The Aftermath - Part 1. What I miss

After  32 years in the volunteer fire service, it was time to step away, or "hang up the hat" as the saying goes. It had taken its toll physically, mentally, and emotionally.  Life events paved the way for a departure I never imagined I would experience.  Now after several years have passed, it is much easier for me to honestly analyze my "career", and the roll it played in my life.   As the title of this post indicates, I have decided to focus first on the things I miss most about being a volunteer firefighter.

BEING PART OF THE SOLUTION
There is no greater thrill than knowing that you possess the skill, knowledge, and equipment to bring a positive outcome to a dire situation.   As I review newspaper clippings, photographs, and supplemental reports, I realize that I played a role is helping, and in some cases, SAVING many lives.  First responders are often thrust into peoples lives at the worst moments they will ever experience.  Whether serving the roll of "hydrant man" assuring a quick water supply,  advancing on a fire as the "pipe man", opening a roof as the "vent man", or directing operations as part of an incident management team, I always felt that the job I did at a fire scene was an important part of the overall success of the mission.  I know that there are people who are alive today, and buildings that are still standing because I had the opportunity to be part of a team of dedicated public servants who possessed the willingness, skills, and guts to put the mission first.

EDUCATION AND TRAINING

 I am guessing that the average ratio of preparation-to-execution is about 300:1.  Between classroom education, skills development, and repetitive practice, the average firefighter spends about 300 hours getting ready for every one hour of actual "doing it".  While we easily remember the calls we have been on, we often overlook the thousands of hours we spent preparing ourselves and our equipment so we could be our best, regardless of what challenges the specific emergency presented.  It wasn't all fun and games ... sometimes is was tedious, grueling, and overwhelming.  Yet somehow, the spirit of  the participants kept it enjoyable.  Individual achievements helped mark the progress of one, while team exercises developed the necessary cooperation required for a department to be effective. It was the teamwork that truly cemented the notion that we were ready to respond to anything.

THE SPECIAL STUFF
Firefighting is enough to keep any group nearly overwhelmed with preparation.  But as we know, the fire service responds to way more than just fires.  It was these special operations that the department performed that I saw as a greater challenge. Most departments provided a special service that they could share mutually with neighboring agencies. I was fortunate enough to be involved in just about every aspect of "special services".  From the Terrapin Trucking Company, FART Van (ask if you must) & Foam Unit in College Park, hazardous materials and technical rescue at Carpenter Technology, and vehicle rescue at West Lawn, and TSVFD, I always enjoyed providing the special services.  Splash in there the extra work with RIT (rapid intervention team) development, firefighter rehab, collapse rescue, and some kick-ass fire prevention programs, I feel like I had a taste of it all during my career.    

THOSE I HELPED GROOM
Probably the greatest feeling is molding a young mind of an aspiring new recruit.  Helping them absorb the knowledge you share is the best way to keep the fire service progressive.  As an instructor, explaining the what, where, why, and how to young minds was always rewarding; watching them hone those newly learned skills during practice sessions was even better.  By far, the greatest feeling is watching them apply what they learned from me when it mattered most... out in the field where someone's live depended on their competence.  As a chief officer, I like to believe that many of my lessons went far beyond fire service academia.  After all, I was not leading machines, I was leading PEOPLE.  My efforts were to help shape the PERSON, not just the firefighter.  So much of what we do is about humanitarianism, integrity, trust, and maturity.  My belief was: "Make great men and women FIRST, so the emergency responder part was easier"
Some had short stays in the fire service.  Fire service life isn't for everyone.  I like to think while they were with us, they appreciated the knowledge I helped them discover.  Others have continued in the emergency services, both volunteer and career.  Several of those have even risen to positions of leadership, where I hope that the things I taught them have positively affected the way they lead, and treat the people under their command. 


THE FRIENDS I MADE ALONG THE WAY
Far beyond the accomplishments and professional relationships I developed during my career, are the friends I have met along the way.  Brothers and sisters who truly were (and some still are) like "brothers and sisters from other mothers and misters".  Many I have stood beside with pride, respect, and love during graduations, weddings, funerals, births, and promotion ceremonies; or sat quietly with during times when life was dealing a blow through family crises, illnesses, job transition, or periods of personal doubt.  As I reflect back on my life, I realize that nearly every person in my life is there because of our shared interest in the emergency services.  If you can trust someone with your life, and they can trust their life in your hands, it makes forming a personal bond almost automatic.
By building these relationships, I never needed to go too far to find someone skilled in a trade to help with a home project.  Plumbers, electricians, roofers, movers, carpenters, mechanics... the fire service is a virtual smorgasbord of great people willing to help.  All you need to do is reciprocate when they reach out for help with the skills you can bring to the table.

Sharing emergency services experiences is a great environment to cultivate friendships, and I am eternally grateful to everyone I befriended during my career. Those who remain close, even after my departure from the fire service, will be cherished friends forever.

I have been recruited to re-enter the emergency services in my new community.  In fact, that is what prompted this reflection of the things I miss.  "So what are you waiting for?" you may ask.  Well, you may need to wait for my next installment of Hittin' the Hot Spot to hear the other side of the decision...

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!

Personnel Appliances

Call it a strange relationship, but I really liked my washing machine.  A few months ago, however, it started making some strange noises.  I called my landlord, who called the repairman, who listened to the noise, then put in an order to replace my washing machine.  I was thrilled, a NEW appliance for me with no money out of my pocket, “Woo-hoo!”

The new unit arrived the next day, and I immediately noticed that it didn’t have all the bells and whistles as my last one.  There was no automatic bleach or fabric softener dispenser, and the door lock made adding it at the right time a game at which I discovered I was not very good.  Then there was the annoying habit of the new machine turning my shirts inside-out.  When I tried to out-smart it by throwing my shirts IN already inside-out, the damn thing seldom corrected them.  Then there was the time it washed a paperback notebook that was my pants pocket; bits of paper lint everywhere, and a spiral wire in the bottom of the tub… mocking me!  OK, that one may have been my fault, but I had become so good at blaming my stupid new washing machine, it only seemed right to blame this mess on it as well. 

Once I calmed down and tried to rationalize the whole ordeal, my mood changed.  I realized that I am fortunate enough to have a full-size washing machine 30 feet from anywhere in my apartment.  I also appreciated that if it stopped working, it was someone else’s problem to fix or replace it.  In fact, it does, indeed get my clothing clean.  Whether it was black sprinkler pipe water that shot from a drum drip, rusty grease from a fire pump valve that was being stubborn, or dribbled Dunkin Donuts hot chocolate that I got on my white shirt (within 3 seconds of it being handed to me I might add), the machine always got it clean. 

It made me think about how we sometimes treat people; specifically within organizations such as the fire service.  Yes, I know, I am the Master of Metaphors, and the Professor of Personification, but allow me to explain…

I can think of several leaders, myself included, which were treated just like my old washing machine.  Years and years of faithful, quality service and performance only to be discarded to the dump as soon as they began to make a little noise or lose a little performance seems mighty harsh.  I realize that our society, and more specifically, our manufacturing of modern goods had shifted from a “fix-it” to a “”replace it” mentality.  Technological advances are so rapid that it is often more practical to upgrade the old model with the new one, rather than repair the existing model, but why do we do it with people?  People are upgradable, can be repaired, and re-programmed, and re-trained.  Also, the last time I checked, we don’t have a warehouse full of an extended supply of experienced, well-qualified contributors waiting to be plugged into an organization. 

And how about that “new” washing machine?  New does not always mean better.  As I stated, it does indeed wash the clothing, so it does as advertised.  Should the machine be blamed just because it does not look, sound, or perform like the last model that was in the laundry room?  Was I subconsciously expecting it to perform functions that it was not designed to do just because the old one did those things?  I don’t put eggs and cheese in the refrigerator and expect it to make an omelet.  Nor do I expect my stove to wash the dishes after it cooks my food.  Do we unconsciously make these assumptions with people?

One of my favorite sayings about marriage is, “Women marry men, expecting them to change; Men marry women expecting they never will”.  The divorce rate is testimony that such expectations are seldom met.  Changing one’s status or title does not change the person.  Also, two people with the same status or title are seldom the same.  Look at your current leadership.  I am correct, am I not?

When we look at fire service relationships, we see that we make the same mistakes there as well.  We all know at least one “certificate collector” who on paper should be stellar, but in practicality, is a cement head.   We have probably worked with the guy that scoffs at certification, but would be our first choice to be depended on in a crisis.  A great firefighter may be a great leader, but that is not always the case.  Conversely, some leaders may be super motivators and coordinators, but lack expertise in the ground level tasks.  It is in this judgment that we collectively fail. 

When we promote in the fire service, we do dis-service to the individual if we ask, or expect, them to perform duties for which they are incapable or unable to perform.  We set them up for failure by expecting them to change, particularly if they showed no signs of that ability in the past.  If someone tells you they are a good speller because they learned spelling in “collage”, trust their actions, not their words. 

I don’t expect my new washing machine to be like the last one.  I also don’t expect it to dry and fold my laundry.  I expect it to get my clothing clean.  If it decides that the best way to accomplish that task is to turn a few shirts inside-out, who am I to judge?  I simply need to plan a few extra seconds to turn the shirts right-side-out while I appreciate that I didn’t need to haul my basket of clothes to a rock by the river. 

As Colonel Nathan R. Jessup said in one of the most powerful movie lines ever,

“Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it?  You?  … Deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall; you need me on that wall. …  I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said                                                           thank you, and went on your way …”                                                     

                Paraphrased from “A Few Good Men, 1992”

I only wish we could see people the same way.  We should appreciate all the contributions of people without banishing them for their shortcomings.  If our expectations are not met, perhaps it is our expectations to blame, not our “appliances”.  

Teaching an Old Dog...

As a line officer and incident commander, I often try to view our ongoing operations from our customers’ point of view.  After all, it is probably one of the worst moments of their lives, and any little thing we can do to help make these moments seem brighter will help their adjustment and recovery from their misfortune.  The other evening, I was speaking with a friend and was reminded of an incident where I tried to do just that.  

It was a reported kitchen fire in a little one-block deep cul-de-sac just a few blocks from the station.  I happened to arrive first and assume command of the incident.  The fire was a fairly insignificant, stove top job with a little cabinet scarring, but nothing a PW couldn’t take down.  The first in engine stretched a line to the front door, but it was never charged.  The light gray wisp of smoke out the front door and window prompted the crews to grab a fan while others isolated energy to the cook top and checked for any extension.  

The foot traffic of responders up and down the driveway toward the front steps kicked up a big, fancy black strap with small, but expensive-looking electronic device on it and figured it was something important that the tenants dropped during their hasty evacuation.  I picked it up so our jakes in boots wouldn’t stomp it up and wreck it.  I was all about property conservation from fire, but particularly from firemen!  My pride picked up even more when I discovered another one along the other side of the driveway, so I snatched that one as well. 

It only took about 5 minutes to secure the building, during which time I was systematically dismissing units from the call.  When only the first engine remained and was packing up the hose bed, I decided it was time to speak with the homeowners.  A quick peek inside the kitchen gave me a good idea of the damage, as well as the origin.  I learned long ago that the first thing people ask is, “how bad is it?”  I wanted to be able to prepare them mentally before they saw for themselves.  I asked the police officer (who arrived on the scene ahead of me and was now parked in by the apparatus) where the homeowners had gone, and he pointed me across the street to the neighbor’s porch. 

I made eye contact with them and turned to start walking their way to gather information for my report.  So many things began to race through my mind in the next few seconds.  This incident seemed like a typical household accident or moment of forgetfulness that invited the fire gods to come pay them a visit.  However, the look of fear on their faces immediately concerned me.  Were they thinking they would be arrested?  Should they be arrested?  Am I missing something?  These folks were petrified with a fear whose source I still did not know.  Perhaps I should have reassured them sooner.  I usually make contact with a distressed homeowner as soon as I am able, but this event was literally over in minutes, and this was my first opportunity to check in with them.  Were they mad at me for ignoring them?  Did we do something wrong?

 

I stopped in the driveway briefly to answer a quick question from one of the fellas, but then began my stride down the driveway toward the neighbor’s porch.  The homeowners held up their hand as if to tell me to stop, and that they didn’t want to speak with me.  What was their problem?  They have no idea how nice a guy I am.  Just shut up and let me come talk about your fire so we can go home and resume watching Monday Night Football.  Besides, I am the fire chief and if I want to come speak …        BZZZZZACK-        HOLYMOTHEROFGODWHATDAHELLWASTHAT!   

As the homeowners cringed and covered their eyes in horror, I was struck.  I saw a blurry white flash, and yelped out some unintelligible expletive with any air I had in my lungs.  I felt the hairs in my nose curl up, and I am pretty sure I peed myself a little inside my bunker pants.  The pain was instant and unbearable and I vibrated violently as I staggered into the street.

  

As my head cleared, I realized that those homeowners didn’t fear me… they feared FOR me!  As it turned out, I was the only one among us who was ignorant to the existence of their invisible fence.  I had completely forgotten that I was still clutching not one, but two shock collars.  They had been lying dangerously in the driveway because the responsible pet owners knew enough to take them off their dogs before walking them across the street to get away from the fire.  Apparently, the jolt required to train Great Danes is rather significant.  Twice that jolt was certainly enough to train a dumb fire chief.

As you may imagine, our conversation began with a mixture of humility and apology.  Once my fist relaxed enough to release my grip on these buggers, I dropped them in the street and never touched them again.  I couldn’t hold my pen worth a damn, and I could barely remember what street we were on.  I wasn’t about to rely on my memory, so I was not even asking them the standard report informational questions.  I simply invited them back into their house for a review of what we had done for them, and explained that I would call them in the morning to gather their pertinent info. 

I have run some challenging calls during my career, but this one was RUFF! 

Those Three Little Words

During my first few months at the College Park fire station in the autumn of 1985, I learned several unique lessons.  Oddly, the most important rule I learned was not one I expected, but have come to truly understand.  It was all about the THREE LITTLE WORDS they never wanted to hear come from your pie hole. 

At first, the use of these three words seemed harmless, and not being allowed to say them felt like a silly, but manageable phase of initiation.  What harm could come from saying them.  They weren’t argumentative, offensive, racist, or harmful words.  They were simple words that would be used to start a sentence, to define a source, to establish validity of a story.  These were words often spoken with pride, yet here, they were poison. 

It soon became apparent that resisting was going to be difficult.  I found myself wanting to use these words … a lot.  As I became more comfortable in my new surroundings, I began to become frustrated by this seemingly ridiculous rule.  I tried and tried, but often had to catch myself as these words escaped my lips.  My frustration led to anger.  How dare these people restrict my language by eliminating these three little words?  I could understand eliminating phrases like, “I don’t think…”, or “I don’t wanna…”, or “Why must I…”, or “I just can’t…”   These negative statements should ALWAYS be avoided by anyone striving to achieve greatness.   In an organization that relies on teamwork, they could be considered rebellious.  Even Jeff Spicoli’s famous line, “I don’t know”, wasn’t restricted.  Thank Goodness Mr. Hand wasn’t a line officer, huh? 

The three words that seemed to get everyone’s panties in a bunch were “Back Home We”.  Nobody cared what you did “back home” at your fire station.  You were here in Prince George’s County, serving as a member of the College Park Volunteer Fire Department.  The only thing that mattered is that you knew how things were done HERE! 

It didn’t take me long to learn why “back home we” was so toxic.  The College Park Station was staffed by students in fire protection curriculums.  We had ALL come from rather progressive departments, and each of us represented the best of the youth from our respective departments.  That’s 12 smart individuals from 12 different departments, most of which did things a little different from the others.  This wasn’t the West Lawn Fire Company, and despite my beliefs at the time, there was always another way to do things.  If the CPVFD allowed the “back home” influence from every one of the probies that walked through their doors, their identity, traditions, reputation and sense of solidarity would be eroded. 

In time, as I progressed through the ranks and I had proven myself to the officers and members of the department, my opinion began to matter.  Once I had firmly implanted myself into the ways of the CPVFD, the knowledge I brought from the WLFC became relevant.  I am proud to say that some ideas that were born in little ‘ol West Lawn Borough were incorporated into programs in the City of College Park.  Eventually I was permitted to say “Back home, we…”, but not before I learned why I couldn’t as the new guy in the house. 

I learned to understand patience, and tolerance for others opinions.  I realized that I was the new guy in town, not the organization.  They had been hosin’ and truckin’ for decades before the mere consideration of my existence.  Despite how smart I thought I was, I thankfully learned that others may be smarter.  The humbling experience of being forced to forget the past and accept the present was a valuable lesson that now, makes all the sense in the world. 

This is a lesson that I have applied numerous times in my life.  As the new guy, I always take the time to get to know the people and the system that is in place, giving them every opportunity to show me what is already in place.  This open-mindedness has helped me learn quite a bit about organizational philosophies as well as individual capabilities.  I only wish others in my recent past would have learned the same lesson of respect that the CPVFD taught me.  THAT story, I will save for another time...

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.  Enjoy a safe and wonderful time with your family and friends as we celebrate of the "things" we have in life .

Staff Infection

For decades, the volunteer fire service has been struggling with staffing issues.  Decreasing numbers of volunteers have been the topic of fire service discussions across the country.  The reasons are plentiful: the economy, the changing domestic profile, other worthy causes biding for our time, the increasing risks, the elevated training requirements, etc…  

While these reasons have some degree of validity, there are plenty of solutions to help relieve them as valid excuses.  We are just too lazy to give the effort it would take to solve those problems.  The sad truth is that we have a manpower problem because we don’t know how to manage people!    Situations can be managed, things can be managed, time can be managed, money can be managed, and even groups of people can be managed.  But I am not talking about TEAM management here; I am referring to the management of a single person.  Also known as, “how to treat people”

Sadly, many of today’s fire service leaders do not have the skills to properly manage themselves, let alone another individual.  Most develop an image of exactly how their “soldiers” should be; make a plan that utilizes those soldiers, then cast off anyone that doesn’t fit their mold.  A baker who uses a cookie cutter will always gather the leftover dough, re-roll it, and make a few more cookies.  Sometimes the leftovers can be molded into some other culinary treat, but nothing ever goes to waste.  Not in the fire service, however.  One by one, we cast off perfectly good “dough”, and discard it without any thought of what that one extra “cookie” could mean to the organization one day.  Those with pet dogs know that once the scrap hits the floor, you simply aren’t getting it back. 

Today’s leaders lack the ability to nurture, develop, and utilize the variety of people that come in the door, willing to help.  They wastefully discard people like they are an endless commodity because it is much easier than “dealing with” the challenges that some people present.  Worse yet, these leaders are breeding an entire generation of like-minded thinkers.  These little bullies are pushing away great people… smart people… dedicated people… people whose only weakness is the unwillingness to tolerate the bullshit that gets flung around a fire station.  I’m not just talking about the narrow-minded veterans who only know one way to get things done.  I am also talking about the 2/20 guy whose duffle bag is still swinging on the hook. 

I would love to staff a fire department with all the individuals who left the fire service because of the way they were treated.  I think of all the years of training and experience that are being wasted because we simply don’t know how to treat people right.  I have had several long conversations with former members of the fire service, and the underlying theme is interesting.  They feel abandoned, under-appreciated, and unwelcome.  These men and women still have the desire to serve, the willingness to sacrifice, and the ability to be great assets to the organizations that left them behind.  Sadly, the leaders of those organizations have done little or nothing to reel them back in; they never investigated the problem, therefore they didn’t need to execute a solution.  They just kept spinning the revolving door, wondering why their staffing levels aren’t a robust as they want them to be. 

THESE past members are the people who should write the books on recruitment and retention.  Their wisdom and experience could go a long way toward solving the staffing crisis.  Here are a few of the topics they would likely suggest:

·         Be fair to everyone.  If you make a rule, make it for everybody.

·         Don’t make rules that hamper your effectiveness.

·         Communicate, communicate, and communicate.  Secrets demoralize troops!

·         Understand that individuals have lives outside the firehouse; support that notion.

·         Not everyone has to be the nozzleman, if you have a happy hydrant man, be happy to have him.

·         Politicians should not dictate fire service operations, despite how powerful they think they are.

·         What motivates some doesn’t work on all.  Be flexible, be creative.

·         A dangling carrot nets better results than a prodding pitchfork.

·         People like to be lead, so if you are a leader of the organization, LEAD already!

·         Take notice of the positives, and stop dwelling on the negatives.

·         Give everyone the opportunity to achieve the greatness they seek.

·         Everyone is an expert at something.  If you don’t think so, you are missing out!

·         Honor, respect, appreciate, and encourage.

Take notice that most of these suggestions are about how to treat people, not how many certificates you have.  Firefighters are people first, and if we keep forgetting that, all the wisdom in the world won’t help solve our staffing issues. 

RLS Syndrome

If I were to ask a layperson what they thought the greatest risk a firefighter faces, I am sure some of the answers would be: Being burned, falling off a ladder, caught in an explosion, lost in smoke, or even trapped by a building collapse.  Health conscience people would turn to the risks associated with cardio-vascular health and the stresses placed on the firefighter’s body as the major concern.  I imagine very few would even mention “responding to a call” as a dangerous activity.  The facts are clear that transportation accidents are one of the leading causes of death and serious injury among emergency responders, and it is the activity that takes place on every incident.  Today’s blog will address some of the reasons this activity presents such a risk.

The average citizen sees a fire engine roaring through traffic and dreams of the invincibility of carving, unobstructed, through rush hour, bypassing lines of stopped cars that pull aside to allow you to pass and disregarding pesky crimson signs and lights that require others to come to a stop.  Before I proceed, I need to dispel some misconceptions about man’s laws of the road and nature’s laws of physics. 

Fire engines are NOT permitted to disregard safety rules of the road while responding.  They may proceed past a stop signal ONLY when it has been deemed to do so safety.  They are required to maintain a safe speed which includes decreasing speed during adverse weather conditions.  Most importantly, they are often held responsible for mishaps that occur if they fail to respect these regulations.  From the scientific side of the analysis, a fire engine does not have “magic tires” that grip the road better than any other truck on the road, “super-braking powers” that allow them to stop quicker than other vehicles on the road of similar size, nor an “invisible force field” that protects them from the other vehicles on the road.  In fact, many fire department vehicles push the envelope of their designed weight rating because of the water and equipment they carry.  They are simply very bright, very loud versions of every other vehicle on the road. 

There are several other variables, however, that make these vehicles even more dangerous than others:

·         The skills and experience of the driver may not be very sharp.  Particularly in a volunteer department, where the driver of this 40,000 pound monster might be much more accustomed to driving his 3500 pound Honda Accord.

·         The driver may be focused on the details of the incident they are responding to and the urgency to arrive quickly due to on-scene reports of rapidly spreading fire, or victims in peril.

·         The unpredictability of what the other drivers on the road will do in their pathway.  For every 20 drivers that do the right thing, there will be one who makes a contradictory evasive maneuver.

·         Believe it or not, despite the flashing lights and the blaring siren, some drivers are oblivious to the approaching emergency vehicle due to loud stereos, well insulated vehicles, or driver distraction.

I have personally logged thousands of miles in the driver’s seat of an emergency vehicle during my career, and admittedly, my attitude toward maneuvering through traffic en route to an emergency has evolved over time.  I have had a few close calls, but fortunately have never unintentionally bent and metal because of my driving.  The one time I did, was with the permission of a county police officer, but I digress.  I have witnessed people do some crazy things in front of my fire truck, from driving over a curb to get out of my way, to slamming on the brakes and covering their eyes right in the middle of an intersection.  I always attempted to maintain what I call “smooth control” of my vehicle, whether I was driving a medic unit with a class 1 trauma patient in the back, a fire engine through suburbia, or a ladder truck through rush-hour “inside the beltway” traffic.  AWARENESS and CONTROL are the key words to safe response. 

Another portion of my career was spent in the “thinking chair”, more commonly referred to as the Officers Seat.  In this position, you share the responsibility of safe operation of the vehicle through your awareness, but unfortunately have zero control over the operation of the rig.  Believe me, there were more than a few times I stomped on the imaginary brake pedal on the right side of the fire engine cab.  That is the seat where your only control is the ability to coach the driver through a safe response by maintaining a calm atmosphere, and a focused attention on the road conditions.  This is an impossible task if the operator of the rig is experiencing an attack of RLS syndrome.

RLS, or “Red Lights & Siren” syndrome can occur with any emergency driver from time to time.  I admit there were times when I believed that my siren and air horns had the power to move cars out of my path, and I know there were times where I was thinking about everything except the road when I was en route to an incident.  Every driver is susceptible to RLS, and some suffer from it repeatedly.  It is a period of perceived invincibility, where poor judgment reigns supreme, and tunnel vision closes in tight.  It is dangerous, and it can be deadly.

Until scientists develop a vaccine, RLS syndrome must be controlled through diligent screening of potential operators, repetitive training and practice of driving skills, established standard department guidelines regarding vehicle operation, and respectful rapport development between drivers and officers alike.