Trivia Questions (Answers @ end)
- Who said, “Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice.”?
- In what movie (and who said it) did we hear, “Do you hear that, Mr. Anderson? It is the sound of inevitability.”?
- In what song (and who sang it) did we hear the following?
Life is very short, and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting, my friend
I have always thought that it’s a crime
So, I will ask you once again
Our 24-hour shift began like most others. Muster at the station at 0730, say adios to the “B” shift firefighters, and take over duties at the City of Gainesville Fire Station #4. This was a day, just like any other day, in the fall of 1979. The Florida Gators had just lost their first game of the season… on their way to a 0-10-1 losing season. Ouch!
We go through our morning rituals: check the fire truck over and make sure all my firefighting gear is nearby. Boots & pants (bunched around the boots to quickly jump into and pull up), gloves tucked in my coat pocket, my 6’ coiled rope in the other pocket, and my helmet—all hanging on the back of the fire engine. I’m good and ready to go in case of an emergency.
It’s a Tuesday—our day for lawn maintenance. Station 4 was known for having one of the best-kept, city-owned landscaped properties, thanks primarily to Captain “Pop” Booth, Station 4 chief. Even though he worked “B” shift, we all enjoyed the same pride of keeping the grounds up to his standards.
The four of us agree on vittles for lunch and dinner, then climb onto the fire truck and drive a half-mile to Publix to purchase the day’s groceries. Gordon, Engine #4 driver for “C” shift, is cooking today. I’m still new at Station 4 and have yet to “make my mark” in the kitchen. I don’t mind—Gordon is an excellent cook. Herb-baked chicken, seasoned rice, green beans, and Gordon’s biscuits. I won’t go hungry today.
When I left the U.S. Navy in July 1977, after a brief 4-year “career,” I started back to school at Santa Fe Community College. I’m on my way to becoming an Electronics Engineer, though I’ve still got a couple of years left.
Even though I’ve got the GI Bill, I needed a full-time job to help pay for college & living expenses. Being a paid city firefighter ($9,600 a year), working one day on and two days off, is great and allows me to attend school full-time. I hope to graduate with an AS degree from Santa Fe next year and transfer to the University of Florida. My GPA is currently 3.6. I like my classes.
I’ve been a firefighter with the city for two years and worked at all seven city fire stations, including the Gainesville Airport. It wasn’t the same as NAS Agana, Guam or USS Kitty Hawk, but I still loved working out there in the boonies, watching aircraft take off and land. The best thing? We didn’t have to sit in the truck for two 4-hour watches on the “Alert Spot” like in Guam.
But I digress…
After lunch, we begin our afternoon training, but the station alarm goes off. We head to the truck. I’m riding the tail gate, Kenny is the #1 hose man, riding just behind the cab, Gordon is driving, and Lt Ray is in charge. The address comes across as we mount the fire engine… 2231, about four miles away.
That address…. it sounds… familiar.
We are out of the station heading toward the house fire, lights flashing and siren blaring. My heart is racing—it always does when we go into the unknown.
About a minute out, I realize that the address is Becky’s new house; I had just helped her move in two weeks earlier. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs to Kenny, “That’s Becky’s house! That’s Becky’s house!” Becky and I had been dating for a year and she’d been to the fire house several times and knew the crew.
Crap, we can’t go fast enough. Kenny knocks on the back window and lets Lt Ray know what I just yelled to him. I can see Lt Ray tell Gordon, who glances in the rear-view mirror. I feel the diesel engine move a little faster, but it’s a diesel… we still can’t get there fast enough.
This is the woman I’m going to marry in the not too distant future.
As we get closer, I can smell the fire before I see any smoke—it’s an innate ability we firefighters have. Strange smell, though; a mixture of wood & trash and something else… gasoline? What the?
We make a turn left onto the street and Gordon stops to let me jump off. One of my jobs on the tail gate is to connect a 2½” hose to the fire hydrant to feed water to the truck. There’s one at the entrance to the street.
I grab the hose off the back of the truck, wrap it around the hydrant and yell to Gordon, “Go!” He speeds down the road, hose feeding off the truck, carefully maneuvering between the cars parked on either side. It looks like he’s stopping a little short of Becky’s house, but I can’t tell… it’s too far away. Besides, I’m busy hooking up the hose.
I uncap the hydrant, attach the hose, and straighten it out, waiting for Gordon’s signal. “Thumbs up”—he’s connected the other end of the hose to the truck and is ready. I open the hydrant and the hose quickly fills with water, expanding out even more. I learned a long time ago—the hard way—to not stand over the hose when opening the valve.
With the water hydrant secure, I run down the road—it’s only about a hundred yards, but it seems like it takes forever, especially running in my fireman’s boots. When I get to the fire truck, it’s stopped at 2231. Wait… Becky lives two houses down at 2121. Whew, a mixture of adrenaline and relief.
I say a quick word of thanks—a guilty thanks, that is.
I quickly assess the situation—black smoke pours out of the top of the closed garage door; the front door is open, but no smoke coming out. My gut instinct tells me the fire is contained in the garage.
I see Becky on the front lawn, near the front door, kneeling beside and attending to a badly burned man lying on the ground. He’s still alive and breathing, but shaking uncontrollably from shock. He’s got third-degree burns on his arms and legs. Next to her is her roommate, Debbie.
They are both RNs, work at UF Shands hospital, and are well-trained and cool under pressure. I don’t have time for pleasantries, but Becky instantly recognizes me. We realize we are in the same dire emergency, but attacking it from different angles. Neither of us smile, but we’re both glad we’re there—we’ve got our game face on.
Kenny’s already got the 1½” hose, unfurled and with Lt Ray’s help, has it straightened out as I arrive. All three of us have donned our oxygen tanks and masks, ready for anything. I know from experience, my air tank will last about 15 minutes with labored breathing.
“You ready?” Kenny asks me and Lt Ray. “Let’s do it!” I yell back. I’ve got a lot of confidence in Kenny; he’s a seasoned and a smart firefighter. The front door is already ajar–we don’t have to break it down. I hear Lt Ray behind us, “The fire’s in the garage.”
Kenny leads the way and as we cautiously move through the living room. The smoke is so thick, neither of us can see more than a few feet in front of us. Kenny is low and makes his way into the kitchen and looks back—I’m two feet behind him, also staying low.
“When I open the door to the garage, we’ll probably have a flash over. Be ready.” I nod my head, acknowledging the anticipated danger. I was an aircraft firefighter for four years in the Navy, both on land and aboard an aircraft carrier. I’ve also fought several fires in my short two years at the fire department. I know what I’m doing… or so I thought.
Kenny is squatting down, as am I. We’re both ready. Lt Ray isn’t far behind, but he’s letting us knock the fire down before he gets too far in. Kenny opens the door and as promised, hot orange flames shoot out above our heads, following the route of the ceiling. It’s not too bad, but if I was standing at my full 6’4” frame, I’d need immediate medical attention.
Kenny’s got the nozzle open wide, full spray to shield us from the fire’s blast furnace. I can feel it on my face, but I tilt my head down a bit so my helmet brim will help reflect the heat. I can still see, but barely. Kenny’s sweeping the hose back and forth, inching his way into the garage. This fire’s not too bad. We should have it out in a matter of minutes.
The outside garage door is still down, but there’s another fire crew outside, trying to pry it open to let out the smoke. We all work well together. I think this crew is from Station #5, off 13th Street, close to the Gainesville Mall. They’re our backup on this scene.
I hear a faint bark. What’s that sound? “Arf-Arf.” Holy crap, there’s a dog in here. I immediately jump up, ready to spring forward to find and rescue him. I’m a dog guy; I’ve had dogs my entire life and they are special to me. He’s rustling around somewhere, but I just can’t see him. I can sense the fear in his bark. I just hope he’s not been burnt.
I start to move away from Kenny, but he grabs me and with one strong yank, I’m back on my knees. “There’s a dog in here,” I say. “There’s a gas can over to the left, stay behind me.”
Within a matter of seconds, the gas can erupts, spewing flames everywhere. We both lean back, avoiding the blast, and Kenny still attacks the fire. The wide spray on the nozzle still shields us from most of the heat.
I can still hear the poor dog. I’m afraid he won’t make it, but I’m thankful for Kenny. He may have just saved my life. There’s no telling where I’d be today had I gone forward to rescue the dog and that 5-gallon gas can blew up in my face.
We’re safe now. It only takes us a few more minutes to put the rest of the fire out.
I can’t help but think of the poor man and his poor dog. I don’t know if either of them will make it.
Within a few more minutes, the other fire crew pries the garage door open, and smoke pours out, clearing the space.
The ambulance is outside, taking the man away on a stretcher. He’s heading for Shands’ Burn Unit, which was (and still is) one of the best in the country. I pray he’ll be okay.
One of the neighbors had wrapped the puppy in a moist towel and taken it to a nearby veterinarian. Someone said that when the crew from Station 5 was working to pry open the garage door, the little puppy scurried out and collapsed on the driveway.
Lt Ray tells us that apparently the man who owns the house was working on his car in the garage with the garage door down (why, I have no idea). Something sparked, and while he tried to put out the fire, it got bigger and he got burnt… badly. He managed to crawl out the front door and a neighbor, seeing the flames and hearing his cries for help, dialed 911.
Becky and Debbie live two houses down and heard the commotion. Becky normally works as an ICU nurse at UF Shands—the late shift. For some reason, that night she “floated” to another unit… the Burn Unit… and assigned to the same burn victim whom she’d attended to earlier.
Was this fate or a coincidence?
After the fire is out and the scene secured—the man lived alone with his dog—we wrap up the fire hoses and head back to the station. That was an “interesting” day, in many ways. From the time we got the call, arrived on scene, put the fire out, secured the house, and got back to the station was probably less than two hours.
It was a house fire, and while they’re all different, many are the same. But this is one I’ll Never Forget!
As the years have passed, I still wonder a lot of “what ifs?” about that day. I think we all tend to do that now and then. Sometimes it’s healthy, sometimes it’s not.
But I’m thankful that Kenny kept me from rushing into a potential fire trap. I’m thankful that the puppy was okay—he reunited with his owner when he came home from the hospital. I’m thankful that Becky & Debbie were there to help initially treat the burn victim; their quick action probably saved his life. I’m thankful the man survived with only exterior burns and was out of the hospital within a few weeks.
Most of all, I’m thankful that Becky is still part of my “journey.” We married about a year and a half after that fire. We’re still happily married after almost 40 years.
Both of us are still reactive to emergencies—albeit, maybe not as quickly as before. But when we come across an accident or a fire (which is thankfully rare), we both jump to see what we can do to help. I think that’s the nature of first responders and medical professionals—always and forever.
God bless our firefighters and our nurses.
Stay safe my friends,
Until we meet again,
Andy
Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books. His newest novel, NEVER FORGET, is the story of A Vietnam Veteran’s Journey for Redemption & Forgiveness. NEVER FORGET is FREE (eBook, PDF) for all veterans. Download your FREE copy HERE.
Previous posts mentioned in this blog:
Answers
- William Jennings Bryan.
- The Matrix (1999), Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving).
- We Can Work it Out (1966), The Beatles; written by John Lennon, Paul McCartney.