I had been a firefighter now for about a month. Those routine trips with Bill from the college to the firehouse still occurred just about daily. At some point in the semester, we decided to see how many firehouses we could find. Out of all of the firehouses in the county…..well, we found them all. Some how, class didn’t mean much to us but finding firehouses did. In the end, my class grades would reflect this poor decision making as well.
It was a cold morning in March when we raced into the school parking lot amidst the wave of students’ cars pulling in at the last minute. The scene appeared to be almost choreographed as one car would pull into the left space then the right, then the left then the right. Students with back packs would emerge one by one, and walk quickly toward the stairs leading from the lot to the main entrance to the school.
Bill had just placed his car into a space when the pager on his hip came to life.
“Station 54, 69, 50…. To the rear of Lenni Products, Lenni Road, Middletown Township, a house…”
Bill and I looked at each other and we knew we were going. Like salmon swimming upstream, Bill pulled out and drove toward the exit through the wave of cars coming into the school lot. As we pulled out on to the street I reached back and fastened my seat belt ready for a long but quick ride to the firehouse. The scanner under Bill’s dashboard squawked with voices from the dispatcher as well as apparatus responding. One of the voices clearly stated they could see smoke from the firehouse. With this update, Bill leaned on the accelerator just a bit more.
My heart again pounded with excitement. By this time I had been on several calls, but none turned out to be anything much. I hadn’t seen flames, not much smoke and the accidents were all minor. By the way it sounded on the scanner, this was going to be my first real house fire, and I couldn’t wait.
Bill explained on our way that the fire location was almost across the street from the firehouse. That being the case, we would not be able to drive down to the firehouse our normal way, and may even have to stop and run part of the way if the apparatus is blocking the road. Bill then navigated his car through a neighborhood that sits adjacent to the firehouse, emerging at the rear of the building. He quickly parked in a driveway that led to the kitchen upstairs, and leaped from the car, me trying to keep up.
We ran around the side of the building into the front lot and the scene was suddenly laid out in front of me. A pumper from a neighboring company was parked at the fire hydrant in front of our station; a long white hose ran from that truck down the middle of the street and into a driveway, disappearing behind some trees. An ambulance was parked in our parking lot, medical equipment piled on a stretcher awaiting potential patients.
“Grab your gear and we’ll go over!” Bill’s voice snapped me back to reality as we ran into the empty apparatus bays. Shoes were scattered about under the empty gear racks, and soon our shoes were thrown there as well.
The two of us scurried across the parking lot and followed the fire hose in the street. The house in question was an old small shack surrounded by woods preventing the sight of smoke or any signs of fire from the street. As we made our way into the driveway more fire apparatus came into view. Apparatus from our company as well as others had filled the top of the driveway, each stripped of equipment to help fight the fire. I followed Bill through the chaotic scene until we stood outside the smoking building.
“Here, take this inside…” a firefighter obviously exhausted from the fight, handed me a pike pole as he walked out of the building and back to the apparatus. Bill motioned for me to follow and we stepped through the charred doorway into an entirely charred room.
I had heard stories about the damage fire can do to a house, but it didn’t compare to the sight I was taking in at this point. Furniture reduced to ashes in some places, melted in others. Charred debris seemed to pile up across the floor, making my walking very difficult. Bill and I were told to pull the ceiling area down to see if there was any fire hidden behind the ceiling or walls. Bill began pulling with a tool he found nearby and then I started my first overhaul of my career.
As I made my way across the ceiling, poking holes and ripping drywall down to the ground, I realized there was much more to “firefighting” than I thought. Who knew I would be standing in charred rubble wrecking the ceiling of someone’s house, all in the name of firefighting. In the rooms toward the back, I could see firefighters squirting hoses up toward the ceiling hitting hot spots. A smoky haze rose from the debris making my eyes water as we worked on destroying the walls of the house.
Looking outside through soot stained windows, I could see the chief and a few other firefighters discussing what they were going to do next, pointing in various directions. Fresh crews were being gathered to relieve those who were working since the beginning. Bill and I would be left inside since we were late arriving.
Crews brought in lights to illuminate the darkened interior of the small house. Square lights were mounted on tripods and situated wherever they could find a clear or flat area on the floor.
“More line!” a voice shouted from the back room. A fire hose was buried under our feet in the debris making it difficult to pull it into the rear bedrooms where the hot spots were located. We picked it up and helped move it back toward the firefighters with the nozzle. I turned back toward the front door and noticed another firefighter making their way into the debris field we had created out of this living room. They were watching their steps carefully making their way to the middle of the room. Suddenly, without warning, the firefighter tried to step over the fire hose as it was pulled further. The firefighter stumbled toward me and I instinctively reached out to grab them, trying to stop their fall.
“I am so sorry…” the firefighter said as I caught their coat in my arms and helped stand them back up. Their helmet was thrown forward across their eyes until they stood up and straightened it out.
“No problem…” I answered as our eyes finally met. Under the big yellow helmet was a long brown haired brown eyed girl with an embarrassed smile which helped light the room. She cocked her head to the side and smiled looking back at me as she tried to reach the doorway. The only thing prettier than her bright smile were the dimples in her cheeks framing it. Her small frame seemed to be pulled down by the bulky fire gear as she walked through the debris, but she made it out safely.
“Ummmm….didn’t tell me about that did ya?” I said joking with Bill. He looked at me confused, obviously used to seeing the girl around the firehouse, and not thinking anything of it. Unfortunately for me, this was the first time I had seen her, and it was quite the surprise.
“Oh that’s Donna,” Bill would say nonchalantly as he shoveled debris out the window.
After what seemed to be forever overhauling this burned out house, we finally started removing hoses and tools and lights from inside and restoring the apparatus outside. Here I would spend some time with Donna on the back of the pumper helping pack hose on to the truck before we all gathered back at the firehouse.
I followed Donna from the gear rack to the front of the truck where she played with keys in her hand. It seemed like she was about to leave so I had to break the ice.
“You’re Donna right?”
“Yep,” she answered with that quirky smile, flashing those brown eyes at me once again.
This would begin the first real conversation, and a relationship, that would last for six years.
NEXT: My First Fatality
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