered over me. I was moved into a bed from the stretcher and that was the last time I saw Joe and Walt. Suddenly, I was in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar faces. Although I was over 18, I called everything to a halt.

“I just don’t want anything to happen until my mom gets here…”

And they listened. The number of curious faces peering in at me dwindled. I was left with a few regular faces still trying to convince me they should start treating me. The second thing I wanted to hear was about Bill.

“I need to know how Bill is…the other guy in the accident.” I explained to many nurses. They politely tried to explain that he would be fine, and that he wasn’t brought in to the same ER.

“Well before anyone does anything to me I want to hear how Bill is.” I insisted.

Shortly after, my mother and brother appeared in my room.

“Mom, find out how Bill is, he’s really bad…bleeding a lot!” she grabbed my hand trying to calm me. “He’s really bad mom…” I began to tear up.

Gradually I allowed the nurses to take care of whatever they thought I needed done. One by one they would come into the room with bandages, gauze and one actually came in with a syringe of some sort. I made it clear that I did not want any needles, the true wimp through and through. They were trying to numb me up for the seting of the right arm. The nurse listened to my protests then winked at my mother…

“We’ll start without the needle and when you feel the pain you’ll ask for it.”

The procedure went without a hitch. The arm was broken in two places, and the doctor set it beautifully, and without pain meds. In fact, the ant-needle order had spread through the ER and when it was time to give me a tetanus shot, the nurse actually snuck in behind the curtain behind me, quickly wiped my upper arm with an alcohol swab and stuck me before I could even tell what was happening. I had become victim to a cleverly planned sneaky drive-by sticking. And my mother, she just smiled.

I continued to ask about Bill and it was some time before the word finally reached me. Bill had been transported to a different hospital, and to me that was very confusing. I was the one at the trauma center, and he went to a different non-trauma emergency room? He was the one with blood all over him and unconscious in the care when I left him. I didn’t understand.

My mother left the room and returned in a few minutes with more of an update from the other hospital.

“Pat, Bill is at Riddle Hospital, and he has a broken leg, he is going to be fine.”

Again, my mind raced. I could still see him lying covered in blood and not responding to my calls. How could this be? When I asked about the blood he was losing, my mother added calmly…

“The only cut Bill has is a small one on his back, other than that he wasn’t bleeding Patrick. The blood you saw was yours…”

The words travelled in one ear and somehow banged around inside my head for what seemed like forever. Finally, it all made sense. Bill was lying on my lap, my head and face was bleeding so much it covered Bill who was below me. It suddenly clicked.

Then one last thought ran through my head before the pace picked up…

“Well if I am that bad, what are you people waiting for? Fix me up! I’m bleeding here!”