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By: Capt. Ryan G. Christen
Whether you’re in a house staffed by volunteers
with a 1972 tanker conversion or full a time paid house
running a fleet of brand new apparatus the stories are
often the same. We pass the time in the evenings and weekends
between calls by rousing the other members with chronicles
of our experiences. Sometimes it is the veterans teasing
the rookies with morsels of “How it was, before
your time”. Or it may be the rookie telling of his
first fire just last week. The stories can be of massive
multiple alarm conflagrations or humorous anecdotes told
simply to embarrass another member. They may even just
be a trip down memory lane to remember a different time.
Over my years in the fire service I have noticed one common
thread in all these stories. They are either about “The
Fire”, or “a fire” and they all have
inherent value.
It’s difficult to go through a single shift without
hearing someone tell a story about a “The Fire”.
These stories can differ dramatically but, the one common
thread is that for each member that specific incident
has had some lasting effect on themselves, career, and
/ or crew. Regardless of the reason, that fire has embedded
itself in their brain as a significant event. It has earned
a memory in their minds as “The Fire”. It’s
not uncommon for someone to have several “The Fire”
stories. But all too often these stories are passed down
with a complete lack of conveyance as to why that member
labels it as “The” rather than “a”
fire. On top of that it seems that these stories rarely
make it out of the day room and never bridge the gap from
one station to the next, much less one department to the
next. Our “war-stories” are the simplest training
tool in our arsenal. Yet when we pass on these tidbits
something seems to get lost in the translation.
It is time to utilize these stories in a much broader
capacity. We need to use the technology at our disposal
to maximize the educational potential.
Before I get too much further into how to “spread
the word” about your experience I would like to
offer a couple of examples.
Several years ago when I was a rookie firefighter we caught
a late night working fire in a duplex. It was about three
a.m. and damn cold. I was just finishing the first half
of a double when we were woken up by the tones. Since
I was new to the service I was practically jumping out
of my skin with anticipation over a working fire. As the
engine bay doors opened we could smell the smoke and see
the orange glow in the sky just a few blocks away. There
was no doubt that this was a working job! We piled on
the truck and I began donning my SCBA as fast as I could.
I knew we would be on scene in just a few seconds. We
soon pulled up to a heavily involved structure. My officer
turned to me and yelled out which line I was to pull,
and then he bailed off the truck. I jumped out of the
truck, grabbed the nozzle and stretched the line to front
door. By time I got there my officer was just finishing
his 360 of the structure. We crouched down at the door
and yelled back to the Engineer to charge the line. As
I bled the air from the hose I distinctly remember hearing
my Lieutenant blurting out, “What the hell is that?
I said pull the two hundred!”
He had been expecting me to have a two hundred foot inch
and three quarter pre-connect. Not the
two and half inch one hundred and fifty foot
pre-connect that was in my hand. Although he was wearing
an SCBA mask and it was very smoky I still remember the
look in his eyes, and wondering if he was going to beat
me with the nozzle right then or after we fought the fire.
Ultimately we got the fire out, and I never did get beaten
with that two and half nozzle. Everything worked out okay
in the end, but mistakes had been made. This is where
the story usually ends. This is where most stories usually
end. Not today. Not anymore. These stories all have a
lesson hidden in them, and that must be conveyed to your
audience.
That night, as we pulled up and he barked out his order
I only heard, “pull the…two…”
I was a rookie and was looking at the biggest fire I had
ever seen. I assumed that he thought the same and wanted
the larger two and half. In retrospect the fire wasn’t
that big, and the extra maneuverability and length on
the inch and three quarter would have been perfect.
I still refer to that fire as “The
Main Street Fire” (street name changed to protect
the innocent) because I learned an important
lesson that night. It is critical that clear orders are
given, and that orders are clearly received. If there
is a rookie on your truck take an extra two seconds to
make sure they get it right. And if you’re the rookie:
PAY ATTENTION! Check your excitement. If you don’t
understand part of the command DON’T ASSUME YOU
DO!
Several years later I responded to another structure call
that became a “The Fire” story for me. We
were just sitting down to lunch when the tones came in.
The first caller reported heavy smoke coming from the
home. While responding dispatch came over the air and
advised that they were receiving multiple calls. I had
been on the job for a couple of years and was working
with a good crew. The structure was a single family dwelling.
Our bread and butter type of fire. We arrived on scene
and found medium grey laminar smoke coming from the eves
of the house. Nothing I hadn’t seen before. I grabbed
the pre-connect (the correct one) and met my officer at
the front door.
This is when things began to get complicated. The homeowner
ran up to us and began screaming about her baby in the
back bedroom. Meanwhile mechanical difficulties with our
truck were preventing our driver from engaging the pump.
So here we sit with a burning house, a baby inside, and
no water in our line. The smoke inside was still a few
feet off the floor, and visibility was workable. My Officer
and I had fought several fires together and knew each
other well. We exchanged only a simple nod and began advancing
into the house with our empty hose to find the baby.
We made it through the living room and just began to turn
down the hallway when everything changed. The smoke turned
black and drove straight to the floor. Visibility dropped
to zero. The heat became significantly more intense. Obviously
part of the back bedrooms of the house had flashed. Undoubtedly
the rest would very soon. As foolish as it sounds we continued,
expecting to get water to our line any second. We had
become fixated on finding the trapped baby and allowed
ourselves to take life threatening chances.
Suddenly I could feel our hose line being pulled back
from us towards the front door. I could also barely hear
someone yelling at us to back out. The individual was
making it clear with several four letter words that it
was time for us to get out. I guess that was just enough
to remind us what the hell we were doing. We started back
to the front door, aware of the direness of the situation
we were practically running. It was getting hotter faster
than I thought possible. Only a step or two from the door,
the hallway and living room flashed, and my Officer and
I crashed out the doorway from a wall of fire with our
gear smoking.
Seconds later the truck found its way into pump and our
line became charged. We regrouped and got after the fire.
It turned out it was our Chief that had been at the door
frantically trying to get us the hell out of this flashover
in the making. Had we not turned back when we did you
would probably have read about us several years ago.
The house was essentially a total loss. And the baby that
the homeowner had been screaming about was nothing more
than a puppy that had ran out the backdoor of the house.
All of those risks for what gain? This is where this story
usually ends. Not today. Not anymore.
We made some poor choices at that fire. First we should
never have gone in without a hose line. I know, we thought
there was a baby inside and used that as our justification.
Many of you reading this would probably have done the
same thing.
We should have simply asked the woman a question. “What
room is your child’s room?” This alone may
have yielded enough information to keep us out until we
had water. Since we took a major chance we should also
have remained acutely aware of conditions without having
become fixated on the baby. Take your pick from the mistakes
I have listed, or pick from a few others in that story.
Either way, learn something from this.
These stories bring me back to the point of this article.
How can the same fire be an, “a fire”, for
one member and a “The Fire” for another? Why
would you tell a story like this without explaining it?
From now on, when find yourself listening to stories like
these ask “What lesson was learned from this experience?”
From now on, when you pass on stories like these give
your audience the benefit of the lessons you learned.
And, from now on make sure you pass these stories farther
than across the table. If your experience reduces the
number of line of duty deaths by one, then the effort
is worth it.
There are some new trends in the fire service that we
should be embracing. There are new reporting systems that
allow for the proliferation of these stories on a much
wider scale. There are dozens of great websites and internet
forums with countless pictures, video clips, stories,
and safety presentations you and your crew can review.
I have several favorites that my crew and I review together
each month. The “Near Miss” reporting system
is online as well. These stories no longer have to be
just another old war tale that you bore your buddies with.
Take the time to share your stories with others. Most
importantly though, when you find yourself passing on
a piece of your past, or listening to that of another,
pay close attention for that key description and take
the time to explain or ask what lesson was learned.
There is an expression that I heard recently: “Good
judgment comes from experience. Experience comes from
bad judgment.” Start sharing information. Expand
the knowledge base for us all. Spare someone else the
bad judgment and give them your experience.
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