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. 

Rest easy, brother, we'll take it from here.

I just had the painful experience of having to say goodbye to yet another great man.  Just days before his diagnosis, he was telling me about strange leg pains he had been having.  Ignorantly, I laughed at the fact that he was finally starting to feel “old”.  I reminded him of his need for reading glasses at an ICS class we attended together (a crutch that I soon discovered I would rely on within the year, as well).  After over 30 years of fire service, time was beginning to take its toll on both of us.  Of course, you wouldn’t know it to look at him.  He stood there in his city uniform, having just got off a long shift at work, followed by a municipal meeting, and now he stood in one of the stations where he was a volunteer chief officer overseeing modification to the rescue truck that were in progress.  The gray hair was starting to win the battle on his head, and his indulgence in firehouse culinary treats was tipping his belt buckle ever so slightly, but he was still running full speed, just as he did his entire life, fearless and unstoppable. 

He asked me to bring some equipment from my station to try some different mounting configurations for equipment they had recently ordered.  I remember feeling honored that my opinions were both sought and respected.  That was our relationship; professional respect, personal connection, and typical ass-busting that comes with the territory.  Over the years, our relationship took many twists and turns.  We “tuxed-up” for each other at the altar, he helped me land my first “uniformed” job, and I helped him test his Vascar.  We fought bad guys together, we fought fires together, and we dug people out of cars together more times than I can remember.  We talked strategy, we talked firehouse politics, we dreamed, and we laughed.  We also disagreed…a lot; usually about strategies, firehouse politics, and even our personal dreams.  Watching him in action, I could never decide if I should admire the way he risked his life, or chastise him for nearly getting himself killed. I remember one nasty double fatal where he lambasted me for pulling his crew out, keeping them from getting killed.  There was no one left to save that morning, but he hated that we gave up trying.  The risk was not worth the reward.  We were never angrier at each other, even though we both knew the other was right.

This news, however, was chilling; a malignant brain tumor!  He had bounced back from so many line-of-duty injuries in his career, we all believed he could do it one more time.  And he believed it as well.  We often hear talk of people “bravely battling cancer”, but he was the poster child for the stubborn fight.  We watched as he boldly stated that he would beat this “thing” as he called it.  He then took action, doing everything the doctors asked, and then some.  If anyone could beat this beast, he could. 

The fight raged on, lasting so much longer that any doctor thought it would.  Those extra months with him, while difficult to comprehend, were certainly cherished by his family, friends and comrades.  Even as treatments seemed to be losing ground, somehow he still believed.  I personally don’t know when he finally realized that this was a battle he could not win, we never discussed that when I visited.  Perhaps he never gave up hope.  Nevertheless, he was a realist, a planner, so it was no surprise that he was more concerned about everyone else than himself.  That is one of the characteristics that made him so great. When people pass away, they say “He is in a better place”.  Whatever your beliefs are, you have to believe that the place where he is now just got better when he arrived.  

As the sadness of his death passes, the celebration of his life will go on.  I have many fond memories that I will cherish, and many lesson that I have learned from knowing him.  I will certainly recall and share the multitude of great stories where he is one of the main characters. His passion for duty and crazy sense of adventure was unmatched.  His greatness as a public servant, devoted father, loving husband, emergency responder, leader, and great friend will inspire me for the rest of my life.  For now, I join so many others as we struggle through tearful eyes to focus on our lives without him.   

Rest easy, brother, we will take it from here.

RONALD E. “MOOSE” WENTZEL, JR.  

11-13-62  -  1-12-14

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!