Smooth Looks Different from the Other Side

Many years ago, when I was driving an ambulance for my local EMS provider, I was sure to maintain consciousness about what it was like for my patient in the back.  While I was not directly providing care from behind the wheel, I was still in a position to make the patient as comfortable as possible by the way I drove.  I would always be thinking “SMOOOOOTH” as I braked, turned, and accelerated; I always tried to drive like I was on ice, or like my medic was sipping a cup of coffee.  My attendants were more vocally appreciative than my patients, but that can be expected; a trip to the hospital in an ambulance is seldom enjoyable.  

Having ridden supine in the back of an ambulance, in a C-collar and strapped to a backboard, I assure you my careful driving efforts were a significant benefit for our passengers.  Sure, I was safely delivered to the trauma center after the collision that evening, but arrived with nausea, and hand cramps from trying to hold on for the ride.  

I only point this out because it helps support my lesson that just getting the job done is not enough.  In the emergency services, we sometimes meet strangers during the most frightening, painful, grief-stricken times of their lives.  Our response and actions are easily identified when they are heroic, relieving, and life-saving.  As we all know, however, few of our responses provide opportunities for such lofty praise as heroes.  Most of the time, we are meeting strangers during the most annoying, disruptive, inconvenient times of their lives.  It is during these times where the little details must be attended to, not so much for the execution of a solution to the problem at hand, but for the bolstering of our image, trust, and support of the communities we protect. 

Last night (or should I say, “early this morning”) I was jolted from my slumber by the piercing screams of the fire alarm sounding in my apartment building.  Finally I get to play the part of the civilian during an O-dark-thirty fire alarm activation.  My first thoughts were, “wow, they are right, these things are loud and obnoxious” as I scrambled for clothes to slip on for my orderly, obedient evacuation.  As I walked down the hall toward the stairway, my next thought was, “where the hell is everybody?”   

Once outside, I regressed back to my officer days and scanned the building for clues of the location, life safety hazards, apparatus placement, etc.  There were no signs of fire or smoke, people “evacuated” to their balconies, and the moan of the fire department’s house siren in the distance.  That’s when I had the chance to “people watch”.  It was quite educational, and a bit entertaining.  I was immediately grateful that I didn’t have pets, children, or the need to wear curlers in my hair.  I was also proud of my understanding of how fire alarm systems and the fire service operate.  Quickly polling the dozen or so residents that were assembling outside the main entrance, no one reported any indication that there was any fire in the building, even Johnny Helper who was panting from his heroic dash through the corridors. 

Through the main entrance vestibule, I noticed the elevator recalled to the SECOND floor, I was quite certain that the first floor elevator lobby smoke detector was the culprit.  The glowing red LEDs on the detector base verified the readout on the lobby fire alarm control panel that I was 100% correct in my assumption.  After a quick mental self-inflicted pat on the back, I re-exited to join my neighbors and provide them with the reassuring news that the building was not likely burning down. 

That’s when the bitching began.  “What’s taking them so long?” was the question of the hour.  I took the time to explain that despite living in the state capitol city, our fire department was 100% volunteer, and responders not only had to wake up and leave their homes as we did, but respond to the station, don gear, staff the apparatus, then make the drive to our complex.  As expected, most people in the building thought ALL firefighters are paid and stay up all night dressed in their gear.  The apparatus pulled into the complex in just over 6 minutes, which admittedly really does seem like a half an hour when you are the one waiting for them to arrive.  Now it was time for me to stop “people watching”, and begin “firefighter watching”.  Would they be efficient AND provide comforting reassurance to us?  Let’s see…

Positioning the BRT (big red truck) in front of the wrong building didn’t score them any points, but it happens.  Arriving with a crew of 5 was comforting, as I have been a part of much weaker responses.  Crew members were somewhat ready for action with turnout gear, SCBA, and tools in hand; so far, so good…  Then came the interaction with the residents … totally non-existent.  This was a chance for the department to show why we should fill those envelopes during the annual fund drive, by showing just a whisper of compassion for the displaced residents; sadly, they did not.  Please understand that I completely understand the annoyance of the middle-of-the-night AFA call.  Unnecessary interruptions to a good night’s sleep for virtually no reason sucks…I get it!  You are not here to entertain or babysit, I get it!  

They entered, paced the hallway, pointed to the detector on the ceiling, and watched as the maintenance man (who thankfully arrived as quickly as they did) pressed the buttons on the panel, silencing the alarms and resetting the system.  Job done, time to go!  One by one, they exited the front door without so much as a word spoken to the bewildered residents.  No reassurance that everything was OK, no comforting words to the elderly woman who was trembling from the stimulation of the alarm, NOTHING!  The maintenance man must have attended the same charm school, not a peep from him either!  I found myself doing their job.  I answered a few questions, calmed a few nerves and tried my best to explain the situation to my neighbors.  What I would not do, is apologize for the way we were just treated.  In their haste to depart, they didn’t even recognize that the elevator recall was still engaged, and the car was locked open on the second floor.  I dashed to the maintenance man’s truck (OK, I walked swiftly) to ask him to reset the elevator.  He said he didn’t have the key to do it, the fire department does!  “Um, OK, how about we go reset the entire elevator controller”, I asked?  Naturally, he did not know how to do that, and was unwilling to learn.  

The balconies cleared, and the lot was empty, the night was quiet once again.  I stayed with an elderly lady and carried her walker as she slowly ascended the stairs to her apartment on the third floor.  At least I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to improve my image, even if it was just for one person.  Eva was extremely grateful for my patience, concern, and kindness.  Maybe I should do an annual fund drive in the building?  Hmmm?

My point is this…  NEVER pass up the opportunity to show your compassion for your customers.  The garbage calls are what we do most, shouldn’t we do them BEST?  A kind, reassuring word or two after a nuisance call, a gentle ride to the hospital, an understanding ear for a complainant; these are the easy parts of the job we often neglect.  People will forget what you do, but they will never forget how you made them feel!   

 

       ALWAYS BE SMOOOTH!

Firehouse Famine - Part 2

Feasting at the firehouse has meant so many different things throughout my career in the fire service.  In the next few installments of “Hittin’ the Hot Spot”, I will recall some of my favorite stories about fighting firehouse famine.  Before you get too excited, these stories are not going to provide you with any new recipes, rather the manner in which the food was acquired and devoured.  I am sure there are more unique stories about food in the firehouse than there are firehouses, and I encourage you all to comment about some of your favorite memories about the people and procedures that helped feed the folks in your station.  

I have so many memories from the beautiful gray stone firehouse at 2265 Noble Street.  It was in this station where my fire service career began as a junior brigade member in 1980, and the memories mounted until the apparatus was moved into the new central fire station of the TSVFD some 25 years later.  As I sit here recalling the food situation at that station, I keep stumbling over great memories of the people and events that make up the greatest portion of my fire service experiences.  I have two documents open at the moment; this blog post and a list of stories to tell from the old West Lawn Fire Company.

Several companies come to mind that helped shape the cuisine at old station 5, 65, 85-2.  The most dominant ones were Chet Irwin’s, West Lawn Beverage, Clover Farms, Mays Sandwich Shop, Domino’s and Schwan’s.  Irwin’s Meats was a distributor located right across the street from the borough building that housed the fire station.  Even before I was a member, I knew that any special occasion at the hosey would have a spread that included Berks hot dogs (boxes of 50, boiled in beer, of course), New Yorker sharp cheese (sold in 5 pound blocks and often cubed in my kitchen), and hippy ring bologna from Chet’s.  The Irwins were past members who continued to support the fire company, and giving them our business was not only convenient, but the right thing to do to promote home town support.

West Lawn Beverage has been doing business for as long as I can remember, and it was a no brainer to give   From cases of beer and soda (in returnable bottles) to quarters and halves for fund-raisers zone meetings and special events, and even the peanuts and pretzels that were always on hand for the munching, “Boogie” Derr’s was always there.  Even when we phased out bottles and went to aluminum cans, WLB Co. was one of the few places where we could take our giant bags of crushed cans and sell them for scrap!  Cha-ching.
them our business as well.

Clover Farms certainly made the list of suppliers of the food chain.  Their highly addictive ICY TEA, both in regular and “unleaded” was a staple for cold refreshments, shuffleboard and pool table wagers, and for simply spreading good cheer by “buying a round” for anyone hanging around the day room.  From the little cardboard cartons, to the larger portioned cartons, to the plastic bottles, the contents of those drink containers is surely what kept the late night crew awake into the wee hours of the morning.  After chugging the deliciousness, you then had the unwritten responsibility of creativity with the waste.  Some popular activities included folding then stomping the cardboard containers to see how loud you could make them pop, and shooting from three point range into the trash can carefully tucked into the corner of the wall and the refrigerator to allow for bank shots!  If there was a downside to the Clover Farms deliveries, it was being the first one in the station on delivery day, and having to heft the four to six cases we bought every three days up the steps and then stack them all with Tetris-like skills in the fridge.  

Of course, no one could ever forget the great service we got from Denton and Bill from Mays Sandwich Shop.  Bill was a long time active firefighter who always supported the department even after he was no longer an “active” firefighter.  First there was the party catering.  Many of us could easily recite the spread that Bill would put together for our collection days, holiday parties, fundraisers and events; from the red-beet eggs, to the rolled up meats, macaroni salad to the super potent onions.  All we had to do is give Bill a number, date and time, and the food was ready to be picked up and put on the tab.  

Probably the greatest benefit we got from Mays’ is when they began to provide the food for Goodman Vending.  We became beneficiaries of their constantly refreshed stock of pre-packaged, individually wrapped, frozen and fresh sandwiches.  We enjoyed everything from cheeseburgers, to chicken patties on a roll, to Fiesta subs, and of course the fresh ham and Italians on KAISER rolls.  Those who know why I capitalized Kaiser most likely said it out loud in a high pitch voice or at least gave out a little chuckle.  I recall on more than one occasion eating Mays food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner while hangin’ at the hose house.  All these treats were sold on the honor system, with a very slim profit margin.  I am proud to say that for all those years, the contents of “box” always managed to pay the bills.  

Domino’s Pizza was a staple at this station as well.  I can’t remember how many times someone had to hang out the second floor window to tell the pizza guy that someone would “be right down” with the cash.  Everyone enjoying the pie would chip in, and the drivers learned that we were pretty good tippers.  Sadly, however, our fondness for Dominoes ended abruptly after a rather disturbing fire call at one of the driver’s houses.  Some swore off pizza altogether after that call, it was really THAT disgusting. 

My final tip of the hat goes to the Schwan’s Man.  While we had the food part covered through Mays, it was the Schwan’s man that provided the desert.  The best part of the SCHWAN’S GUY (said in a voice similar to “Kaiser Roll”) was that he carried the stuff up the steps.  There was nothing better that getting to the station to discover that there was a fresh batch of Schwan’s ice cream in the freezer.  His delivery schedule was so important that a fire prevention visit was once cut short to make sure we could be restocked.  Hey, priorities, right?   

There was no day room quite like the one at the West Lawn Station.  It was spacious, entertaining, and delicious. 

Do You Remember Your First Time?

They say you’ll always remember your first time.  I believe that to be very true.  My first time was about 32 years ago.  I can remember how excited I was; and my partner was a “virgin” as well.  We both felt that performance anxiety and worried whether we would be able to do it right.  We had been thinking about this moment for quite a while, and on this day, it was finally going to happen.  The one thing I was not prepared for was how quickly it would be over.  Nevertheless, both Dan and I were left sweaty and satisfied when it was over.  Everyone congratulated us and said we did a great job!

Of course, I am talking about my first interior fire attack; what did you pigs think I was referring to?

It was a typical afternoon at the “hosey”, the regular gang was hanging around the station, watching Leave It To Beaver, playing Burger Time, shooting pool, and snacking on Mays’ food and Icy Tea in the little cardboard cartons.  Fire calls were scarce “back in the day”, so we weren’t exactly expecting any action.  Even if the tones did drop, there was no telling how long we would wait for a driver to show up to get the apparatus out.  That was the worst part of being the “daytime crew”.

I had been a senior firefighter for a few months, and had been in on some fires, but Dan was a few years younger and had not had the opportunity to “pack up” on an actual fire yet.  We both had done our time as junior brigade members, “laying out and staying out” for the first two years in the company.  But we knew where every piece of equipment was, and we sponged up as much education that was available at the time.  We knew that one day, it would be our time.  Mentally, we were prepared; we had been trained, we practiced, and we dreamed about finally getting the opportunity to have “the knob” on a working fire.  

Then the tones started dropping… reported structure fire at 8 Hawthorne Road.  We saddled up quickly, lucky enough to have a driver, and a chief, plus Sticks and me.  Because of the terrain, we could see no header on our approach, and began convincing ourselves that this would be a letdown.  Boy, were we wrong!  We pulled up in front of this rancher, and saw the gray smoke squeezing out of every open window, crack and seam of the house.  Told that the fire was in the rear, Assistant Chief Powell ordered us to stretch the line to the back of the house.  We sprang into action… this was our time!   

The house sat on a steep slope, and the rear of the house had a walk-out basement.  One of the upper level windows was spewing fire like there was no tomorrow.  Ignoring the fact that we were petrified with fear, we masked up and within seconds, the hose line swelled with water pressure.  It was time to put out some fire.

Despite all we knew about getting inside and pushing the fire out, we panicked, and drilled the fiery window with a straight stream of water until it darkened down.   “Now let’s go get it”, I mumbled through my mask, as we yanked all the hose we could into position for the interior attack.  I felt like a bull, pulling open the screen door and kicking in the wooden door with a single boot strike!  The downstairs scene was eerie.  It was a finished recreation room with a pool table, and barely a thin wisp of smoke.  There were no signs of the inferno that raged one floor above.  Hell, this was going to be easy… or so I thought!  

We spotted the stairs immediately, and dragged the hose toward it, around the corner, and started up the steps.  We reached the top of the stairs, and BAM, we ran out of hose!  We were so close!  A quick peak around the corner and down the hall revealed fire still pouring out of the room of origin; it had lit off again.  We were able to stretch a few more feet of hose up the steps and direct a stream of water into the doorway, and again knocked down a bulk of the fire with our indirect attack.  I remember thinking, “if we just had 10 more feet of hose…” merely seconds before my wish was granted.  

I heard banging at the front door, as the second arriving crew was trying to gain access with the back-up line.  The cussing I heard from Mike and Jason on the other side told me their door was a bit more of a challenge than ours was.  I scooted over to the door, flipped open the deadbolt, and yanked the door open.  The look in their eyes was priceless as the object of their frustration disappeared into the billows of smoke and was replaced with my smiling face.  Taking advantage of their moment of hesitation, I grabbed their nozzle, and remember saying, “Thanks, we need this!”   I dragged it back to where Danny was holding his ground at the top of the basement steps.  “Look what I found”,  I yelled enthusiastically as I showed him the second hose line now in my possession.  He didn’t hesitate to drop his line and join me as we turned the corner into the kitchen and finished dousing the flames that had devoured that room.  

We basked in the afterglow of our achievements and loved that, despite not exactly going by the book, we successfully stopped this fire from taking the whole house.  It took a few decades, but the latest scientific studies now are suggesting that fires be attacked exactly the way a couple of green, smart-assed eighteen year-olds did that warm afternoon.  Ah yes, we were so far ahead of our time!

I have done battle with so many fires since that one, but will always have fond memories of that first time.  If there were ever any doubts about whether I would love doing this “job”, they were washed away that day.  I had a taste, and I liked it!

Hide-and-Go-Hydrants

Thanks to a steady stream of winter storms that have plagued the northeast, near record-setting amounts of snow have accumulated and neighborhoods are piled high with plowed and shoveled snow.  The labyrinth of catacombs built from this frosty mess makes driving in the urban and suburban areas quite a challenge.  Streets are narrowed, vision is impeded, and the road surfaces are often sketchy at best.  As a fire safety professional, one of my obvious concerns during this time period is the accessibility of the fire hydrants in the event of an emergency.  

Locating these vital water resources, even during warmer seasons, can be a problem.  There is seldom an understandable pattern for their location to anyone except the most experienced water system grid study bugs.  Left side, right side, middle of the block… it is anybody’s guess.  Parked vehicles, shrubbery, weeds, and even those mailboxes that look like single-seat outhouses can obstruct line-of-sight vision of responders.  Keep in mind, also, that the forward-riding firefighters with the windshield view of the world have a host of other things on their mind as they approach a fire scene.  The apparatus operator is looking for traffic, pedestrians, overhead obstructions, and the “perfect” vehicle placement, which has to be decided in seconds.  The officer in the “thinking seat” of the apparatus is sizing up the structure and planning a course of action based on the manpower (quality as well as quantity) sitting behind him.  Playing hide-and-go-seek with the closest hydrant is not something either one has time for when every second is precious.  

To make locating them easier, fire departments use a multitude of methods.  First and foremost is standardization of color.  While it may seem cute for hydrants to be decorated like people, or dogs, or blended into the décor of a property, this camouflage effect is not helpful.  A standard barrel color makes for a consistent target to spot.  Colorful, reflective markings can help, especially at night, and many municipalities have a standard for this type of identification as well.  I have seen stenciled street markings, recessed road reflectors (one of my favorites), sign posts, and even the stripped “antennae” markers prove to be effective as well.  Let’s not discount a good map book, whether paper or electronic, with an accurate spotting of the hydrants in a jurisdiction.  Of course, all of these aids are secondary to knowledgeable personnel who take the time to become familiar with their run areas.  

Then there is the Mother Nature Factor; or her partner in crime, Old Man Winter.  As the frozen precipitation accumulates, it needs to be “relocated” so life goes on, uninterrupted.  Streets need to be plowed, sidewalks and driveways need to be cleared, and parking lots need to be scraped clean to allow safe travel.  What one vital device sit right smack in the middle of it all?  The FIRE HYDRANT!  While I understand that the likelihood of needing the fire hydrant near your house is extremely slim, the consequence of NOT having it available could be catastrophic!  Yet, people continue to gamble by taking the risk. 

 

Yesterday, I was taking my truck for “a walk” around the neighborhood, taking in the sights of the latest winter snowpocalypse.  While I would like to say I was amazed at what I saw, that stopped happening years ago.   Not only did I find hydrants that had not been shoveled out, I actually found one that had been completely buried by blown snow!   I would guess this house had a value of about $275,000, and estimated contents of another $150,000. Adding in the $80,000 of vehicles in the driveway (which, by the way, was clear and dry) and we have eclipsed a half million dollars of combustible property gambling that the 500 gallons of water in the first arriving engine will be enough to save everything.  The hand-laid herringbone walkway was whistle clean, as was the sidewalk that traversed the front of the property.  I even noticed that extra effort was made to clear the snow from in front of the satellite dish on the rooftop.  The clear path to the front of the brick mailbox was a nice touch as well; they wouldn’t want their mail carrier to be delayed in putting the latest issue of Fortune magazine in there, right?  They apparently felt that clearing the numbers from the side of the mailbox wasn’t necessary either, since they weren’t ordering a pizza for delivery any time soon.  Hell, there was even a spot in the grass cleared so your pampered puppy could poop without getting her precious posterior in the snow.  But what did my trained eye spot?  About 10 inches of the tippy-top of the fiberglass marking post that I can only assume is bolted to the hydrant about four feet under the man-made mountain of snow deposited conveniently on top of it. 

I don’t want to pick on just these cement-heads, there are many more like them.  I can’t believe the lack of concern by not only people, but entire neighborhoods.  I even passed a hydrant that was used less than a year ago at a rather significant house fire on the block.  You would think at least ONE of the folks that live on that block would be concerned enough to spend the five minutes it would take to shovel the hydrant clear.  Well, I would think that, other firefighters would think that, but would YOU think that? 

In an emergency, responders do not have the time, or extra manpower it takes to find and uncover your fire hydrant. 

Please take the time to walk your shovel to the fire hydrant closest to your home.  Use it to clear a circle around the hydrant so firefighters can operate it without delay.  Clear ALL THREE OUTLETS as well.  Try to picture how much room a charged hose line will need.  Three feet on all asides would be ideal.  If the snow mountains around it are high, try to knock them back so the hydrant is VISIBLE from the cab of an approaching fire engine.  Finally, be sure it is accessible from the sidewalk side as well as the street side, that way both dogs AND firefighters will be happy!  Then go get a big mug of hot chocolate or coffee, and curse that damn groundhog for these extra six weeks of winter.