Small Fire / Big Potential
The other night we had what turned out to be a relatively small and ordinary fire in a house which was in renovation. At two different points during the fire, however, there was potential for catastrophic consequences – one known and one unknown.
We were dispatched to a reported dwelling fire in the Mt. Pleasant section of the city about 10:00 PM on a clear humid night. When we arrived on the scene of the reported address, we could see no signs of smoke or flame. While we were investigating, a neighbor from across the street, apparently the one who had called 911, approached us saying “mucho fuego” while pointing to the first floor of an unlit home. We looked in through the windows from the street and saw nothing. As we attempted to ask him if he was sure it was this house, he waved his arms in an upward motion, pointed to the house, and said, “Si, si”.
We made our way to the porch to peer into the living room via the front windows. When Tim tried to see into the house the window looked foggy. He attempted to wipe the outside of the window, but quickly pulled his hand back, “The window’s hot, we’ve got a fire in there”, he said. “Go get the line (hoseline)”, I barked. “Engine 15 to Fire Alarm, Code Red, 2-story, wood-frame, occupied, fire on the first floor.”
As Timmy came back with the line, I yelled to Ladder 6 as they pulled up that we needed a ladderman to open up the heavy front door. As Timmy stretched the hoseline to get it into position I told him to stay low and away from the windows. With a fire of this type it is very possible that the heat is building to extreme levels inside the house as the fire (which has already been burning) now smolders due to a lack of oxygen. If the windows break from the high heat and oxygen is introduced to the smoldering fire the result could be explosive – a backdraft.
We crouched together in front of the door as a couple of guys from L-6 began forcing the door. We were staying as low as possible because introducing the oxygen via the open door could have the same type of result. If we stayed low the fire would roll out the door above us.
The door was forced and the heat and thick smoke poured out of the building and enshrouded us on the porch, but no explosion. One potentially serious situation was now over and the incident became more of a routine fire. We made our way into the hallway and then into the living room very quickly and Tim directed the hose stream toward the growing glow to our right. It was hot, smoky and almost completely black. We crawled over debris on the floor and stumbled over furniture strewn about the room as we chased the only visible light in the room, extinguishing the fire before it could get grow to the size it had once been.
As Tim continued to wet and cool the area to avoid any chance of flare-ups I saw a bright glow from the corner of my eye, just about a foot to my left. I began to feel the heat of another area of fire growing quickly right next to us. I tapped Timmy on the left shoulder and yelled through the mask, “Over here, to your left!” He quickly turned to see the new area of fire and attempted to get the hoseline in position to knock it down but the line was caught on something in the dark. As he struggled with the hose we began to hear the fire crackle and pop as it fed on the debris on the floor. When he finally pulled the hoseline free and directed the stream at the fire it quickly darkened down, overpowered by the 125 gpm’s (gallons-per-minute) of water delivered by our line.
Once we had opened the door without incident this had been a relatively ordinary and small fire. Even the flare up of the debris next to us was never anything that was overly worrisome. After we had knocked down the fires we, along with members from other companies, began opening windows allowing the remaining heavy smoke to escape to the outside. The contents and layout of the house began to slowly come into view. It was then evident that this fire had burnt for quite a while before going into hibernation due to the lack of oxygen. The charring of the walls, ceiling and furniture all happened prior to our arrival. We had extinguished the rejuvenated fire before it could do further damage.
All in all this had been a successful operation for us. We had avoided a potentially serious situation and had knocked down the fire with minimal damage. It wasn’t until the fire investigator began to sift through the debris which had been burning about a foot away from Tim and I that he noticed that there was live ammunition scattered throughout the debris – a box of rifle shells and a bunch of loose .38 caliber shells!
The first potentially dangerous situation was avoided by recognizing the signs and properly gaining access to the building. Breaking the windows could have lead to disastrous consequences.
The second potentially dangerous situation was avoided by pure luck!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Tommy, You Shit-Stirrer, You
Tommy, You Old Shit-Stirrer, You
The call came in as “a man unconscious”. Nothing special, just the same type of call I’ve responded to hundreds of times in the past. So I thought nothing special as we headed through garage door and sped toward the scene.
Pulling in front of a pitch-black house at 3:00 AM is nothing unusual either, despite the fact that someone here had dialed 911 with an apparent life threatening emergency. Sometimes people will meet us in front of the house screaming and waving hysterically and sometimes they forget to put their lights on or even unlock the door for us. Sometimes they even go back to bed!
We walked to the darkened doorway, wiping the sleep from our eyes, and rang the bell. Rescue 2 was on the way but wouldn’t arrive for another 2 to 3 minutes. When we didn’t get a reaction right away I began to pound on the front door, “Fire department”! A short time after that an 80 year old woman meekly cracked open the door looking like she had just been roused from a sound sleep. “Yes?”, she said. By this time I was beginning to think that we were at the wrong house. “Did you call 911, mam?” “Yes, come in.”
We followed her into an immaculate home as she began to guide us to the rear of the house. “He’s lying on the bathroom floor, and I don’t know if he’s breathing or not”, she said as she pointed to a closed door. “Tommy. Tommy, are you all right?”, she asked through the door. No response.
I moved her back to the living room as we tried to force the door open to gain entry to the bathroom. The door wasn’t locked, but it was being held shut by something on the inside. As I peeked in through the thin space we’d forced I could see his feet on the floor moving franticly to keep himself pressed up against the back of the door. “Tommy, open the door and let us in”, I said. At least we now knew that he wasn’t lying dead or unconscious on the bathroom floor. I walked into the living room to tell the old lady that he seemed fine and was moving on his own as my guys continued to try to gain access.
Around the same time Rescue 2 entered the home. When the door was forced open enough to get a good look at Tommy (the old lady’s 64 year old son) we saw that he was naked on the floor trying desperately to keep his body against the door to keep us out. He was not verbally responsive and seemed to be completely disoriented. And, he was literally full of shit!
It was all over the white tile floor, all over him, in his hair, his mouth, his eyes – everywhere! We sent a man out to the rescue to get towels and sheets as we regrouped in the hallway trying to decide how to handle him. As the FF returned with the towels we decided that the guy and girl from Rescue would wet the towels and try to wipe him down as well as possible under the circumstances while the two FF’s with me would hold him down with the sheets and attempt to wrap him up in them. While they were doing this I attempted to calm the mother down and lead her to a different side of the house and distract her while they struggled with Tommy.
As I attempted to ascertain a brief medical history from mom I found out that, as a child, Tommy had been struck in the head by a golf ball. Apparently he suffered from occasional bouts with dementia-like symptoms. In between these bouts he was, according to his mom, a normal man who held a job and had served in the military. Somehow it seemed even more pathetic that someone who reportedly lived his life in a normal manner could be reduced to this type of behavior at random.
As I kept mom’s attention in the kitchen I could see that they had him wrapped up in the sheets and were carrying him outside to the gurney awaiting his arrival on the sidewalk in front of the house. I told her that we would take good care of him and get him the help he needed at RI Hospital. As he was put on the stretcher and strapped in his mom came to the front door to wave goodbye. He was covered by the sheets with only his cleaned up face peeking through, so mom never saw what a mess he had made of himself. We didn’t want her to see him like that. It was bad enough that she was going to have to deal with the mess in the bathroom, but at least she didn’t have that mental picture sticking in her memory.
The call came in as “a man unconscious”. Nothing special, just the same type of call I’ve responded to hundreds of times in the past. So I thought nothing special as we headed through garage door and sped toward the scene.
Pulling in front of a pitch-black house at 3:00 AM is nothing unusual either, despite the fact that someone here had dialed 911 with an apparent life threatening emergency. Sometimes people will meet us in front of the house screaming and waving hysterically and sometimes they forget to put their lights on or even unlock the door for us. Sometimes they even go back to bed!
We walked to the darkened doorway, wiping the sleep from our eyes, and rang the bell. Rescue 2 was on the way but wouldn’t arrive for another 2 to 3 minutes. When we didn’t get a reaction right away I began to pound on the front door, “Fire department”! A short time after that an 80 year old woman meekly cracked open the door looking like she had just been roused from a sound sleep. “Yes?”, she said. By this time I was beginning to think that we were at the wrong house. “Did you call 911, mam?” “Yes, come in.”
We followed her into an immaculate home as she began to guide us to the rear of the house. “He’s lying on the bathroom floor, and I don’t know if he’s breathing or not”, she said as she pointed to a closed door. “Tommy. Tommy, are you all right?”, she asked through the door. No response.
I moved her back to the living room as we tried to force the door open to gain entry to the bathroom. The door wasn’t locked, but it was being held shut by something on the inside. As I peeked in through the thin space we’d forced I could see his feet on the floor moving franticly to keep himself pressed up against the back of the door. “Tommy, open the door and let us in”, I said. At least we now knew that he wasn’t lying dead or unconscious on the bathroom floor. I walked into the living room to tell the old lady that he seemed fine and was moving on his own as my guys continued to try to gain access.
Around the same time Rescue 2 entered the home. When the door was forced open enough to get a good look at Tommy (the old lady’s 64 year old son) we saw that he was naked on the floor trying desperately to keep his body against the door to keep us out. He was not verbally responsive and seemed to be completely disoriented. And, he was literally full of shit!
It was all over the white tile floor, all over him, in his hair, his mouth, his eyes – everywhere! We sent a man out to the rescue to get towels and sheets as we regrouped in the hallway trying to decide how to handle him. As the FF returned with the towels we decided that the guy and girl from Rescue would wet the towels and try to wipe him down as well as possible under the circumstances while the two FF’s with me would hold him down with the sheets and attempt to wrap him up in them. While they were doing this I attempted to calm the mother down and lead her to a different side of the house and distract her while they struggled with Tommy.
As I attempted to ascertain a brief medical history from mom I found out that, as a child, Tommy had been struck in the head by a golf ball. Apparently he suffered from occasional bouts with dementia-like symptoms. In between these bouts he was, according to his mom, a normal man who held a job and had served in the military. Somehow it seemed even more pathetic that someone who reportedly lived his life in a normal manner could be reduced to this type of behavior at random.
As I kept mom’s attention in the kitchen I could see that they had him wrapped up in the sheets and were carrying him outside to the gurney awaiting his arrival on the sidewalk in front of the house. I told her that we would take good care of him and get him the help he needed at RI Hospital. As he was put on the stretcher and strapped in his mom came to the front door to wave goodbye. He was covered by the sheets with only his cleaned up face peeking through, so mom never saw what a mess he had made of himself. We didn’t want her to see him like that. It was bad enough that she was going to have to deal with the mess in the bathroom, but at least she didn’t have that mental picture sticking in her memory.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Firefighters - Neither Heroes nor Villains
.
Firefighters – Neither Heroes nor Villains
Over the past eight years firefighters, particularly those in RI, have endured a complete 360 degree turnabout in public perception. Obscurity -- hero status -- obscurity -- villain. Those of us who make our living donning turnout gear and responding to fires and other emergencies haven’t changed, but the public’s perception of us seems to change on a whim.
Nearly all firefighters consider their job as a vocation – a calling. We are firefighters, first and foremost – anything else we might be falls after that. We are proud of our profession and proud to be part of the “brotherhood” of firefighters. We were proud to be part of this “brotherhood” long before the towers fell on 9/11, and we remain so even during this trying time when the politicians and the press are demonizing us on a daily basis. We are a close-knit family. We know what we do and what it takes to do what we do. For the most part we don’t care what the general public thinks of us, for they can never fully understand. It is the respect and acceptance of our brothers that means the most to us.
We never sought the tag of hero. None of us are true heroes. Heroes are not born, but rather they are the products of opportunity. None of us plan to make the ultimate sacrifice. Indeed, if your house is on fire and it ultimately comes down to a choice between you and me – sorry, but I’m outta there! The reality is, however, that we’re not usually given that choice. We readily push the envelope and risk our lives to protect those we’re sworn to serve. Most of the time we can sense when trouble is just around the corner – sometimes we can’t.
For years we fought the daily battles in obscurity, only occasionally receiving any press coverage or attention from the general public. That began to change, particularly in this area, directly following the tragic fire in Worcester, MA in which we lost 6 firefighters. We’ve lost that many firefighters before, but something about that fire captured the imagination of the general public (and the press) and generated a tremendous outpouring of good will toward firefighters everywhere. I don’t know whether it was the press coverage, the massive memorial service that brought over 20,000 firefighters as well as the President and Vice President to Worcester, or the fact that it took over a week to recover the remains of these brave men, but people began to stop us on the street and thank us for our service.
Two short years later, as that sentiment had become but a memory to most, America was attacked on our own soil and 343 brave firefighters from New York City gave their lives “just doing their jobs”. While it was true that they didn’t intentionally march off to their deaths, I personally know a firefighter from FDNY who kissed his best friend in the lobby of the WTC before that friend began his ascent in the stairwell – and ultimately to heaven. They both knew that it “could be” the last time they saw each other in this lifetime, but they both had their jobs to do and they weren’t about to shirk their responsibilities because of the dire circumstances. On the contrary, this was the time they were needed most.
It speaks volumes about those brave men (and about firefighters everywhere) that many of those who responded to the WTC that day, and many of those who perished, were not even on duty at the time of the alarm. Many were already relieved from duty but still in the firehouse when the tones sounded. They had absolutely no obligation to get on those trucks and respond to the scene. They did so because they were firefighters, first and foremost, and the people they serve needed them – their brothers needed them.
After that tragic day in our nation’s history firefighters everywhere were hailed as true American heroes. This was a tag put on us by the media – and by the general public. I was truly taken aback when I walked the streets of New York City in uniform following the first of many funerals and memorial services I attended for our fallen brothers, that people would smile and say “thank you” or “God bless you”. This is not the kind of thing I had ever experienced in my many visits to NYC. People would offer to buy my coffee or pay for my drinks. Firefighters around the country were treated with respect and gratitude.
I remember telling my wife that this would pass, that we would soon be nothing more than lower middle class public servants once again. She looked at me in utter disbelief and asked me, “…how can anyone ever think of firefighters that way again? I don’t believe it!” In my estimation it took about three years for all the grateful sentiment to wear away. Maybe it was the escalating war in Iraq. Maybe it was the resentment of the general public at the tag that they had put on us. Perhaps it was just part of the healing process of the entire country, to put those memories away. Whatever the reason, we were dwelling in obscurity once again. Most firefighters were glad to have it that way. We were forever changed as a country as a result of that day. We were forever changed as a “brotherhood”. We were still proud of the sacrifice our brothers from FDNY had made and to a man we all vowed to “never forget”, but we were tired of trying to live up to the hero tag.
Once we were restored to mere human status it didn’t take long before we were being attacked as greedy union workers trying to bleed taxpayers dry. Although most people don’t want to admit it, their opinions are greatly influenced by political rhetoric and media coverage. Most people don’t have the time or the inclination to read beyond the headlines or research beyond the sound-bite on the news. Many people are influenced by the radio talk show hosts – the majority of whom are left-wing conservatives whose major political concern is downsizing government and lowering taxes.
So, as the economy began to edge toward recession and local taxes began to rise, the politicians and the conservative media began painting the picture of greedy unions being the source of the problem. Nothing could be further from the truth – but that’s an argument for a different day. As the general public took in all this propaganda they began to look at firefighters (particularly in Providence) as villains. This view was confirmed, in their eyes, as their tax bills began to rise. As previously stated, most citizens are spoon-fed their opinions by politicians and media and don’t bother to look beyond for the underlying reasons.
Subsequently, as is usually the case, the truth lies firmly between the extremes. Firefighters are neither heroes nor villains; we are simply honorable men and women working at a profession we love. We take our oaths seriously and are ready to risk whatever be asked of us at a moment’s notice. Are we willing to knowingly trade our own lives for others? No. Are we ready to risk our lives for the protection of perfect strangers? Every time we climb on the trucks. Do we feel we deserve excessive salaries and benefits? No. Do we feel that we deserve fair compensation for our work and adequate health care and retirement benefits? Of course – especially since our health and longevity is compromised by our working conditions. We owe that much to ourselves and to our families.
Firefighters – Neither Heroes nor Villains
Over the past eight years firefighters, particularly those in RI, have endured a complete 360 degree turnabout in public perception. Obscurity -- hero status -- obscurity -- villain. Those of us who make our living donning turnout gear and responding to fires and other emergencies haven’t changed, but the public’s perception of us seems to change on a whim.
Nearly all firefighters consider their job as a vocation – a calling. We are firefighters, first and foremost – anything else we might be falls after that. We are proud of our profession and proud to be part of the “brotherhood” of firefighters. We were proud to be part of this “brotherhood” long before the towers fell on 9/11, and we remain so even during this trying time when the politicians and the press are demonizing us on a daily basis. We are a close-knit family. We know what we do and what it takes to do what we do. For the most part we don’t care what the general public thinks of us, for they can never fully understand. It is the respect and acceptance of our brothers that means the most to us.
We never sought the tag of hero. None of us are true heroes. Heroes are not born, but rather they are the products of opportunity. None of us plan to make the ultimate sacrifice. Indeed, if your house is on fire and it ultimately comes down to a choice between you and me – sorry, but I’m outta there! The reality is, however, that we’re not usually given that choice. We readily push the envelope and risk our lives to protect those we’re sworn to serve. Most of the time we can sense when trouble is just around the corner – sometimes we can’t.
For years we fought the daily battles in obscurity, only occasionally receiving any press coverage or attention from the general public. That began to change, particularly in this area, directly following the tragic fire in Worcester, MA in which we lost 6 firefighters. We’ve lost that many firefighters before, but something about that fire captured the imagination of the general public (and the press) and generated a tremendous outpouring of good will toward firefighters everywhere. I don’t know whether it was the press coverage, the massive memorial service that brought over 20,000 firefighters as well as the President and Vice President to Worcester, or the fact that it took over a week to recover the remains of these brave men, but people began to stop us on the street and thank us for our service.
Two short years later, as that sentiment had become but a memory to most, America was attacked on our own soil and 343 brave firefighters from New York City gave their lives “just doing their jobs”. While it was true that they didn’t intentionally march off to their deaths, I personally know a firefighter from FDNY who kissed his best friend in the lobby of the WTC before that friend began his ascent in the stairwell – and ultimately to heaven. They both knew that it “could be” the last time they saw each other in this lifetime, but they both had their jobs to do and they weren’t about to shirk their responsibilities because of the dire circumstances. On the contrary, this was the time they were needed most.
It speaks volumes about those brave men (and about firefighters everywhere) that many of those who responded to the WTC that day, and many of those who perished, were not even on duty at the time of the alarm. Many were already relieved from duty but still in the firehouse when the tones sounded. They had absolutely no obligation to get on those trucks and respond to the scene. They did so because they were firefighters, first and foremost, and the people they serve needed them – their brothers needed them.
After that tragic day in our nation’s history firefighters everywhere were hailed as true American heroes. This was a tag put on us by the media – and by the general public. I was truly taken aback when I walked the streets of New York City in uniform following the first of many funerals and memorial services I attended for our fallen brothers, that people would smile and say “thank you” or “God bless you”. This is not the kind of thing I had ever experienced in my many visits to NYC. People would offer to buy my coffee or pay for my drinks. Firefighters around the country were treated with respect and gratitude.
I remember telling my wife that this would pass, that we would soon be nothing more than lower middle class public servants once again. She looked at me in utter disbelief and asked me, “…how can anyone ever think of firefighters that way again? I don’t believe it!” In my estimation it took about three years for all the grateful sentiment to wear away. Maybe it was the escalating war in Iraq. Maybe it was the resentment of the general public at the tag that they had put on us. Perhaps it was just part of the healing process of the entire country, to put those memories away. Whatever the reason, we were dwelling in obscurity once again. Most firefighters were glad to have it that way. We were forever changed as a country as a result of that day. We were forever changed as a “brotherhood”. We were still proud of the sacrifice our brothers from FDNY had made and to a man we all vowed to “never forget”, but we were tired of trying to live up to the hero tag.
Once we were restored to mere human status it didn’t take long before we were being attacked as greedy union workers trying to bleed taxpayers dry. Although most people don’t want to admit it, their opinions are greatly influenced by political rhetoric and media coverage. Most people don’t have the time or the inclination to read beyond the headlines or research beyond the sound-bite on the news. Many people are influenced by the radio talk show hosts – the majority of whom are left-wing conservatives whose major political concern is downsizing government and lowering taxes.
So, as the economy began to edge toward recession and local taxes began to rise, the politicians and the conservative media began painting the picture of greedy unions being the source of the problem. Nothing could be further from the truth – but that’s an argument for a different day. As the general public took in all this propaganda they began to look at firefighters (particularly in Providence) as villains. This view was confirmed, in their eyes, as their tax bills began to rise. As previously stated, most citizens are spoon-fed their opinions by politicians and media and don’t bother to look beyond for the underlying reasons.
Subsequently, as is usually the case, the truth lies firmly between the extremes. Firefighters are neither heroes nor villains; we are simply honorable men and women working at a profession we love. We take our oaths seriously and are ready to risk whatever be asked of us at a moment’s notice. Are we willing to knowingly trade our own lives for others? No. Are we ready to risk our lives for the protection of perfect strangers? Every time we climb on the trucks. Do we feel we deserve excessive salaries and benefits? No. Do we feel that we deserve fair compensation for our work and adequate health care and retirement benefits? Of course – especially since our health and longevity is compromised by our working conditions. We owe that much to ourselves and to our families.
Friday, May 2, 2008
For my friend, Al
.
"TORTURED SOUL"
Helplessly I watched, as his life bled from his veins
Pooling for all to see
Though my head had to know where this was leading
My heart refused to agree
I stepped back into his life, from time to time
Attempting to force his hand
But he refused my many offers for assistance
Not seeming to understand
Always, he’d give me some sort of excuse
For his current situation
As I listened I’d find myself needing to believe
If only out of desperation
My heart wouldn’t allow me to imagine him as lost
And spiraling out of control
It would tell me that I should be there, not to chastise
But strictly to console
So I’d listen, get sucked in, and sympathize
Treat him with kid gloves
When what he really needed to straighten out his life
Was a lesson in tough-love
With a heavy heart, I feel that I let him down
As others do, I’m sure
Over time his demons flourished and became
More than he could endure
In the end, his tortured soul could find no shelter
In this mortal realm
So he set himself upon a path for self-destruction
Simply overwhelmed
If only I could have convinced him there were ways
His course to re-chart
If only I’d been intuitive enough to listen to my head
Instead of to my heart
"TORTURED SOUL"
Helplessly I watched, as his life bled from his veins
Pooling for all to see
Though my head had to know where this was leading
My heart refused to agree
I stepped back into his life, from time to time
Attempting to force his hand
But he refused my many offers for assistance
Not seeming to understand
Always, he’d give me some sort of excuse
For his current situation
As I listened I’d find myself needing to believe
If only out of desperation
My heart wouldn’t allow me to imagine him as lost
And spiraling out of control
It would tell me that I should be there, not to chastise
But strictly to console
So I’d listen, get sucked in, and sympathize
Treat him with kid gloves
When what he really needed to straighten out his life
Was a lesson in tough-love
With a heavy heart, I feel that I let him down
As others do, I’m sure
Over time his demons flourished and became
More than he could endure
In the end, his tortured soul could find no shelter
In this mortal realm
So he set himself upon a path for self-destruction
Simply overwhelmed
If only I could have convinced him there were ways
His course to re-chart
If only I’d been intuitive enough to listen to my head
Instead of to my heart
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
ProJo in Bed With Cicilline
Letter-to-the-Editor (7-APR-08)
Dear Editor:
I am once again at a loss for words on the slanted, one-sided reporting of your paper. I am referring to the published letter by David Cicilline in the April 7th issue of the Providence Journal “Standing up for struggling families means taking on union”. This letter is filled with distortions and downright lies regarding the contractual impasse between the city and Providence firefighters. On top of this, it is a rehash of old lies by the mayor that have been printed numerous times by your paper. I, and others, have written to your editors on numerous occasions pointing out the factual errors of your articles and of letters you have published on this subject, but you choose not to publish them.
While the actions and rhetoric of Cicilline are disgraceful from a man who claims to be concerned with ethics in government, they are (at least) understandable. He has had his chances of gaining the Governor’s office dashed by his inability to successfully settle a simple labor contract with Local 799. He holds a grudge against us and is striking back with everything he can think of – whether or not it is truthful. Your editor’s actions, however, are indefensible. They have a responsibility to the people of this state to report the news as it occurs, not selectively. And although the editorial pages are a place your editors can report opinion, it is still your obligation to use facts to base your claims – not exaggerations, distortions and lies.
Cicilline’s letter stated - “220 members of Local799 earned over $100,000 last year.”
The fact is – at least 210 of these members earned this amount in 2006 ONLY because they received a retroactive pay raise that should have been paid over a 5-year period.
Cicilline’s letter stated – “City residents paid $660,000 in overtime to staff a rescue truck that would have cost no overtime except that provisions in the contract prevent the chief from assigning personnel efficiently.”
The fact is – it cost overtime to staff that rescue because Providence firefighters refused to allow the mayor and the chief to remove firefighters (and thus lessen fire protection) from active fire apparatus. The city is in desperate need of this rescue (and more), but it is our firm belief that it shouldn’t be done at the cost of adequate fire protection.
Cicilline’s letter implies that – Providence has the highest cost for firefighters in the nation.
The fact is – although the urban areas of the Northeast are traditionally (and understandably) the location of the highest cost per resident for fire service, Providence firefighters are not even the highest paid firefighters in the state.
He implies that Providence firefighters are costing the city taxpayers to face tax hikes in their property tax.
The fact is – Providence firefighter’s salaries account for a mere 3.99% of the annual budget of the City of Providence.
He implies that the main stumbling block for firefighters is a refusal to pay health care co-shares.
The fact is – the main stumbling block causing this impasse on the part of Providence firefighters is now, and has always been, the city’s insistence on reducing staffing on fire apparatus and thus putting both firefighters and our citizens in greater danger.
All these facts have been given to the editors of the Providence Journal on numerous occasions. Not only have you chosen not to publish these facts, but you continue to allow Cicilline to state these misrepresentations as fact – that is journalism of the lowest caliber.
Lt. Tom Kenney
Providence Fire Department
Dear Editor:
I am once again at a loss for words on the slanted, one-sided reporting of your paper. I am referring to the published letter by David Cicilline in the April 7th issue of the Providence Journal “Standing up for struggling families means taking on union”. This letter is filled with distortions and downright lies regarding the contractual impasse between the city and Providence firefighters. On top of this, it is a rehash of old lies by the mayor that have been printed numerous times by your paper. I, and others, have written to your editors on numerous occasions pointing out the factual errors of your articles and of letters you have published on this subject, but you choose not to publish them.
While the actions and rhetoric of Cicilline are disgraceful from a man who claims to be concerned with ethics in government, they are (at least) understandable. He has had his chances of gaining the Governor’s office dashed by his inability to successfully settle a simple labor contract with Local 799. He holds a grudge against us and is striking back with everything he can think of – whether or not it is truthful. Your editor’s actions, however, are indefensible. They have a responsibility to the people of this state to report the news as it occurs, not selectively. And although the editorial pages are a place your editors can report opinion, it is still your obligation to use facts to base your claims – not exaggerations, distortions and lies.
Cicilline’s letter stated - “220 members of Local799 earned over $100,000 last year.”
The fact is – at least 210 of these members earned this amount in 2006 ONLY because they received a retroactive pay raise that should have been paid over a 5-year period.
Cicilline’s letter stated – “City residents paid $660,000 in overtime to staff a rescue truck that would have cost no overtime except that provisions in the contract prevent the chief from assigning personnel efficiently.”
The fact is – it cost overtime to staff that rescue because Providence firefighters refused to allow the mayor and the chief to remove firefighters (and thus lessen fire protection) from active fire apparatus. The city is in desperate need of this rescue (and more), but it is our firm belief that it shouldn’t be done at the cost of adequate fire protection.
Cicilline’s letter implies that – Providence has the highest cost for firefighters in the nation.
The fact is – although the urban areas of the Northeast are traditionally (and understandably) the location of the highest cost per resident for fire service, Providence firefighters are not even the highest paid firefighters in the state.
He implies that Providence firefighters are costing the city taxpayers to face tax hikes in their property tax.
The fact is – Providence firefighter’s salaries account for a mere 3.99% of the annual budget of the City of Providence.
He implies that the main stumbling block for firefighters is a refusal to pay health care co-shares.
The fact is – the main stumbling block causing this impasse on the part of Providence firefighters is now, and has always been, the city’s insistence on reducing staffing on fire apparatus and thus putting both firefighters and our citizens in greater danger.
All these facts have been given to the editors of the Providence Journal on numerous occasions. Not only have you chosen not to publish these facts, but you continue to allow Cicilline to state these misrepresentations as fact – that is journalism of the lowest caliber.
Lt. Tom Kenney
Providence Fire Department
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Providence Fiscal Crisis
.
Providence Fiscal Crisis for Dummies
In keeping with the title of this article, I will not discuss or use any real numbers to support my argument – only theoretical (and very simple) examples.
Step 1:
In the year 2000, presidential candidate George W. Bush proposed a sweeping tax cut if he was elected. Despite the fact that it was pointed out that the wealthiest 1% of the citizens of the USA would be the biggest benefactors of such a plan, Mr. Bush was determined to downsize federal government. In January of 2001 he took office.
He proceeded to push through his tax cut and, indeed, cut many of the federal programs that he saw as being better served by individual states (RI included). This meant much less funding of social programs by the federal government. Millions of people around the US were faced with losing the social programs to which they’d come to depend on. Unfortunately the need for these social programs didn’t disappear when the federal funding did. The responsibility for paying for them was merely shifted to the state (RI). But…most of us were paying lower (oh so slightly) federal income taxes.
Step 2:
The states (including RI) were now scrambling to offset the decline of federal funding. At this same time there were a growing number of citizens in the state(s) who were in desperate need of these social and economic government programs due to these same federal cuts. They now turned to the state (RI) to provide a continuation of these services. At this same time RI (having an income tax that piggy-backed the federal system) was forced to raise it’s percentage of the federal tax in order to maintain the same level of income through resident’s income tax.
The last thing a governor wants to do, particularly a republican governor like Donald Carcieri, is to raise taxes and expand government’s responsibility in social programs. So, as the burden on the state grew he was forced to choose between raising taxes or cutting programs and aid to the cities and towns. Just as the president had done at the national level, Governor Carcieri decided these programs were better run by the local governments as opposed to by the state. After all, he didn’t run for office to expand state government – he ran to ‘cut big government’ (as all good republicans do).
He cut social programs and cut funding to the individual cities and towns and is now desperately attempting to balance his budget without the need to raise taxes. Tens of thousands of people were then facing the possibility of losing the governmental assistance and programs that had helped them get by on a day to day basis. That responsibility now shifted to the cities and towns. But…most of us were paying lower (oh so slightly) federal income taxes, and about the same amount in RI tax.
Step 3:
Around this same time there was a change of leadership in the City of Providence. Prince David had taken over and had swept out the old guard and replaced them with his knights - with a promise of responsible government. Providence, being an urban center, had always had a disproportionate number of the state’s lower income citizens in the most desperate need of the social programs that were cut on a national and state level. Therefore, Providence quickly became one of the biggest losers in a country led by Bush and a state led by Carcieri.
Thousands of people were now dependent on Providence to provide the funding for their needs. Crap runs downhill, and the cities and towns are at the base (bottom) of our governmental ladder. There was no other entity to push this responsibility on. With no other choice, the city began to spend much more than it was earning via its main source of income – property taxes. Inevitably the city had to raise its tax rate to bring in additional revenue. Providence home owners began to foot the bill for the federal tax cuts – the trickle down effect run amuck. A typical Providence home owner was paying about $200 lower federal tax and about the same in RI tax, but they were paying about $500 more in property tax per year – with no end in sight.
Addendums:
In the middle of this municipal fiscal crisis Providence’s Prince was hiring his new staff and wasn’t shy about writing checks on the city’s future. A record breaking contract after a nationwide search for a School Superintendent. A record breaking contract (heck, the 1st contract ever) for the nation’s “top cop”. We’ve yet to see the details on the entire package, and it already costs the taxpayers in excess of $200,000 p/year. A Chief of Administration who was paid an enormous salary and allowed to buy into city employee’s already weakened pension system. He was quickly given a 37% raise after a mere two years in office. This additional money was “magically” provided by some outside agency - but no conflict of interests we've been told by the Prince. A record breaking salary (again a 1st) for the Fire Chief, which reportedly brings his salary above the Police Chief’s by the end of the terms.
Around this same time, the mayor negotiated a "voluntary" tax program that allowed the city’s many tax-exempt institutions to “voluntarily” pay a very small percentage of the normal property tax rate. Pennies on the dollar. Talk about a drop in the bucket!
Wow – where’s all this money coming from in the middle of a crisis?
As things got progressively worse (I can’t imagine why), the Prince and his allies at the town’s ‘printing press’ point their fingers at the firefighters of the city. Their outrageous salaries, it seems, has pushed the city over the edge. Although these warriors face more health risks than any other members of the city, the mayor wants to cut their health plan and have them pay for it to boot! He also wants them to give up the pension plan that they’ve been paying into for 20+ years (and at a higher rate than any other city employee) and trust him to divvy it up fairly. He says they’ve abused it and it’s not fiscally sound. They feel confused - they've always thought it was in trouble because the city had put off paying its contributions for years.
Well, crap continues to roll downhill and the city firefighters seem to be at the very bottom of the Prince's dung heap.
Providence Fiscal Crisis for Dummies
In keeping with the title of this article, I will not discuss or use any real numbers to support my argument – only theoretical (and very simple) examples.
Step 1:
In the year 2000, presidential candidate George W. Bush proposed a sweeping tax cut if he was elected. Despite the fact that it was pointed out that the wealthiest 1% of the citizens of the USA would be the biggest benefactors of such a plan, Mr. Bush was determined to downsize federal government. In January of 2001 he took office.
He proceeded to push through his tax cut and, indeed, cut many of the federal programs that he saw as being better served by individual states (RI included). This meant much less funding of social programs by the federal government. Millions of people around the US were faced with losing the social programs to which they’d come to depend on. Unfortunately the need for these social programs didn’t disappear when the federal funding did. The responsibility for paying for them was merely shifted to the state (RI). But…most of us were paying lower (oh so slightly) federal income taxes.
Step 2:
The states (including RI) were now scrambling to offset the decline of federal funding. At this same time there were a growing number of citizens in the state(s) who were in desperate need of these social and economic government programs due to these same federal cuts. They now turned to the state (RI) to provide a continuation of these services. At this same time RI (having an income tax that piggy-backed the federal system) was forced to raise it’s percentage of the federal tax in order to maintain the same level of income through resident’s income tax.
The last thing a governor wants to do, particularly a republican governor like Donald Carcieri, is to raise taxes and expand government’s responsibility in social programs. So, as the burden on the state grew he was forced to choose between raising taxes or cutting programs and aid to the cities and towns. Just as the president had done at the national level, Governor Carcieri decided these programs were better run by the local governments as opposed to by the state. After all, he didn’t run for office to expand state government – he ran to ‘cut big government’ (as all good republicans do).
He cut social programs and cut funding to the individual cities and towns and is now desperately attempting to balance his budget without the need to raise taxes. Tens of thousands of people were then facing the possibility of losing the governmental assistance and programs that had helped them get by on a day to day basis. That responsibility now shifted to the cities and towns. But…most of us were paying lower (oh so slightly) federal income taxes, and about the same amount in RI tax.
Step 3:
Around this same time there was a change of leadership in the City of Providence. Prince David had taken over and had swept out the old guard and replaced them with his knights - with a promise of responsible government. Providence, being an urban center, had always had a disproportionate number of the state’s lower income citizens in the most desperate need of the social programs that were cut on a national and state level. Therefore, Providence quickly became one of the biggest losers in a country led by Bush and a state led by Carcieri.
Thousands of people were now dependent on Providence to provide the funding for their needs. Crap runs downhill, and the cities and towns are at the base (bottom) of our governmental ladder. There was no other entity to push this responsibility on. With no other choice, the city began to spend much more than it was earning via its main source of income – property taxes. Inevitably the city had to raise its tax rate to bring in additional revenue. Providence home owners began to foot the bill for the federal tax cuts – the trickle down effect run amuck. A typical Providence home owner was paying about $200 lower federal tax and about the same in RI tax, but they were paying about $500 more in property tax per year – with no end in sight.
Addendums:
In the middle of this municipal fiscal crisis Providence’s Prince was hiring his new staff and wasn’t shy about writing checks on the city’s future. A record breaking contract after a nationwide search for a School Superintendent. A record breaking contract (heck, the 1st contract ever) for the nation’s “top cop”. We’ve yet to see the details on the entire package, and it already costs the taxpayers in excess of $200,000 p/year. A Chief of Administration who was paid an enormous salary and allowed to buy into city employee’s already weakened pension system. He was quickly given a 37% raise after a mere two years in office. This additional money was “magically” provided by some outside agency - but no conflict of interests we've been told by the Prince. A record breaking salary (again a 1st) for the Fire Chief, which reportedly brings his salary above the Police Chief’s by the end of the terms.
Around this same time, the mayor negotiated a "voluntary" tax program that allowed the city’s many tax-exempt institutions to “voluntarily” pay a very small percentage of the normal property tax rate. Pennies on the dollar. Talk about a drop in the bucket!
Wow – where’s all this money coming from in the middle of a crisis?
As things got progressively worse (I can’t imagine why), the Prince and his allies at the town’s ‘printing press’ point their fingers at the firefighters of the city. Their outrageous salaries, it seems, has pushed the city over the edge. Although these warriors face more health risks than any other members of the city, the mayor wants to cut their health plan and have them pay for it to boot! He also wants them to give up the pension plan that they’ve been paying into for 20+ years (and at a higher rate than any other city employee) and trust him to divvy it up fairly. He says they’ve abused it and it’s not fiscally sound. They feel confused - they've always thought it was in trouble because the city had put off paying its contributions for years.
Well, crap continues to roll downhill and the city firefighters seem to be at the very bottom of the Prince's dung heap.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
House Fire
.
Bergen Street House Fire / 19Feb08
The bell hit at 2104 hours, alerting us of a reported building fire at 23 Bergen Street. The three of us on Engine 15 that night knew that we had better be quick in getting out the door on this one or the 14’s (Engine 14) would beat us in to our fire. Bergen Street is right on the border of our respective first-in districts. We stepped into the boots and bunker pants that were neatly placed on the apparatus floor beside the truck just waiting to be put to use. As we pulled the suspenders over our shoulders we stepped into the truck and began donning our fire coats.Brian pushed the ignition button, which brought the diesel engine to life, switched on the emergency lights, and headed out into the cold dark night.
Nothing had to be spoken between us. We all knew just what to do, and we each began our own mental preparations for the job ahead. Brian whipped the truck to a hard left onto Mt. Pleasant Ave. as I jotted down the address on the small notepad mounted on the dash in front of me and then turned on the siren.Kenny was in the back jump seat. As the ‘rear-step man’ it would be his job to immediately grab the hoseline from the rear of the truck and stretch it into position to enter the fire building. With absolutely no time to waste upon arrival at a working fire, he needed to make sure he ‘dressed’ completely on the way – fire coat buttoned, gloves and helmet on, and air pack strapped to his shoulders so that it would release from the frame in the jump seat as he dismounted the truck.
When Brian guided the truck down the hill on Chalkstone Ave. I could see a column of heavy dark smoke in the direction of Bergen Street even against the winedark sky. I picked up the microphone, “Engine 15 to fire Alarm, heavy smoke in the area”. I now knew that we had a working fire and had successfully related this information to the other companies responding to the call. The adrenaline level instantly rose in all of us.
Firefighters have different levels of excitement than the general public. Extreme excitement, and the adrenaline rush that accompanies it, can be put to good use on the fireground. It allows us to enter places and do things that we might not ordinarily be capable of doing in a more relaxed state. The long term physical effects, however, of a constant high level of excitement would take a tremendous toll on a person’s nervous system. Therefore, we quickly learn not to allow ourselves to reach that high level of excitement for the mere ‘report’ of an emergency. Too many times what appeared to be a true emergency to the caller screaming through the phone lines at our dispatchers turns out to be a false alarm or a minor emergency when we arrive at the scene. A report of heavy smoke from a responding company confirms that we are indeed going to face a real job. Now we can allow the adrenaline to flow freely.
We were all preparing ourselves to spring into action immediately upon arrival. People’s lives and property depend on us to do just that. Things can change in an instant, however, and we need to be able to adjust to an ever changing set of dynamics without missing a beat. On a call to an area where two different companies are capable of arriving first, you prepare for the most likely situation but keep a different set of tasks in the back of your mind – just in case.
When we turned onto Bergen Street there was large amount of heavy smoke hanging ominously close to the ground, but no visible flame. There were a number of neighborhood residents gathered in the middle of the street frantically waving at us as we approached, but no one was pointing to the fire. It was very difficult to determine which house was on fire. As we began to slow down near the heaviest smoke, a Providence Police Officer waved to us and pointed toward the back of the house on our right. Before I stepped out of the truck I transmitted a message over the truck radio, “Engine 15 on the scene, heavy smoke from the rear of the building, apparent Code Red, keep you advised.” (When the first-in officer reports “Code Red” he sets in motion a number of events that are not necessary for an auto fire or a non-structure fire, therefore you “don’t call it, ‘til you see it”)
I stepped from the cab, grabbed my air-pac and swung it over my shoulder as I walked to the narrow driveway on the side of the house toward the police officer. He told me that the building that was on fire was actually a house directly behind the one that abutted the street and that everyone was out of the building. When I reached the end of the driveway another building ever-so-slowly came into view through the puffing smoke. It was a two-story building set back about twenty feet from the front dwelling and there was heavy fire showing from the front doorway. As I approached the doorway to determine our best options for knocking this down as quickly as possible I transmitted a message via my portable radio, “Code Red, 2-story, wood-frame, occupied, heavy fire showing first floor, all occupants reported out of the building. Be advised, the fire building is located in the rear of the street building.” As I continued my size-up and awaited Kenny’s arrival with our hoseline, I could see that fire was venting from the windows on the left side and beginning to melt the vinyl siding of a three-story dwelling located about fifteen feet to the left of the fire building. “Engine 15 to Fire Alarm, heavy fire venting and threatening an exposure on Side 2, give me 2 more engines and a ladder”.
By this time (in actuality it had probably been about 30 seconds since I stepped out of the cab of Engine 15) Kenny had arrived with the hoseline and began to flake it out on the ground (to prevent kinks in the line from blocking the flow of the water), position himself, and don his mask. Again there was no need for us to talk, we both just did what we knew had to be done. I checked the hose again for kinks or knots, checked that Kenny was in position and ready, and radioed, “15 – charge our line!” I donned my mask as we waited for the arrival of the water through the 200 feet of hose.
This is always one of the most surreal moments. The quiet of the night seems strange in the midst of such apparent chaos. The sounds are all muted - but distinct. The arriving sirens seem far off, as if they’re running away from you as opposed to getting closer. There’s a slight presence of radio chatter from the fireground radio that seems barely audible over the sucking sounds emanating from the ebb and flow of air through the regulators of our face masks. The hiss of air flowing through the nozzle of the hoseline as it’s being forced out by the flowing water begins to get a little louder as the water nears. Muffled words that can only be likened to that of Darth Vader are exchanged between Kenny and I through our masks as we position ourselves and get ready to attack the fire. Through it all, however, the loudest sound of all – which seems to grow louder and more ominous as the seconds go by – is that of the fire itself. The crackling and popping of the fire as it burns through the wood and releases the pockets of air and moisture long trapped in the timbers seems to take on a life of its own. Glass shattering from the heat and falling to the ground cuts through the trance-like sound of a campfire to add another layer of sound that reminds me of the danger we are facing.
Finally the water rushes through the nozzle with a heavy jerk and begins to cool the fire and darken it down. The effect is almost immediate – where it had just been like daylight in the area we were working, it is now dark and foggy. Visibility reduces to about six inches in about six seconds as the flames begin to die and the smoke gets thicker. I pat Kenny on the shoulder and we enter the front hallway toward the kitchen. He has knocked down the bulk of the fire in the doorway, but I can still make out a bright glow through the haze indicating heavy fire in front of us. As we near the top of the three stairs to the kitchen doorway I catch a glimpse of heavy flames still venting from the left side of the building through a small window just to my left. “Go slow, stay low,” I say to Kenny as he inches forward fighting the heat. I keep right on his tail as we crawl together toward the glow, keeping contact at all times to assure him that I’m right behind him. As he makes his way just over the threshold of the kitchen and begins to attack the flames with his hoseline, the ceiling collapses and forces a rush of super-heated air and fire right into his face. He falls backward, right into my chest. I immediately grab him and try to push our way back a couple of feet. By this time a couple of ladder men are behind me and when they see what’s going on they pull me toward them.
We’ve only been pushed back about a foot or two, but the immediate danger has passed – we regroup. I ask Kenny if he’s okay and we begin to push forward once again. In what seems like only a minute or two (but in actuality closer to 7 or 8) after we fight our way into the kitchen once again, we both run out of air and are forced to retreat. The men from Ladder 3, who have not used as much air to this point, take over our handline as we quickly return to the truck to change air bottles so that we can reclaim our line. An engine man hates to relinquish his line to anyone! When we return and take the line back we continue to fight our way deeper into the building and believe we’re making good progress in knocking the fire down. What we were not aware of, however, was that the fire had taken hold of the second floor and was burning its way through the roof.
Conditions began to worsen very quickly, just as the Chief was transmitting an order to evacuate the building. The airhorns of the trucks on the scene began to blare in unison to signal an evacuation. It always seems to be easier to enter the building than to make a hasty exit. Tonight was no exception. As companies reluctantly began to pull out of the building the smoke seemed to grow hotter and more dense, the debris on the floor seemed to get thicker, and the exits seemed to disappear. As things deteriorated some men were forced to exit via windows to avoid thermal burns. When at last we were all out of the building a roll call of all the companies on the scene was initiated by Fire Alarm. This is standard procedure after an evacuation of an emergency area. After an initial scare that one of our members was still in the building which proved false, the roll call was successfully completed and we began a defensive attack on the remainder of the fire – attacking the fire with large amounts of water applied from the outside of the building.
We eventually returned to an interior attack to fully extinguish the remainder of the fire, but by that time we were drenched and tired, and anxious to get back to a warm fire station. Unfortunately for us, even after the last hoseline is shut down and the fire is declared out, there is still the back-breaking, tedious work of breaking down the hoses and repacking them in the trucks. This is made tougher in the winter by the cold. After being drenched from sweat from the inside and water from the hoses on the outside, it’s impossible to dry off and this just leaves you more susceptible to the cold.
I’m happy to report that there were no injuries to the family of six who were living there at the time, or to any firefighters. The fire was confined to the fire building and not allowed to spread to either of the other two building that were threatened – a couple of sheets of vinyl siding were the only victims outside of the original building. To me, this was a success.
Bergen Street House Fire / 19Feb08
The bell hit at 2104 hours, alerting us of a reported building fire at 23 Bergen Street. The three of us on Engine 15 that night knew that we had better be quick in getting out the door on this one or the 14’s (Engine 14) would beat us in to our fire. Bergen Street is right on the border of our respective first-in districts. We stepped into the boots and bunker pants that were neatly placed on the apparatus floor beside the truck just waiting to be put to use. As we pulled the suspenders over our shoulders we stepped into the truck and began donning our fire coats.Brian pushed the ignition button, which brought the diesel engine to life, switched on the emergency lights, and headed out into the cold dark night.
Nothing had to be spoken between us. We all knew just what to do, and we each began our own mental preparations for the job ahead. Brian whipped the truck to a hard left onto Mt. Pleasant Ave. as I jotted down the address on the small notepad mounted on the dash in front of me and then turned on the siren.Kenny was in the back jump seat. As the ‘rear-step man’ it would be his job to immediately grab the hoseline from the rear of the truck and stretch it into position to enter the fire building. With absolutely no time to waste upon arrival at a working fire, he needed to make sure he ‘dressed’ completely on the way – fire coat buttoned, gloves and helmet on, and air pack strapped to his shoulders so that it would release from the frame in the jump seat as he dismounted the truck.
When Brian guided the truck down the hill on Chalkstone Ave. I could see a column of heavy dark smoke in the direction of Bergen Street even against the winedark sky. I picked up the microphone, “Engine 15 to fire Alarm, heavy smoke in the area”. I now knew that we had a working fire and had successfully related this information to the other companies responding to the call. The adrenaline level instantly rose in all of us.
Firefighters have different levels of excitement than the general public. Extreme excitement, and the adrenaline rush that accompanies it, can be put to good use on the fireground. It allows us to enter places and do things that we might not ordinarily be capable of doing in a more relaxed state. The long term physical effects, however, of a constant high level of excitement would take a tremendous toll on a person’s nervous system. Therefore, we quickly learn not to allow ourselves to reach that high level of excitement for the mere ‘report’ of an emergency. Too many times what appeared to be a true emergency to the caller screaming through the phone lines at our dispatchers turns out to be a false alarm or a minor emergency when we arrive at the scene. A report of heavy smoke from a responding company confirms that we are indeed going to face a real job. Now we can allow the adrenaline to flow freely.
We were all preparing ourselves to spring into action immediately upon arrival. People’s lives and property depend on us to do just that. Things can change in an instant, however, and we need to be able to adjust to an ever changing set of dynamics without missing a beat. On a call to an area where two different companies are capable of arriving first, you prepare for the most likely situation but keep a different set of tasks in the back of your mind – just in case.
When we turned onto Bergen Street there was large amount of heavy smoke hanging ominously close to the ground, but no visible flame. There were a number of neighborhood residents gathered in the middle of the street frantically waving at us as we approached, but no one was pointing to the fire. It was very difficult to determine which house was on fire. As we began to slow down near the heaviest smoke, a Providence Police Officer waved to us and pointed toward the back of the house on our right. Before I stepped out of the truck I transmitted a message over the truck radio, “Engine 15 on the scene, heavy smoke from the rear of the building, apparent Code Red, keep you advised.” (When the first-in officer reports “Code Red” he sets in motion a number of events that are not necessary for an auto fire or a non-structure fire, therefore you “don’t call it, ‘til you see it”)
I stepped from the cab, grabbed my air-pac and swung it over my shoulder as I walked to the narrow driveway on the side of the house toward the police officer. He told me that the building that was on fire was actually a house directly behind the one that abutted the street and that everyone was out of the building. When I reached the end of the driveway another building ever-so-slowly came into view through the puffing smoke. It was a two-story building set back about twenty feet from the front dwelling and there was heavy fire showing from the front doorway. As I approached the doorway to determine our best options for knocking this down as quickly as possible I transmitted a message via my portable radio, “Code Red, 2-story, wood-frame, occupied, heavy fire showing first floor, all occupants reported out of the building. Be advised, the fire building is located in the rear of the street building.” As I continued my size-up and awaited Kenny’s arrival with our hoseline, I could see that fire was venting from the windows on the left side and beginning to melt the vinyl siding of a three-story dwelling located about fifteen feet to the left of the fire building. “Engine 15 to Fire Alarm, heavy fire venting and threatening an exposure on Side 2, give me 2 more engines and a ladder”.
By this time (in actuality it had probably been about 30 seconds since I stepped out of the cab of Engine 15) Kenny had arrived with the hoseline and began to flake it out on the ground (to prevent kinks in the line from blocking the flow of the water), position himself, and don his mask. Again there was no need for us to talk, we both just did what we knew had to be done. I checked the hose again for kinks or knots, checked that Kenny was in position and ready, and radioed, “15 – charge our line!” I donned my mask as we waited for the arrival of the water through the 200 feet of hose.
This is always one of the most surreal moments. The quiet of the night seems strange in the midst of such apparent chaos. The sounds are all muted - but distinct. The arriving sirens seem far off, as if they’re running away from you as opposed to getting closer. There’s a slight presence of radio chatter from the fireground radio that seems barely audible over the sucking sounds emanating from the ebb and flow of air through the regulators of our face masks. The hiss of air flowing through the nozzle of the hoseline as it’s being forced out by the flowing water begins to get a little louder as the water nears. Muffled words that can only be likened to that of Darth Vader are exchanged between Kenny and I through our masks as we position ourselves and get ready to attack the fire. Through it all, however, the loudest sound of all – which seems to grow louder and more ominous as the seconds go by – is that of the fire itself. The crackling and popping of the fire as it burns through the wood and releases the pockets of air and moisture long trapped in the timbers seems to take on a life of its own. Glass shattering from the heat and falling to the ground cuts through the trance-like sound of a campfire to add another layer of sound that reminds me of the danger we are facing.
Finally the water rushes through the nozzle with a heavy jerk and begins to cool the fire and darken it down. The effect is almost immediate – where it had just been like daylight in the area we were working, it is now dark and foggy. Visibility reduces to about six inches in about six seconds as the flames begin to die and the smoke gets thicker. I pat Kenny on the shoulder and we enter the front hallway toward the kitchen. He has knocked down the bulk of the fire in the doorway, but I can still make out a bright glow through the haze indicating heavy fire in front of us. As we near the top of the three stairs to the kitchen doorway I catch a glimpse of heavy flames still venting from the left side of the building through a small window just to my left. “Go slow, stay low,” I say to Kenny as he inches forward fighting the heat. I keep right on his tail as we crawl together toward the glow, keeping contact at all times to assure him that I’m right behind him. As he makes his way just over the threshold of the kitchen and begins to attack the flames with his hoseline, the ceiling collapses and forces a rush of super-heated air and fire right into his face. He falls backward, right into my chest. I immediately grab him and try to push our way back a couple of feet. By this time a couple of ladder men are behind me and when they see what’s going on they pull me toward them.
We’ve only been pushed back about a foot or two, but the immediate danger has passed – we regroup. I ask Kenny if he’s okay and we begin to push forward once again. In what seems like only a minute or two (but in actuality closer to 7 or 8) after we fight our way into the kitchen once again, we both run out of air and are forced to retreat. The men from Ladder 3, who have not used as much air to this point, take over our handline as we quickly return to the truck to change air bottles so that we can reclaim our line. An engine man hates to relinquish his line to anyone! When we return and take the line back we continue to fight our way deeper into the building and believe we’re making good progress in knocking the fire down. What we were not aware of, however, was that the fire had taken hold of the second floor and was burning its way through the roof.
Conditions began to worsen very quickly, just as the Chief was transmitting an order to evacuate the building. The airhorns of the trucks on the scene began to blare in unison to signal an evacuation. It always seems to be easier to enter the building than to make a hasty exit. Tonight was no exception. As companies reluctantly began to pull out of the building the smoke seemed to grow hotter and more dense, the debris on the floor seemed to get thicker, and the exits seemed to disappear. As things deteriorated some men were forced to exit via windows to avoid thermal burns. When at last we were all out of the building a roll call of all the companies on the scene was initiated by Fire Alarm. This is standard procedure after an evacuation of an emergency area. After an initial scare that one of our members was still in the building which proved false, the roll call was successfully completed and we began a defensive attack on the remainder of the fire – attacking the fire with large amounts of water applied from the outside of the building.
We eventually returned to an interior attack to fully extinguish the remainder of the fire, but by that time we were drenched and tired, and anxious to get back to a warm fire station. Unfortunately for us, even after the last hoseline is shut down and the fire is declared out, there is still the back-breaking, tedious work of breaking down the hoses and repacking them in the trucks. This is made tougher in the winter by the cold. After being drenched from sweat from the inside and water from the hoses on the outside, it’s impossible to dry off and this just leaves you more susceptible to the cold.
I’m happy to report that there were no injuries to the family of six who were living there at the time, or to any firefighters. The fire was confined to the fire building and not allowed to spread to either of the other two building that were threatened – a couple of sheets of vinyl siding were the only victims outside of the original building. To me, this was a success.
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