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Someone much smarter than me once said, “The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.” That phrase from Steven Covey kinda put things in perspective for me. Over the years, I’ve always tried to keep that simple thought in mind.
I’m a Navy veteran and like many of my veteran friends, including Army, Marine, Air Force, and Coast Guard, I often think back on those times—for me, three years, eleven months, and 29 days (but who’s counting). I actually wrote a book with that title…
My Navy rating was Aviation Boatswain’s Mate-Handler; I spent most of my short 4-year Navy career (1973-77) as an Aircraft Crash firefighter, first at NAS Agana, Guam, then on the flight deck of USS Kitty Hawk, CV-63. Great times and great memories. And… several incidents that challenged me personally. It was the first of several “journeys.”
After the Navy, I joined the City of Gainesville, Florida fire department; we worked 24 hours on and 48 hours off, slightly different from our 24 on/24 off in Guam.
All in all, I spent about six and a half years as a firefighter. So yes, I feel I can answer today’s blog question.
Navy v. Civilian Firefighting
Naturally there are many differences between a firefighter on a ship at sea and a civilian city firefighter.
Every sailor on board a ship has, at one time or another, attended a firefighting school, whether it was during boot camp, part of their “A” School training, or afterward during training drills. And yes, there are plenty of drills—around the clock. You just never know when; you only know there will be.
When you’re at sea… there’s nowhere to go… you ARE the fire department.
It’s much different when you’re a city firefighter. While you may stay/sleep at the fire house, when the alarm sounds, you jump into your boots, put on your coat, gloves, and helmet, and you jump onto the truck. But you usually have a little time to prepare—mentally—for what you’re heading into.
A Normal Day
As a civilian firefighter, you usually go to work or duty not knowing what the day will bring. Will we have a fire? Will it be a residential fire, a commercial fire, or a car crash? Or, will it be a nice, quiet day spent training and learning new techniques? Perhaps it’s our time to wash and wax the truck. That was always fun.
This can, of course, be said of almost any profession. But I’ll beg to argue it’s different for first responders. I’m sure my ER nurse friends, EMTs & Paramedics will jump in and agree on this one. Police & Sheriff? I assume not much different, but theirs is, IMHO, a more difficult task.
In a Word
I could probably dwell on a plethora of descriptions, emotions, and fears, but in my mind, I can sum up fighting a fire in one word: “instinct.”
Firefighters, like many other front-line professionals, spend many hours in training. Not only in initial firefighting school, but that training never ends, and for good reason.
For me, it all started in the Navy. And, like many of my Navy veteran friends, while I left the Navy years ago (July 10, 1977), the Navy never left me.
It’s What We Do
Firefighters “live” to fight fires. It’s what we trained for, and what we get paid to do.
Back in 1977, when I first joined the City of Gainesville, Florida Fire Department, my annual salary was a whopping $9,600. A quick glance on several Internet salary websites finds the current starting salary for a firefighter in Gainesville now is around $35,000. But in 1977, the cost of a gallon of milk was about $1.50, the cost of ground beef, around $.99/pound, and the cost of gas, about $.63/gallon. I rented a brand-spanking new 1-bedroom studio apartment for $350.
Prices and salaries have changed a bit since the 70s. But I digress…
Back in my day, most firefighters (all were men when I first joined, but the City began to hire women firefighters before I left 2½ years later), had another job or two; several had their own businesses.
Me? I went back to school full time. Working 24 hours on & 48 off allowed me to continue my education, at least until I graduated from the local community college. After that, I transferred to the University of Florida to become an electronics engineer. My grades dropped significantly, so I decided to quit the fire department and focus on school full-time.
And… I married Becky, my soulmate for life (going on 41 years together). But I digress…
When the Alarm Goes Off
Another thing I’ve learned over the years: fires don’t happen at your convenience. They occur at all times of the day and night. And as a firefighter, it’s one of those love/hate thangs… you love it when you’re fighting a fire, but you hate the damage caused by the fire, especially when there’s a loss of someone’s home or worse, the loss of a life.
In 1977, Florida had already implanted the “911” emergency system, so people would call a central communications center to report a fire. Once the emergency responder determined the location, s/he would then ring the alarm at the appropriate fire station—the one closest to the call.
Back then, when we (the fire crew) got onto the truck to roll, we didn’t know where or what type of fire. The communications center operator would radio that info to the fire lieutenant or captain and the engine driver. They’d then relay the message to us on the back of the truck. Nowadays, the communications center relays the information over a PA system in the firehouse, so everyone can hear it.
If your firehouse had one engine, any alarm meant everyone would roll. Boots & pants (rolled down around the boots) were next to the fire truck during the day (next to your bunk at night, or next to the shower). That way, you’d kick off your shoes, step into your boots, and pull up your trousers—I also wore suspenders.
For me, I rode the tailgate of the truck, holding on to either a bar on the side or one across the top, where the hoses were located.
If you’re at a station with multiple engines, a ladder truck and/or a snorkel truck, you’d wait until it was announced which trucks would roll. Not every truck in a multi-engine firehouse rolls on every fire. But you’re at the ready, always at the ready.
Confession Time…
Of course, there was that one time at night… when the alarm when off while I was taking a shower… in the middle of winter… and I jumped into my boots a little later than the others, since I tried to towel myself dry. Fortunately, when the driver took off, I had my boots on, my pants pulled up & buckled, but I had yet to buckle my jacket. I’d wrapped my towel around my neck—still trying to dry off. I had to try to buckle my jacket while flying down the road… with a (how shall I say this) couple of nice-looking young college women driving behind the truck. I swear they were gawking at this half-naked firefighter. All I could do was smile and give that “Yeah, I’m as surprised as you are” look.
But I digress…
I guess that’s not as bad as the time when we got a call to the Melody Club, one of the local gay clubs in the 70s. While the call had originated from there, someone came out and reported a car upside down in a ditch about a quarter mile away up the road. As the fire engine pulled out of the parking lot, I dared glance back at a bunch of… (how shall I say this) nicely dressed young men… blowing kisses and making cat calls.
I never lived that one down. But I digress…
Teamwork
One thing I picked up in the Navy, which not only carried on to my city firefighting days, but throughout my career(s) / journey(s), is that the key to most successes is teamwork. I can’t tell you how many times I’d faced fires (either in the Navy or as a City Firefighter) and there was always—ALWAYS—someone who had my back. Whether they were helping me handle the hose or helping guide me through a smoke-filled house, not being able to see my hand in front of my face.
Yeah… if there’s one thing I miss, it’s the Teamwork and the comradery.
It’s only logical that the bigger the fire, the more firefighters you’ll need, but many times (at least back then), the first truck to roll wouldn’t know how big the fire was until they reached the scene. These days, I believe different buildings/businesses already have that protocol in place.
Fire
One night we received a call of a house structure on fire out in the county, about five miles away from our station. We’d finished dinner and most were either reading or watching TV when the call came in. We suited up, like we always did, jumped onto the truck (again, I rode the tail), and roared out, lights flashing and siren blaring—music to our ears. The station was located in downtown Gainesville, and traffic could be a problem, even at night.
Firefighters can usually smell a fire before they see it. That hasn’t changed for me, even today. While my eyesight and my hearing may have aged (I call it “mileage”), the smell of smoke still catches my curiosity.
When we turned off the main road, we smelled it. That’s when the adrenaline started pumping, at least for me. Turning down another neighborhood road, we spotted the house, flames bursting through the roof. The neighbors were outside watching, and when Lieutenant Don asked, they said no one was at home. (Clue #1).
The lead firefighter, Larry, had already donned his air tank since he rode up front, just behind the cab. Larry was a big guy, kind of stocky, but strong as a bull, with years of experience; his part-time job was raising cattle.
I grabbed my air tank and strapped it on after the truck stopped on the road about thirty feet away from the house. Larry already had the 1½” hose and, with Lt. Don’s help, laid it out toward the house.
I soon joined him, followed by Lt. Don; Larue was the driver/operator and focused on getting us enough water pressure to attack the fire.
Despite what some may think, the driver does more than drive the truck. He’s also the firetruck operator and has to calculate the amount of water pressure needed for the fire. Different size hoses, different lengths, and multiple lines—all add up to some quick in-the-head calculations.
Larue was good; this wasn’t his first fire.
Attack
The flames are hot, but you don’t feel them–you’re wearing your lined jacket. You’re sweating up a storm, but you don’t notice it–your focus is on the fire. You’re wearing an air tank and while you try to control your breathing, you know you’ve got about 15 minutes before the tank runs empty.
But the smoke? The smoke is thick and that’s what bothered me the most. Why? Simple… you can’t see anything and that’s where your experience and your instinct comes in.
We also knew another crew was on the way, soon to arrive—our “backup,” so to speak. If needed, they’d string another hose and attack the house fire from another side. Otherwise, they may climb onto the roof to cut a hole to let the smoke out.
Once we got through the front door (this one we had to kick in), Larry attacked the fire, both of us crouching down. Larry yelled back to Lt. Don, “We’ve got two different fires.” (Clue #2).
Larry attacked the bigger fire first, knocking it down in a matter of seconds. I was right behind him—the smoke was thick, but you could see flames on the other side of the house. Someone broke out a window on that side, and the smoke billowed out, allowing us to more clearly see the fire. Larry had knocked down both fires in less than two minutes. He was good.
Our job wasn’t over. From my experience, fires don’t just “go away,” after you put them out. There are often flare-ups, back drafts, flame overs, and worse—building collapse. You just have to be ready and aware.
Eerie Sounds
I thought I heard something… possibly a noise from the first room fire. I told Larry I was going to check it out, and inching my way, low to the ground, toward the sound—it was still hard to see, but the smoke was slowly clearing. I know Larry had my back, ready with the hose if the fire flared back up.
I made my way through the door, hands out in front, just in case—it was a bedroom. What little I could make out, there was a small bed in front of me and there was a crib to my left. A lump formed in my throat. The sound was coming from the area of the crib, almost like a whimper or a consistently low-volume yelp. This is one of those moments where no amount of training can prepare you; your instinct takes over.
Needless to say, I was relieved when I stood up and felt around the crib only to find a small doll that was making the noise; it was charred, but apparently had one of those sound boxes that must have reacted from the heat of the fire. I remember holding it in my hands and saying a quick, “Thank you,” and glad that’s all it was.
I actually laughed out loud, but at the time I know it was a release of emotions.
Relief and Wrapping Up
The fire was out; the second crew had attacked from another part of the house… a different fire (Clue #3).
We didn’t spend a lot of time at the scene after the fire was out—that was the job of the state fire marshal. We rolled up the hoses, cleaned ourselves up (smoke does wonders for your complexion, your hair, and your face), climbed back onto the truck and headed back to the station.
We later learned the person(s) who owned the home purposefully set it on fire, trying to collect the insurance. Most house fires start in a single location: the stove/oven with food that was left on the burner too long; a candle too close to fabric; electrical short in an outlet… The fire marshal determined this fire started in three different locations. That wasn’t the first time I’d run into arson, nor would it be the last.
Some things I just can’t understand, even today.
But then again, I count my many blessings… every day.
Until we meet again,
Andy
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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.