A little education may be required before I move on. My company was located in a large suburban township with three companies covering the territory. Just outside our territory, and maybe a mile or two away from our firehouse, is a firehouse covering a neighboring township. Because a volunteer firefighter just can't get enough calls to respond to, many of our volunteers run calls for both companies. If we weren't busy at our station, and they got something that sounded good, we would jump in our cars and run to the other station and help them out.
It happened to be one of those days when we were just sleeping in late on a Sunday morning in the bunk room at Station 54. An occasional door would open, a member would walk in dressed nicely, as if they were supposed to be at church but looking for a hiding place for an hour, then the room would fall back into silence. I was half in and out of my slumber and could barely hear the dispatch tones from the scanner in the next room. Suddenly, a door flew open and someone ran into the bunk room...
"72 has a house fire if you're going!" His voice trailed off as he ran to the door, obviously on his way to the neighboring firehouse. I initially rolled over in an attempt to ignore what was happening. I happened to enjoy sleeping in, and was really trying my best not to interrupt it this time. While acting like I didnt want to go, I did, however, tilt my head in a way I could make out what the voices on the scanner were saying. Sure enough, I heard the dispatcher calling for additional manpower for a truck to respond. I rolled over and sat up on the edge of my bunk. It only took a few seconds to decide to pull my sneakers on and fly out the door.
A few minutes of negotiating some windy back roads and I was pulling up outside Station 72. The doors were up and one truck was missing already. I quickly parked and ran into the station looking for my spare gear. I could hear the motor running in the ambulance parked inside the firehouse.
"Hey! I need an EMT Pat! Hurry up!"
I paused for a second. EMT? Thought this was a house fire, did I misunderstand in my sleepy condition?
"What do you have? Why EMT?" I yelled over to the ambulance driver.
"The pumper from 71 was responding to the house fire and hit a car!"
I couldn't grab my gear fast enough...in fact I didn't. I grabbed a helmet and coat and tossed it in the back of the ambulance and jumped up front. As I announced our response on the radio, other units started calling and asking us to expedite our response, it was definitely a serious one. We made our first turn and I could see a line of traffic already and we were still a half mile away. I reached over for the siren and turned it on, and didnt turn it off until we arrived. as we made our way through the Sunday morning traffic, we moved into the oncoming lane and travelled the last few blocks to the accident scene. We turned the corner behind a brick wall and suddenly the accidnet came into my view. A red fire truck was up off the road onto the sidewalk to the left, a small compact car was on the opposite side and it actually looked familiar. I grabbed the trauma box out of the back and started hustling toward the car. As the crowd parted away from the car a flashing blue light came into view. It was hanging from the top of the drivers door as if it was sitting on the roof during the collision. Just as I got to the car a firefighter turned to me ...
"Pat it's Herbie!"
At the same time I looked in through the window and saw that he was unconscious. I did recognize him as a firefighter from Station 72, and I reached in to check for a pulse. I felt a very faint pulse and he was barely breathing. I looked back at the Chief...
"We need rapid extrication here!"
The rescue crew began preparing for ripping the car door off, or even just pulling the driver out if need be, as the first paramedic arrived. He began patient assessment and began trying to start an airway right in the driver's seat. I kneeled behind him to assist in anything he asked for. A few minutes of working on trying to get an airway an IV and monitor set up, and suddenly his heart stopped. The paramedic stepped back...
"Cardiac arrest, pull him, now!"
I stepped over and held the stretcher in place as the rescue crew yanked him out of the car and placed him on the stretcher. I immediately began chest compressions as the medic started ventilating his airway. A group of firefighters assisted with wheeling the patient on the stretcher to the back of the ambulance. I stopped compressions and jumped up into the back of the ambulance to continue them. As the medics equipment was tossed into the ambulance they closed the doors...
"Let's go!" the medic shouted up to the driver. I tried to get into a position where I could keep doing chest compressions while riding in a moving ambulance. I wedged myself between the stretcher and the wall and we were off. I never stopped pumping on this firefighters chest until we pulled up outside the Emergency Room where doctors and nurses were waiting outside for us. The doors flew open and someone took the stretcher right out from under me. With the back of the ambulance empty now, I just collapsed and sat on the floor, staring at the debris left by a working paramedic, trying to save a life. I slid to the back step, but couldnt get out and walk into the hospital. I sat staring at the black top behind the ambulance.
"Hey, was that a firefighter that just died?" I looked up to see a security guard sucking on a cigarette, craning his head trying to get a look inside the ambulance like papparazzi with the scoop.
I nodded with tear filled eyes. "Yeah, he was one of ours." The security guard nodded back and walked away.
The next time I saw Herbie, I was in a line of firefighters dressed in our Class A uniforms with Taps being played in the distance at his burial. I felt the familiar guilt one feels after a patient dies, but I wasn't alone. The driver of the fire truck was also suffering with the se feelings for being the one involved in the accident. These feelings would continue until it was announced that Herbie suffered a massive heart attack while responding to the house fire. He apparently passed out while driving and drifted into the path of the responding fire apparatus. It was clear, there was nothing the truck driver could have done, and there was nothing we could have done to save him.
We miss you Herbie, rest in peace brother.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Try Not To Think About It
Within seconds of the dispatch six of us were piled into the back of the rescue truck, all trying to grab space on the handrail as the truck rolled out of the firehouse. With one hand I continued fastening my coat and pulling my helmet chinstrap tight. We knew the accident scene wasn't far so we had an extra sense of urgency readying our gear. from the back we could hear the voices on the radio yelling for help. All of the key words were being called out... "Jaws of Life, roof, doors, cut off, trapped." I couldn't make out the exact sentence, but given those clues, somebody was trapped and they needed us to cut the roof and doors off. We quickly organized into teams, and who was going to handle what. Being one of the only EMT's in the company, I always ended up near the patient, while at the same time, working on removing parts of the car from them.
As the siren subsided, I leaned down to peek through the windows and saw other apparatus and ambulances who had arrived ahead of us. The truck had barely come to a complete stop when we erupted out the back doors. I walked immediately to the side compartment where the hydraulic "Jaws of Life" was kept. With one motion I opened the door with my left hand, reached in and pulled the tool off its bracket with the right. The 55 pound rescue tool felt more like 10 with the adrenaline pulsing through my body. I held the tool with one hand while quickly pulling the hydraulic lines behind me with the other. I carried the tool toward the vehicle involved in the accident. This was the first time I took in the overall scene. We were at a sharp bend in the road and at the bottom of a hill where we were called fairly frequently for people not slowing down enough to make the turn safely. This time, I noticed the car had come to rest off the road between, several trees, along a riverbank. A crowd of paramedics and firefighters blocked by view of the entire vehicle as I walked up behind them. Once they saw me bring the hydraulic tool closer they separated allowing me acess to the driver's side of the car. It was at this time I realized how serious this was and how difficult, and time consuming a rescue this was going to be.
It was a two door car of some kind. The amount of damage to the car prevented me from recognizing it as any make or model I knew of. The two wheels on the driver side had been dug deeply into the ground, as if it slid sideways off the road into the dirt. The entire side of the car facing me had been twisted and distorted with dents after ricocheting off the many trees nearby. However, the worst part of this scene was the fact that the roof was collapsed down to the same level as the hood and trunk. Apparently the car had slid sideways, dug into the dirt, rolled up on its side, forcing the roof to slam into into the trees, collapsing it down on to the occupants, before the car came back to rest on its wheels.
I placed the tool down on the ground and walked up to the side of the car looking for access into the driver. Looking through the space which once held the windshield, I could see the driver's legs beingheld down by the dashboard, and then another set of legs in the passenger seat. Myself and another rescue officer surveyed the damage and decided we would cut the roof off right away and get a medical crew into the patients. The driver wasn't responding to our calls, while the female passnger we could hear moaning and crying in pain. Quickly, the rescue crew came to life firing up the tools, and attacking the mangled vehicle with a vengence. There were two seriously injured people inside this heap of metal and it was our job to get a medical crew in, and everybody out, as fast as possible. I used hydraulic cutters to cut the roof post in front and in back of the driver's door. When I was done, I tossed the tool up on the hood passing it over to the guys waiting on the passenger side to do the same thing. We began prying our side of the roof up so i could reach the driver. With a flashlight in hand, I could see the driver's head was leaned back on the top of his seat and pinned down by the roof. He was unconscious and I was pretty sure he had stopped breathing. Once the roof had been totally cut and removed, I could then confirm, no pulse and no breathing. I looked around to see who was going to start the treatment and saw no EMT's on my side of the car. I leaned in and moved a few grocery bags in the back seat so I could jump in and get to the female passenger, now yelling in pain.
"No! Take car of my boyfriend first! Is he okay! I can wait! Take care of my boyfriend!" I wedged myself in between the two bucket seats to block her view of her lifeless boyfriend, and began checking her for injuries. she continued screaming and whenever I touched an injured part she just got louder.
"Hey, I'm just checking to see where you are hurt, okay?'
"You need to get my boyfriend out first!"
"Listen, we have done this more times than you, believe me, I know what I am doing, and taking care of you right now is how we do it...trust me and we'll have everybody out in no time."
A paramedic leaned in from the passenger side and began treatment from the other side. The rescue crew continued working on removing the doors on both sides of the car as I tried to keep the girl calm and distracted from the boyfriend who wasn't moving or talking. We needed to get her out before she realized why. In a matter of minutes we had her broken bones splinted, lacerations bandaged, and were soon sliding her on to a backboard and finally to a stretcher. As the crew wheeled the injured female toward the awaiting ambulance I turned and finally sat comfortably in the backseat...taking a breather among the groceries spilled about the car. The driver still in the front seat, had finally been covered with a sheet. As I made my way back out of the car, trying to find footing to climb out, I kicked some soda cans out the way and noticed what appeared to be spagghetti sauce broken open on the floor behind the driver's seat.
Soon we were back at it, in a less urgent manner, ripping the car open some more to remove the driver's body. The fire and rescue personnel milling about the scene began cleaning up the tools and getting the trucks back in order. As the stretcher from the medical examiner's van was wheeled up to the car, I jumped back into the passenger side, knowing they would need a hand removing the body from the car. As I began leaning the driver forward, I suddenly noticed the massive head injury he suffered on the back of his head. His head was deformed, and had a gaping head wound from the roof collapsing down on him. Moments later, the driver was placed on the stretcher, covered with a blanket and wheeled away from the car. The bright lights that surrounded the scene began darkening, one by one. As I walked toward the rescue truck, a new firefighter walked up to me.
"Hey Lieutenant, did you see all that spaghetti sauce in the back seat?" he said with a big grin. He was referring to a conversation we were having prior to the call coming in about how much I like spagghetti and other pasta. I didn't want to kill his enthusiasm.
I put my arm up on his shoulders and said... "I saw the backseat, but that was no spagghetti sauce."
I am fortunate that during the rescue efforts I have ever been involved in, I am able to focus on the tasks at hand and the people needing my help. The sights and sounds often come back after the fact, and you realize what you just saw or what you just did. Until things settle down and it finally hits you, you do your absolute best, and try not to think about it.
As the siren subsided, I leaned down to peek through the windows and saw other apparatus and ambulances who had arrived ahead of us. The truck had barely come to a complete stop when we erupted out the back doors. I walked immediately to the side compartment where the hydraulic "Jaws of Life" was kept. With one motion I opened the door with my left hand, reached in and pulled the tool off its bracket with the right. The 55 pound rescue tool felt more like 10 with the adrenaline pulsing through my body. I held the tool with one hand while quickly pulling the hydraulic lines behind me with the other. I carried the tool toward the vehicle involved in the accident. This was the first time I took in the overall scene. We were at a sharp bend in the road and at the bottom of a hill where we were called fairly frequently for people not slowing down enough to make the turn safely. This time, I noticed the car had come to rest off the road between, several trees, along a riverbank. A crowd of paramedics and firefighters blocked by view of the entire vehicle as I walked up behind them. Once they saw me bring the hydraulic tool closer they separated allowing me acess to the driver's side of the car. It was at this time I realized how serious this was and how difficult, and time consuming a rescue this was going to be.
It was a two door car of some kind. The amount of damage to the car prevented me from recognizing it as any make or model I knew of. The two wheels on the driver side had been dug deeply into the ground, as if it slid sideways off the road into the dirt. The entire side of the car facing me had been twisted and distorted with dents after ricocheting off the many trees nearby. However, the worst part of this scene was the fact that the roof was collapsed down to the same level as the hood and trunk. Apparently the car had slid sideways, dug into the dirt, rolled up on its side, forcing the roof to slam into into the trees, collapsing it down on to the occupants, before the car came back to rest on its wheels.
I placed the tool down on the ground and walked up to the side of the car looking for access into the driver. Looking through the space which once held the windshield, I could see the driver's legs beingheld down by the dashboard, and then another set of legs in the passenger seat. Myself and another rescue officer surveyed the damage and decided we would cut the roof off right away and get a medical crew into the patients. The driver wasn't responding to our calls, while the female passnger we could hear moaning and crying in pain. Quickly, the rescue crew came to life firing up the tools, and attacking the mangled vehicle with a vengence. There were two seriously injured people inside this heap of metal and it was our job to get a medical crew in, and everybody out, as fast as possible. I used hydraulic cutters to cut the roof post in front and in back of the driver's door. When I was done, I tossed the tool up on the hood passing it over to the guys waiting on the passenger side to do the same thing. We began prying our side of the roof up so i could reach the driver. With a flashlight in hand, I could see the driver's head was leaned back on the top of his seat and pinned down by the roof. He was unconscious and I was pretty sure he had stopped breathing. Once the roof had been totally cut and removed, I could then confirm, no pulse and no breathing. I looked around to see who was going to start the treatment and saw no EMT's on my side of the car. I leaned in and moved a few grocery bags in the back seat so I could jump in and get to the female passenger, now yelling in pain.
"No! Take car of my boyfriend first! Is he okay! I can wait! Take care of my boyfriend!" I wedged myself in between the two bucket seats to block her view of her lifeless boyfriend, and began checking her for injuries. she continued screaming and whenever I touched an injured part she just got louder.
"Hey, I'm just checking to see where you are hurt, okay?'
"You need to get my boyfriend out first!"
"Listen, we have done this more times than you, believe me, I know what I am doing, and taking care of you right now is how we do it...trust me and we'll have everybody out in no time."
A paramedic leaned in from the passenger side and began treatment from the other side. The rescue crew continued working on removing the doors on both sides of the car as I tried to keep the girl calm and distracted from the boyfriend who wasn't moving or talking. We needed to get her out before she realized why. In a matter of minutes we had her broken bones splinted, lacerations bandaged, and were soon sliding her on to a backboard and finally to a stretcher. As the crew wheeled the injured female toward the awaiting ambulance I turned and finally sat comfortably in the backseat...taking a breather among the groceries spilled about the car. The driver still in the front seat, had finally been covered with a sheet. As I made my way back out of the car, trying to find footing to climb out, I kicked some soda cans out the way and noticed what appeared to be spagghetti sauce broken open on the floor behind the driver's seat.
Soon we were back at it, in a less urgent manner, ripping the car open some more to remove the driver's body. The fire and rescue personnel milling about the scene began cleaning up the tools and getting the trucks back in order. As the stretcher from the medical examiner's van was wheeled up to the car, I jumped back into the passenger side, knowing they would need a hand removing the body from the car. As I began leaning the driver forward, I suddenly noticed the massive head injury he suffered on the back of his head. His head was deformed, and had a gaping head wound from the roof collapsing down on him. Moments later, the driver was placed on the stretcher, covered with a blanket and wheeled away from the car. The bright lights that surrounded the scene began darkening, one by one. As I walked toward the rescue truck, a new firefighter walked up to me.
"Hey Lieutenant, did you see all that spaghetti sauce in the back seat?" he said with a big grin. He was referring to a conversation we were having prior to the call coming in about how much I like spagghetti and other pasta. I didn't want to kill his enthusiasm.
I put my arm up on his shoulders and said... "I saw the backseat, but that was no spagghetti sauce."
I am fortunate that during the rescue efforts I have ever been involved in, I am able to focus on the tasks at hand and the people needing my help. The sights and sounds often come back after the fact, and you realize what you just saw or what you just did. Until things settle down and it finally hits you, you do your absolute best, and try not to think about it.
A Lesson in Communication
When this call came into our station we recognized it as being located all the way on the other side of our Township. Of the three companies dispatched, we were the furthest away. All this really meant to us was that we would have to respond as fast as we possibly could to beat the others there. Maybe thats a bad incentive to respond quickly, however, the faster we go, no matter the reason, the patient gets treated faster, or the house fire gets put out faster. So, we called it a win/win situation.
As most of our weekend responses were choreographed, before the dispatcher was even done talking, Rick and I were in the jumpseats pulling on our gear, prepping for our next firefight. Two or three other guys geared up and jumped on the back step of the truck as the driver fired up the loud engine. The flashing red lights bathed the firehouse walls in red, until the driver got the thumbs up to go. Rick and I sat down as the truck started to pull out. Since it was going to be a long ride, we could sit for a bit before pulling our air packs on. Not to mention, since it was so far, it gave someone else time to get there and cancel us if they didn't need alot of help. So, we sat and enjoyed the fast, loud ride through the streets. Eventually I realized we were past the halfway point, and I glanced over at Rick who was looking back at me. I then noticed the voices on the radio were a little raised as if still excited. By now, I was sort of expecting the lights and sirens to be turned off. I tried concentrating a little more on the radio over our siren and could hear orders being given by the chief on the scene. I then noticed the speed at which we were blowing through the intersections. I gave Rick the thumbs up and quickly reached for my air pack, pulling the tank up over my shoulders. I was now sure we had something, and Rick and I were about to be right in the middle of something again. I stood up, and swung the tank on to my back as Rick did the same like synchronized swimmers. we pulled the straps tight, hung our air masks around our necks and gripped the handrail tightly until rounded our last turn and approached the scene.
As we began to slow down, I glanced up to the bustling scene in front of us. Two trucks had arrived ahead of us, hoses were being stretched to the hydrant and the chief was yelling for a crew with a line inside. We didn't have to be told twice. Rick and I moved in unison. We both stepped off the truck, pulled a hose line off and and hustled across the front yard. In front of us was a two story house, and smoke and flames could be seen deep inside the bedroom on the second floor. I pulled the nozzle to the front door and kneeled down. I pulled my gloves on, the airmask on and looked back at Rick doing the same. Through the plastic face piece I heard a muffled "Ready!" I stood, and pulled the hose in through the front door. I could feel Rick right on my back as I found the stairs and headed to the second floor. In the second floor hallway I ran into a guy from the first company saying the fire was in the front room, but he was searching for occupants and didn't have a hose with him. I yelled back through the darkening, smokey, hallway to Rick letting him know which way we were crawling. I pulled some more hose up the stairs then made my way toward the front bedrrom. As I reached the door, the hose stopped.
"Need more line!" I yelled back to Rick at the top of the stairs. He gave a few pulls but we were done. Rick yelled down to people in the living room to feed us more line. I could hear them yelling up that we had all the line we were going to get. I left the hose in the hall and crawled ahead in to the bedroom to find the fire and search for any occupants. As I crawled in and turned left i could see flames rolling out of the bathroom and closet and beginning to spread across the bedroom ceiling.
"Rick, it's right here! Just need another few feet!" I was so pissed off that we were so close but couldnt reach around the corner. Another voice yelled upstairs. It was the chief asking for a progress report. again I yelled that we just need a few more feet and we got it knocked down. A minute later he yelled up for all of us to get out of the building, it was getting too dangerous and they were going to open up lines from outside. This manuever had to be timed correctly. If they open the large lines outside and flow in through the windows, it does nothing but push the fire down onto the guys inside. Everyone must be out before this happens. Of course I didn't like the idea and I told Rick we need to try one more thing before we leave. I pulled the hoseline up over the railing to see if that would give me just enough to make the bedroom. The nozzle made it into the bedroom by inches. I first pulled as hard as I could, then laid on the floor under the flames and opened the nozzle as wide as i could so the water would turn the corner into the bathroom. The flames darkened just a little bit when something caught my eye from across the room. I looked toward the front window and noticed the tip of an aerial ladder extending toward the window with a large nozzle pointed into the room. I shut down, and crawled back toward Rick in the hallway when I heard the order over the radio...
"Ready for water!"
Just outside the bedroom door I looked back and saw the nozzle open up, causing water to surge through the bedroom window at about 1500 gallons per minute. In an instant, all of the heat, smoke and flames that were inside the bedroom, was pushed out into the hall where Rick and I were. Without thinking I grabbed, pushed and shoved Rick down the staircase with me on top of him to escape the flames on our backs. We landed in a heap on the living room floor. Other firefighters who were still checking other bedrooms were forced out onto a balcony with fire pushing behind them as well. Firefighters outside grabbed ladders and rescued them from the balcony.
I couldn't believe what had just happened. I wanted to storm outside and rip into the guy operating that truck that almost killed an entire company, but instead, Rick and I walked calmly back to our truck, slid out of our air packs, and counted our blessings that were were now outside looking in. We both made it out alive, so we chalk it up to yet another learning experience.
As most of our weekend responses were choreographed, before the dispatcher was even done talking, Rick and I were in the jumpseats pulling on our gear, prepping for our next firefight. Two or three other guys geared up and jumped on the back step of the truck as the driver fired up the loud engine. The flashing red lights bathed the firehouse walls in red, until the driver got the thumbs up to go. Rick and I sat down as the truck started to pull out. Since it was going to be a long ride, we could sit for a bit before pulling our air packs on. Not to mention, since it was so far, it gave someone else time to get there and cancel us if they didn't need alot of help. So, we sat and enjoyed the fast, loud ride through the streets. Eventually I realized we were past the halfway point, and I glanced over at Rick who was looking back at me. I then noticed the voices on the radio were a little raised as if still excited. By now, I was sort of expecting the lights and sirens to be turned off. I tried concentrating a little more on the radio over our siren and could hear orders being given by the chief on the scene. I then noticed the speed at which we were blowing through the intersections. I gave Rick the thumbs up and quickly reached for my air pack, pulling the tank up over my shoulders. I was now sure we had something, and Rick and I were about to be right in the middle of something again. I stood up, and swung the tank on to my back as Rick did the same like synchronized swimmers. we pulled the straps tight, hung our air masks around our necks and gripped the handrail tightly until rounded our last turn and approached the scene.
As we began to slow down, I glanced up to the bustling scene in front of us. Two trucks had arrived ahead of us, hoses were being stretched to the hydrant and the chief was yelling for a crew with a line inside. We didn't have to be told twice. Rick and I moved in unison. We both stepped off the truck, pulled a hose line off and and hustled across the front yard. In front of us was a two story house, and smoke and flames could be seen deep inside the bedroom on the second floor. I pulled the nozzle to the front door and kneeled down. I pulled my gloves on, the airmask on and looked back at Rick doing the same. Through the plastic face piece I heard a muffled "Ready!" I stood, and pulled the hose in through the front door. I could feel Rick right on my back as I found the stairs and headed to the second floor. In the second floor hallway I ran into a guy from the first company saying the fire was in the front room, but he was searching for occupants and didn't have a hose with him. I yelled back through the darkening, smokey, hallway to Rick letting him know which way we were crawling. I pulled some more hose up the stairs then made my way toward the front bedrrom. As I reached the door, the hose stopped.
"Need more line!" I yelled back to Rick at the top of the stairs. He gave a few pulls but we were done. Rick yelled down to people in the living room to feed us more line. I could hear them yelling up that we had all the line we were going to get. I left the hose in the hall and crawled ahead in to the bedroom to find the fire and search for any occupants. As I crawled in and turned left i could see flames rolling out of the bathroom and closet and beginning to spread across the bedroom ceiling.
"Rick, it's right here! Just need another few feet!" I was so pissed off that we were so close but couldnt reach around the corner. Another voice yelled upstairs. It was the chief asking for a progress report. again I yelled that we just need a few more feet and we got it knocked down. A minute later he yelled up for all of us to get out of the building, it was getting too dangerous and they were going to open up lines from outside. This manuever had to be timed correctly. If they open the large lines outside and flow in through the windows, it does nothing but push the fire down onto the guys inside. Everyone must be out before this happens. Of course I didn't like the idea and I told Rick we need to try one more thing before we leave. I pulled the hoseline up over the railing to see if that would give me just enough to make the bedroom. The nozzle made it into the bedroom by inches. I first pulled as hard as I could, then laid on the floor under the flames and opened the nozzle as wide as i could so the water would turn the corner into the bathroom. The flames darkened just a little bit when something caught my eye from across the room. I looked toward the front window and noticed the tip of an aerial ladder extending toward the window with a large nozzle pointed into the room. I shut down, and crawled back toward Rick in the hallway when I heard the order over the radio...
"Ready for water!"
Just outside the bedroom door I looked back and saw the nozzle open up, causing water to surge through the bedroom window at about 1500 gallons per minute. In an instant, all of the heat, smoke and flames that were inside the bedroom, was pushed out into the hall where Rick and I were. Without thinking I grabbed, pushed and shoved Rick down the staircase with me on top of him to escape the flames on our backs. We landed in a heap on the living room floor. Other firefighters who were still checking other bedrooms were forced out onto a balcony with fire pushing behind them as well. Firefighters outside grabbed ladders and rescued them from the balcony.
I couldn't believe what had just happened. I wanted to storm outside and rip into the guy operating that truck that almost killed an entire company, but instead, Rick and I walked calmly back to our truck, slid out of our air packs, and counted our blessings that were were now outside looking in. We both made it out alive, so we chalk it up to yet another learning experience.
Friday, January 21, 2011
A Few More Memories from Station 54
Can't really leave Lenni Heights behind me without mentioning a few other highlights. I must admit, I certainly chose the right place to start my career as a volunteer firefighter. Not only were they all aggressive firefighters, but they also enjoyed their time off from the firehouse as well. That doesn't mean they would leave the station and do their own thing, we would often be found together enjoying outside activities as well. We challenged other firehouses to softball games, played mud football after a snowfall in the firehouse field, ate countless meals out together and attended many family birthday parties and events at our members' houses. All of this brought us closer as a family, than just a bunch of volunteers who happened to like to ride firetrucks.
There were the many rides upon Rescue 54. Peel off the red and white paint, gold leaf lettering and remove the flashing red lights, and you would have a normal old bread truck. And many times, thats how it was referred to as. The engine was no bigger or powerful than a bread truck, and therefore, after piling thousands of pounds of rescue equipment on it, than having a crew of six or more firefighters climb on, it was a miracle we were able to get that truck to the top of the hill. As an occasional driver, I can remember holding the accelerator all the way to the floor as the crew in the back would yell, "want us to push?"
On a dreary middle of the night run across town to a car accident reported with entrapment, I could barely see the road in the dimly lit headlights. A unit arriving on scene reported a serious accident and asked for us to "expedite with the Jaws of Life." I always found that request humorous. Were they assuming we had been taking our time? We weren't responding as quickly as we could already? A minute later, as I steered the swaying truck through windy rainy roads, the Chief next to me finally said. "You hear them say expedite right?" I explained this was as fast as we could go without running off the road and then illustrated our high beams. With each press of the button under my foot, the headlights would come off the road and high into the trees. That's what it meant when you wanted "high" beams in this truck.
There was another time on Rescue 54, when we had just been out of the station less than a minute, and cruising at a decent pace, down hill, when the crew looked out the rear side windows and started yelling. "Hey! is that ours?" "We lost a tire!" Sure enough, after winding quickly through an S-bend, one of the dual rear wheels spun off, and trailed off the side of the road next to us, keeping up with us for a bit before bouncing into a neighbors yard.
Another highlight involving Rescue 54 came one night as most of us gathered between the game room and TV room. Only one, Keith, needing to be up early for fire school the next day, had already slipped into the bunk room. Outside a freezing rain had been falling for for a few hours and we were just waiting for the inevitable accident call. Instead, we heard a knock at the front door. With the hopes of it being someone reporting an emergency, a few of us left the TV room, craning our necks to see who was knocking. As the door opened, we were surprised to see a nurse from the local emergency room standing in the cold. She was driving home and started sliding on the ice near the firehouse. She safely pulled into our lot and wanted to spend some time with us until the roads were salted. So, we took our new guest inside, offered her a soda from the machine and showed her the TV room.
About twenty minutes later, the call we were waiting for finally came in. As the pagers beeped and the siren outside began winding up, the TV room quickly emptied out, except for the nurse. We had dropped everything and were now pulling on fire gear, shoulder to shoulder, behind the fire apparatus. The driver fired up the truck as the rest of us jumped into the back. Someone yelled, "Is Keith in?" We all looked at each other realizing Keith was in the bunk room. Suddenly the door to the TV room flew open and Keith came running out in his underwear, carrying his bunker pants. He stopped briefly to grab his coat and helmet from his rack, and jumped into the rescue truck behind us. As soon as he pulled the door shut behind him, we pulled out. We were only a block or two away from the firehouse when Keith, pulling on his fire gear as we responded, asked... "was that a nurse sitting in the TV room?"
Driving a fire truck was something I didn't even think about doing when I first started. But if I wanted to be a Lieutenant or any other officer in the company, I would have to be qualified to drive. This meant attending a Pump School class, and an Emergency Vehicle Operator's Class, and then get passed on the specific apparatus I wanted to drive.
First there was the Rescue truck, or bread truck. It was overweight and you could feel it on every turn, hill and stop sign. It took a while to get used to, but after a few runs around the township, a few set up obstacle courses to negotiate and an equipment location quiz, I was blessed as a new driver. This menat I could move on to the Brush Truck. After passing the certified Pump Operator's Class at the Delaware State Fire School, I was out on the road driving this old 4WD Dodge Power Wagon. It had a front step with a steel guard and was always told it could cut a path right through the woods, nothing ever stopped it. And looking at the guard, it sure looked like a few paths had been cut. One problem I had with driving this truck was its stick shift. It wasn't even close to positioned like the stick in my Ford Ranger. And for some reason, I just couldn't catch on to where thrid gear or fourth gear was. I did my fair share of gear grinding, had my share of yelling from the officer teaching me, until one day I drove the entire obstacle course and negotiated all the hills in the area to his satisfaction. I was finally a fire truck driver for the first time, a small one, but still. However, to be qualified for Lieutenant, I had to be fully qualified on one of the pumpers as well.
So off I went, on to the Class A pumpers. The first one I had to drive was an American La France. It has since become one of my favorite trucks. It was 1984, but this pumper was old school. It was a manual transmission with a double clutch, manual steering, two rear facing open bucket seats for two firefighters, midship pump panel and a large back step behind about 1,000 feet of hose. (Give or take a broken section of hose) The pumping part was just about the same as as the pump on the other truck, and the equipment I knew from years of riding as a firefighter using it all. I just had to take it out on the road and drive it. So I thought.
It starts with a quiz by the Cheif Engineer about pumping, equipment location, equipment use, and general operation of the truck. Then we finally get to climb inside the cab. I slowly pull the truck out of the bay and we make our way successfully up the hill that leads from the firehouse to the main road. I follow the Cheif Engineer's instructions as if I was getting my driver's license for the first time. I don't take my hands off the wheel, until I have to shift, and my eyes are stuck on the yellow line to make sure I am not over to far. Occasionally I glance in the side mirrors to peek down the length of the truck to make sure I am not drifting. He direcsts me into the campus of the Delaware County Campus of Penn State. It's a Sunday so the lot is deserted. He now directs me to use two parking lot islands to do a figure eight around them. Success! I dont take them too wide, and I dont hit anything. We're pleased, and I am feeling more comfortable by the minute.
But that only lasted a minute. He then directed me to do the same figure eight, around the same islands, but this time in reverse. I looked at him across the cab to see if he was serious. He was. I checked my mirrors, shifted into reverse, and eased the truck back toward the first turn. I never stopped staring into the side mirrors as I swung thr truck one way, then the other. After several nerve wracking minutes, I finished it, and never once scraped the curbs. It was a success. By the time I drove home, with an occasional tough turn or hill negotiated correctly, I was passed. It was official, I could now drive the rescue, the brush truck and now one of the pumpers. I had met my requirements to be eligible for holding an officer position. My mission was complete.
I was appointed as Fire Lieutenant shortly thereafter, and held the position until I left about 18 months later.
There were the many rides upon Rescue 54. Peel off the red and white paint, gold leaf lettering and remove the flashing red lights, and you would have a normal old bread truck. And many times, thats how it was referred to as. The engine was no bigger or powerful than a bread truck, and therefore, after piling thousands of pounds of rescue equipment on it, than having a crew of six or more firefighters climb on, it was a miracle we were able to get that truck to the top of the hill. As an occasional driver, I can remember holding the accelerator all the way to the floor as the crew in the back would yell, "want us to push?"
On a dreary middle of the night run across town to a car accident reported with entrapment, I could barely see the road in the dimly lit headlights. A unit arriving on scene reported a serious accident and asked for us to "expedite with the Jaws of Life." I always found that request humorous. Were they assuming we had been taking our time? We weren't responding as quickly as we could already? A minute later, as I steered the swaying truck through windy rainy roads, the Chief next to me finally said. "You hear them say expedite right?" I explained this was as fast as we could go without running off the road and then illustrated our high beams. With each press of the button under my foot, the headlights would come off the road and high into the trees. That's what it meant when you wanted "high" beams in this truck.
There was another time on Rescue 54, when we had just been out of the station less than a minute, and cruising at a decent pace, down hill, when the crew looked out the rear side windows and started yelling. "Hey! is that ours?" "We lost a tire!" Sure enough, after winding quickly through an S-bend, one of the dual rear wheels spun off, and trailed off the side of the road next to us, keeping up with us for a bit before bouncing into a neighbors yard.
Another highlight involving Rescue 54 came one night as most of us gathered between the game room and TV room. Only one, Keith, needing to be up early for fire school the next day, had already slipped into the bunk room. Outside a freezing rain had been falling for for a few hours and we were just waiting for the inevitable accident call. Instead, we heard a knock at the front door. With the hopes of it being someone reporting an emergency, a few of us left the TV room, craning our necks to see who was knocking. As the door opened, we were surprised to see a nurse from the local emergency room standing in the cold. She was driving home and started sliding on the ice near the firehouse. She safely pulled into our lot and wanted to spend some time with us until the roads were salted. So, we took our new guest inside, offered her a soda from the machine and showed her the TV room.
About twenty minutes later, the call we were waiting for finally came in. As the pagers beeped and the siren outside began winding up, the TV room quickly emptied out, except for the nurse. We had dropped everything and were now pulling on fire gear, shoulder to shoulder, behind the fire apparatus. The driver fired up the truck as the rest of us jumped into the back. Someone yelled, "Is Keith in?" We all looked at each other realizing Keith was in the bunk room. Suddenly the door to the TV room flew open and Keith came running out in his underwear, carrying his bunker pants. He stopped briefly to grab his coat and helmet from his rack, and jumped into the rescue truck behind us. As soon as he pulled the door shut behind him, we pulled out. We were only a block or two away from the firehouse when Keith, pulling on his fire gear as we responded, asked... "was that a nurse sitting in the TV room?"
Driving a fire truck was something I didn't even think about doing when I first started. But if I wanted to be a Lieutenant or any other officer in the company, I would have to be qualified to drive. This meant attending a Pump School class, and an Emergency Vehicle Operator's Class, and then get passed on the specific apparatus I wanted to drive.
First there was the Rescue truck, or bread truck. It was overweight and you could feel it on every turn, hill and stop sign. It took a while to get used to, but after a few runs around the township, a few set up obstacle courses to negotiate and an equipment location quiz, I was blessed as a new driver. This menat I could move on to the Brush Truck. After passing the certified Pump Operator's Class at the Delaware State Fire School, I was out on the road driving this old 4WD Dodge Power Wagon. It had a front step with a steel guard and was always told it could cut a path right through the woods, nothing ever stopped it. And looking at the guard, it sure looked like a few paths had been cut. One problem I had with driving this truck was its stick shift. It wasn't even close to positioned like the stick in my Ford Ranger. And for some reason, I just couldn't catch on to where thrid gear or fourth gear was. I did my fair share of gear grinding, had my share of yelling from the officer teaching me, until one day I drove the entire obstacle course and negotiated all the hills in the area to his satisfaction. I was finally a fire truck driver for the first time, a small one, but still. However, to be qualified for Lieutenant, I had to be fully qualified on one of the pumpers as well.
So off I went, on to the Class A pumpers. The first one I had to drive was an American La France. It has since become one of my favorite trucks. It was 1984, but this pumper was old school. It was a manual transmission with a double clutch, manual steering, two rear facing open bucket seats for two firefighters, midship pump panel and a large back step behind about 1,000 feet of hose. (Give or take a broken section of hose) The pumping part was just about the same as as the pump on the other truck, and the equipment I knew from years of riding as a firefighter using it all. I just had to take it out on the road and drive it. So I thought.
It starts with a quiz by the Cheif Engineer about pumping, equipment location, equipment use, and general operation of the truck. Then we finally get to climb inside the cab. I slowly pull the truck out of the bay and we make our way successfully up the hill that leads from the firehouse to the main road. I follow the Cheif Engineer's instructions as if I was getting my driver's license for the first time. I don't take my hands off the wheel, until I have to shift, and my eyes are stuck on the yellow line to make sure I am not over to far. Occasionally I glance in the side mirrors to peek down the length of the truck to make sure I am not drifting. He direcsts me into the campus of the Delaware County Campus of Penn State. It's a Sunday so the lot is deserted. He now directs me to use two parking lot islands to do a figure eight around them. Success! I dont take them too wide, and I dont hit anything. We're pleased, and I am feeling more comfortable by the minute.
I was appointed as Fire Lieutenant shortly thereafter, and held the position until I left about 18 months later.
Moving on...
With Station 54 in my past, it became apparent I picked the right department to have on my volunteer firefighter resume when I decided to continue my fire service career. It wasn't difficult to decide to continue. I knew I just couldn't get enough of the adrenalin that pulsed through my veins every time the pager beeped, or that firehouse siren wailed, calling us all to the apparatus for someone in need of assistance. The adrenaline and feel of heroism is what got me started, but it soon became the teamwork and comraderie that kept me there. A brotherhood was born which would last forever.
Moving forward, as I have said, was easy. So, I became an active member at the Brookhaven Fire Company, my local fire department, after having been a firefighter for several years where my friends had been running. Unfortunately I joined Station 52 with only my experience and knowledge from the many fire training schools I had already attended. Unfortunately, I didn't have the advantage of having friends at this station. I decided I wanted it bad enough, I went into it alone. It was at this station where I started attending their training nights, and more importantly, the small bonding sessions that followed in the firehouse bar. After a few of these bar nights, it became apparent who I was going to be close to, who would recognize me for my experience and not just treat me like the rookie off the street, who I could trust and who I had to watch out for.
Fortunately for me, the Fire Chief was a regular fixture at these bonding sessions. It didn't take long for the two of us to become good friends, trading war stories from our past responses. I couldn't top the number or excitement level of his, but I had enough from my years in the service that I could hold my own, as well as the attention and admiration of the others listening. It didn't take long for them to realize I wasn't just another new guy, and they began asking me questions about my past calls.
A note about these nights spent at the firehouse bar. It wasn't a case where all the firefighters would pull up a stool and drink until they couldn't walk. It was usually a one or two beer night after an exhausting training night, filled with laughs and good stories. We would all learn a little bit more about each other by the end of the evening, before we were all called back home by our wives, girlfriends or moms. And with each night spent there, we all began cementing the brotherhood that has lasted a lifetime.
My early days with Company 52 was filled with excitement. I just couldn't get enough of that place. The look, the feel, the smell, the men, the apparatus... I needed it all. It was my drug of choice, and I would stop everything to do it. Everything came second to responding to calls. Looking back on it many years later, I remember when the pager beeped, or the dispatchers on the scanner began announcing a call for Station 52, I was gone, immediately. I never waited to hear what the call was, I hit the ground running and never stopped until I was hanging off the back of a firetruck. Quite often, it wasn't until someone yelled over the wailing siren that I would realize it was a house fire, or car accident or brush fire. But back then, it didn't matter. If there was a call, I was going.
One day, while out in the car after being sent to get milk for my mother, I took the long way. Sure, I lived about three blocks from a 7-Eleven, but I drove across town to the store closer to the firehouse. And sure enough, as soon as the cashier handed the gallon to me, I heard it. The first of six cycles of the firehouse siren began winding up. I couldn't get to my car fast enough. I fumbled for the keys, scratched up the entire dashboard trying to find the ignition, then finally sped toward the station. As I sped down the back raod to get me there faster than the busy highway, I leaned down and began unlacing my shoes. I came to a screeching stop in the lot, pulled my shoes off and grabbed my milk. I can still see the look on the face of the guy to arrive right behind me, and the feel of the firehouse floor in my socks, as I ran the milk to the refrigerator in the firehouse kitchen. Afterall, I wasn't sure what kind of call I was going to, and how long we'd be there. Mom would already be disturbed that I wasn't home right away, I didn't want to aggravate the situation with warm milk.
Moving forward, as I have said, was easy. So, I became an active member at the Brookhaven Fire Company, my local fire department, after having been a firefighter for several years where my friends had been running. Unfortunately I joined Station 52 with only my experience and knowledge from the many fire training schools I had already attended. Unfortunately, I didn't have the advantage of having friends at this station. I decided I wanted it bad enough, I went into it alone. It was at this station where I started attending their training nights, and more importantly, the small bonding sessions that followed in the firehouse bar. After a few of these bar nights, it became apparent who I was going to be close to, who would recognize me for my experience and not just treat me like the rookie off the street, who I could trust and who I had to watch out for.
Fortunately for me, the Fire Chief was a regular fixture at these bonding sessions. It didn't take long for the two of us to become good friends, trading war stories from our past responses. I couldn't top the number or excitement level of his, but I had enough from my years in the service that I could hold my own, as well as the attention and admiration of the others listening. It didn't take long for them to realize I wasn't just another new guy, and they began asking me questions about my past calls.
A note about these nights spent at the firehouse bar. It wasn't a case where all the firefighters would pull up a stool and drink until they couldn't walk. It was usually a one or two beer night after an exhausting training night, filled with laughs and good stories. We would all learn a little bit more about each other by the end of the evening, before we were all called back home by our wives, girlfriends or moms. And with each night spent there, we all began cementing the brotherhood that has lasted a lifetime.
My early days with Company 52 was filled with excitement. I just couldn't get enough of that place. The look, the feel, the smell, the men, the apparatus... I needed it all. It was my drug of choice, and I would stop everything to do it. Everything came second to responding to calls. Looking back on it many years later, I remember when the pager beeped, or the dispatchers on the scanner began announcing a call for Station 52, I was gone, immediately. I never waited to hear what the call was, I hit the ground running and never stopped until I was hanging off the back of a firetruck. Quite often, it wasn't until someone yelled over the wailing siren that I would realize it was a house fire, or car accident or brush fire. But back then, it didn't matter. If there was a call, I was going.
One day, while out in the car after being sent to get milk for my mother, I took the long way. Sure, I lived about three blocks from a 7-Eleven, but I drove across town to the store closer to the firehouse. And sure enough, as soon as the cashier handed the gallon to me, I heard it. The first of six cycles of the firehouse siren began winding up. I couldn't get to my car fast enough. I fumbled for the keys, scratched up the entire dashboard trying to find the ignition, then finally sped toward the station. As I sped down the back raod to get me there faster than the busy highway, I leaned down and began unlacing my shoes. I came to a screeching stop in the lot, pulled my shoes off and grabbed my milk. I can still see the look on the face of the guy to arrive right behind me, and the feel of the firehouse floor in my socks, as I ran the milk to the refrigerator in the firehouse kitchen. Afterall, I wasn't sure what kind of call I was going to, and how long we'd be there. Mom would already be disturbed that I wasn't home right away, I didn't want to aggravate the situation with warm milk.
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