Dump the House: The Shoes

It’s a colorful expression for getting all the apparatus out the door.  It’s more and more difficult these days of limited manpower, both volunteer and career. 

Montgomery County Fire & Rescue Station 15--Burtonsville
 

What I like best about this picture, though, is the shoes. The empty leather shows the tenuous nature of the work.  It’s late evening, after ten.  One minute, everything is calm.  There is laughter someplace—inevitably in a fire house.  The television is on with a small audience.  Others have turned in for the night.  The bays are filled with the engine, ladder truck, and heavy rescue squad.  A minute later, all that remains is…..the shoes.

Thanksgiving for Firefighters...

Every holiday has a standard set of calls, and Thanksgiving is no exception.  Mornings are for smoked turkey; not the good kind, though.  Ovens that haven’t been cleaned in fifteen years or leaving the plastic bag with the gizzard and liver in the bird can impart a pungent  flavor as well as bringing out the smoke ejector.  This typical run is quickly being overtaken by the more exciting propane fired turkey fryer setting the deck or siding on fire. 

Late afternoons bring the EMS runs for the folks sent home from the hospital for the holiday that probably shouldn’t have been.  As the day darkens and blood alcohol levels increase, domestics or “I wanted the #($* leg” and stranger incidents take over. 

One I still remember was a head-on collision on a quiet tree lined residential neighborhood street; the last place you would expect a wreck like that.  It turned out to be two stubborn liquored up kids playing chicken; nobody gave, and they both ended up losing. 

Makes me look forward to amateur night for drinkers: New Year’s Eve

From the Archives: Ryman's Rules-A Chief's Philosophy

With "election" season fast approaching at many volunteer fire departments, I thought a revisit might be timely.

There are rules, and then there are rules. Here are some I've tried, not always successfully, to follow.

Ryman’s Rules: A Volunteer Chief’s Philosophy


1. You are responsible. You are responsible 365 days a year, 7 days a week, 24 hours a day. If you are there or 3,000 miles away. You are responsible. You can delegate authority, but not responsibility.

2. The chief is always right. Invite input, debate, etc. from the officers. However, once the decision is made, that’s it. In public, the officers must show solidarity.

3. The officers are always right. If an officer makes a decision you disagree with, in public or with the other firefighters, that decision was right. You talk about what you would have done differently in private.

4. Delegate, delegate, and delegate. You can’t be involved in every activity, nor should you be. Give the junior officers responsibilities and hold them accountable. If they follow through, give them more and more. If they don’t, let them know about it and don’t give them any additional work.

5. Try to develop a command presence. Your presence at an emergency should send a message to the firefighters that everything is going to be okay. Regardless of how badly something is going, try to maintain a calm exterior. Motivate your people. This is done differently for each individual. If you give an order or tell them to get into a building, they should totally believe that you believe they can do it. Never tell a firefighter to do something you wouldn’t or couldn’t do yourself. Chiefs give orders on incomplete information regularly. Even if you have doubts about it, give the order as if you are 100% confident about it. Your confidence is a force multiplier.

6. Let them have fun. Nobody is getting paid for this. The younger guys have to enjoy themselves. At the same time, know when to pull in the reins, and when you do, jerk them hard. They still have to be professionals. You can’t be their buddy anymore. You are the man, and they have to recognize it as such.

7. Pace of change. Keep them sullen but not mutinous. The pace of change has to be fast enough that the young guys see progress, but not so fast that the dinosaurs get riled up. As long as both groups are slightly unhappy, you’re doing fine.

8. Don’t be afraid to piss somebody off. If you’re not pissing somebody off once in a while, you’re not doing your job.

9. Encourage training certifications. Push the guys to get their Firefighter 1 and other certificates. The time is fast coming when what you are able to do, and what positions you can hold in a fire department virtually anywhere will be determined by these certificates. At the same time, work to keep things in perspective. Firefighter 1 or 2 does not equal “super firefighter”.

10. Develop junior officers. The greatest legacy a chief can have is by the officers he leaves behind.

Where Oh Where Should My Red Light Be...

Warning lights in the 1960s weren’t the high efficiency LED’s or strobes we see today.  A single bulb “Vitalite” was the norm.  Back then, West Corners had a whopping two traffic lights, both of which were relatively new.  Heavy traffic for emergency responders was not a major problem. 

Mom was not a fan of lights on the roof of cars.  She felt they detracted from the looks.  Further, she didn’t even like them on the front dash, arguing they obstructed her vision. 

None of this was much of an issue when Dad was a firefighter, lieutenant, or captain.  We lived less than a mile from the station; one stop sign and two turns away.  When he made Assistant Chief and had to start responding to the scene, things changed. 

A mobile radio—with tubes—was installed in the car.  A miniature manual siren was bolted under the hood.  Neither of these was a problem; it was the red light that was in dispute.   Locating it on the roof was out of the question and her objections regarding the front dash were continued.  The l ight ended up on the rear deck in the back window of the old Dodge. 

This location was one step above useless.  When parked at a scene, it could be useful, but did little to expedite actually getting there. 

All this changed one fortuitous day when Mom and I happened to be in the car with Dad when a fire call was received.  Dad called out as responding and activated the light on the rear deck and the dinky siren, and attempted to weave his way through what passed as traffic in our little town.   In the front seat, Mom was astounded at the difficulty he experienced. 

“Why won’t these people pull over?” She asked, incredulous over this lack of cooperation, her hands braced o the dash board against the bobbing and weaving of the car.

“Because nobody can see the damn light,” Dad said.  Mom knew better than to continue the conversation while we were enroute to the call.  Meanwhile, I was having a blast in the back seat; seeing the flashes of red bounce in and out of the car and looking for smoke in the sky in front of us. 

Mom and I watched from the car while the incident, nothing serious if memory serves, was handled.  When the fire apparatus was repacked and returning to the station, Dad got back in the car.  Mom had apparently been giving some thought to the ride we took to the scene and her previous position on the location of the red light in the car.  Before Dad had barely settled in to start the ignition, she revealed her decision.

“Rich, put the damn light wherever you want it.” 

Dad didn’t say anything, but before the day was out, the center of the roof was graced with the old single bulb red light. 

Inside

The engine company pulls up in front of the single story house, the siren winding down.  Grey black smoke oozes from previously unknown cracks and windows, doors, and the building eaves.  The firefighter in the rear dismounts and reaches for the nozzle and hose stacked in the horizontal bed or cross lay and pulls it onto his shoulder.  The officer, axe and halligan bar, the “irons” in his hand, pulls the hose from the second stack as the firefighter advances toward the front door.  The driver comes around the engine and relieves the officer at this so he can follow the firefighter. 

At the front door, the officer wrenches open the screen, disabling it so it won’t close on them while the firefighter flakes out the remaining hose from his shoulder to ensure smooth entry to the building without kinks or catches.  Dropping the nozzle, he takes the axe from the officer who jams the pry end of the halligan into the wood frame by the lock in the door.  With one good whack, the door pops open and smoke pours from around it.

Pulling the door shut again, the officer and firefighter drop to their knees and drop their helmets to the ground, putting on breathing apparatus face pieces and protective hoods in a well-practiced motion.  Hood, helmet, and gloves in place, the firefighter picks up the nozzle, the hose now hard with water, and pushes the fractured front door open again.  With a well-trained crew, the process takes place without the exchange of a word; poetry in motion.

The firefighter and officer enter the blackness of the house, their eyes widening to the physical limits, attempting to see the fire.  Their senses go into overdrive, adrenaline having a romp through their bodies.  Both listen for the crackling of flames and feeling heat through their protective clothing, trying to discern the direction from which it emanates.  Windows shatter as fellow arriving firefighters begin to ventilate the building, hoping to allow heat and smoke to escape; making conditions better for the attack crew—and any victims who might remain. 

A few feet further in, the nozzleman spies a glow in front of him through the viscous smoke; just a fleeting glance, but it gives him a direction to head.

“It’s straight ahead,” he yells, his voice muffled by the face piece along with the hissing of the inhalation and exhalation from his and the officer’s mask.  Their conversations are now short, but more frequent, punctuated by expletives.  They drag and pull the hose another yard or so to the kitchen doorway where the fire is now more visible, starting to roll over their heads into the living room.  This is not the made for television fire with the perfect visibility of gas jets (sorry Chicago Fire).  Here the flames remain muted by the smoke, the heat pushing the attack team into the floor. 

The firefighter opens the nozzle, directing the fist thick straight stream of water at the ceiling, whipping it in circles.  The water makes a staccato thumping bass drum against the plaster, but without rhythm. .  The firefighter and officer push into the room and the angle of the hose stream drops as the nozzleman hits flames at cabinet level throughout the room.  Visibility, if anything, is worse as the water converts the fire to steam and the heat and smoke and ceiling level drop, the plume inverted by the water application.  Other firefighters spread into the house, searching for victims or the spread of the fire beyond the kitchen. 

The bulk of the fire now out in the kitchen, another firefighter with a pike pole, a long stick with a hook at the end, pushes past the nozzleman and thrusts the pike into the ceiling.  Pulling down the plaster, the space above, and any remaining fire, is visible for the nozzleman to hit with his stream.  The smoke and heat begin to lift, exiting through the broken kitchen windows, leaving a smother wet jungle in the room.  A few more minutes of work and it becomes clear the bulk of the fire is out. 

The firefighter and officer are relieved by others and head outside for a break.  Kneeling again on the front lawn, they remove their helmets and face pieces and open their bunker coats.  In the cool fall air, steam rises from their uncovered heads and bodies, condensing from the sweat. 

They smile and converse about this easy fire as the adrenaline surging through their systems begins to recede.  A satisfaction is left having completed what they regularly trained for, going against the beast or the “Red Devil” as it is sometimes described.  It’s an untenable environment after just a few minutes without the right equipment and one that few want to visit much less work in.  That increases the satisfaction; doing something only a small percentage of people can do, going “inside.” 

 

The Demise of the "Hearse" Ambulance and Other Good Things

Anyone who ever watched Emergency when originally on network television or later in syndication understands how far EMS, among other things, has come in the fire service.  With few exceptions, medical responses have long ago taken the lead over fire calls.  Some contend the name fire department is no longer accurate.  While I understand these arguments, I’m not prepared to go that far—yet. However, if you’re a firefighter today, particularly a young one, you better learn to “like” EMS, or consider another profession, because it isn’t going away. 

The development of ALS while the most prominent and recognized improvement is far from the only change.  Ambulance services run by funeral directors with a red light tossed onto the roof of a hearse have, thankfully, gone the way of the horses.    Overall availability has improved as well. 

How much?  A lot.  When I was six or seven years old, some buddies and I were playing in the woods, jumping in piles of leaves and generally doing the things young boys did back then when no one had to be worried about us being kidnapped if we went ten minutes from the house.  One boy jumped into a pile over a bank and hit something hidden beneath the leaves, breaking his femur.  His screams of pain frightened the living hell out of the rest of us.  There was no thought of moving him, not because we knew not to, but because of fear.  Practically as one, we all started running for our respective homes for one thing; to get our mothers—it was the 60s, they were home. 

The group of mothers followed us back, and mine, being a nurse, promptly recognized the fracture for what it was.  An ambulance was called, but it wasn’t quite as simple as today.  The first due fire department where Dad was a member had no ambulance or any medical capabilities at all.  No help there.  The neighboring department had an ambulance, but they only responded outside of their first due area on nights and weekends.  Monday through Friday, eight to four, they didn’t leave the district.  In the next village over, the police department ran the ambulance.  They didn’t leave their town at all, regardless of time or day.  The only unit available was operated by the county Sheriff’s department.  The road patrol deputy had to respond to get the ambulance from wherever he happened to be, and then across half the county to where we were waiting.    This wasn’t a rural area either; the suburban town had a population in the tens of thousands. 

Almost an hour later, it arrived to transport the boy.  Luckily the break hadn’t hit the artery or he’d have been dead long before the unit arrived.  After an extended convalescence; most of a school year, he recovered. 

Good?  No, but normal back then, so yes, things other than just ALS have changed a lot.  As much as almost no one wants to be on the ambulance every shift,  I think everyone would agree things are better now.   

A Challenging Mantra

Former quarterback Jon Kitna isn’t living the life of leisure in his retirement.  He’s teaching high school algebra and coaching football, and most importantly teaching life lessons.  The acronym he uses for the values he tries to impart is REAL.  

·         Reject passivity

·         Empathize with others

·         Accept responsibility

·         Lead courageously

The parallels are clear.  If underprivileged high school students can absorb this cultural challenge and change, hopefully so can our young firefighters—if we teach it. 

Pizza Pie and Electrocution: The Strange Things That Bring Back Memories

Leaving a great pizza place in Endicott (Consols—originally Duffs—the same recipe for well over fifty years, but that’s another story) where Mike and I had stuffed ourselves with Dad, we drove by the old IBM plant and I pointed out a utility substation where I had one of my first serious calls as a youngster.

It was a summer day shift, and we got hit for an injured male.  This wasn’t our usual first due area but the ALS rig that normally covered it was on another call.  That the dispatcher or caller left out a little bit of information became rather evident when we pulled up on scene. 

There was a black male standing by the open gate of the substation with his arms extended out from his side.  Getting out of the front seat of the ambulance, I noted my observation had been wrong.  He wasn’t black—he was burned.  We got him onto a sheet on the stretcher and began carefully removing clothing where we could, and pouring sterile water onto his burns, trying to keep him talking to us. 

“They told us it was okay to dig there,” he kept repeating.  He and his partner had struck a high voltage underground line and it had blown them from the hole they’d been working in.  His buddy appeared to be less seriously injured than him but it’s sometimes hard to tell with electrical shock.  I called for another rig, and the cop that arrived along with some first responders from the plant helped with the second victim until a couple of our other members arrived on scene.  With victim two stable, and the second rig on the way, I decided to load and go with our patient.  I was worried about his airway, cardiac status; pretty much everything.  The ALS rig wasn’t available, and by the time we could get a medic to the scene POV, if one was even around, we could be at the emergency room. 

It was a wild and wooly ride as the far expanses of Chevrolet horsepower were explored by the driver.  We kept the victim talking all the way, the best tool we had available to keep him out of deepening shock, using every drop of distilled water in the cabinets on him as well.  I was ready to see it pour out the rear door when we backed into the ER ramp. 

Both made a full recovery and then, a few months afterward, filed a lawsuit against the utility that had let them dig there.  Yours truly received his first, but certainly not last, subpoena for deposition.  I was seventeen years old……

Recent interview by author Pat Bertram

Gary Ryman, Author of “Fire Men: Stories From Three Generations of a Firefighting Family”

August 28, 2012 — Pat Bertram

What is your book about?
Fire Men: Stories From Three Generations of a Firefighting Family relates the experiences as firefighters of my father, myself, and my son. As both the son and father of firefighters, I bring a different perspective. Having the opportunity to fire fires, with both my father and my son as well as respond to auto accidents, and the myriad other emergencies that fire departments handle was marvelous.

How long had the idea of your book been developing before you began to write the story?
I can’t say it really started in my mind as a book. I began writing out the stories of individual emergency calls with the thought that perhaps sometime in the future the vignettes might be of interest to my son or daughter or perhaps a future generation. After I had a hundred plus pages of this material, it dawned on me that perhaps this was a book trying to get out.

How long did it take you to write your book?
About four years from pen touching paper to holding the first printed copy. The first draft took just over a year. It wasn’t remotely ready, but I didn’t know that at the time, and with the encouragement of some friends, I began the querying process. One of the agents I wrote had represented an author I liked a great deal. A few weeks after sending my letter, I received an email from another agent at that firm indicating that the first agent was not interested; but that my query had intrigued her and she wanted to read the manuscript. After reading it, she agreed to work with me and provided incredibly valuable feedback and suggestions which I incorporated in a second draft. A few more rounds of revisions followed and just before she was ready to start sending the manuscript out, I was orphaned—she left to take a job as an editor at one of the big six houses. Not surprisingly, the agent she passed the manuscript who decided it wasn’t for him, and so I was back to square one, albeit with a much improved book. This time, along with agents, I looked at small publishers as well, and was lucky enough to hook up with a wonderful publisher, Tribute Books http://www.tribute-books.com/ They have since transitioned to YA books, but continue to strongly support their entire list, and have been just fantastic to work with.

What is your goal for the book, ie: what do you want people to take with them after they finish reading the story?
For many, whom the closest they have ever been to a fire truck is when it passes them on the roadway, I hope they get an understanding of what firefighting is really like. The mental and physical challenges, along with the emotional aspects of the job are not usually apparent to the general public. In addition to those, the family facets lend an important component. While I worked with my father and son, I also had many brothers; fellow firefighters who you trust with your life. For those in the fire service, the greatest compliments I receive are those that read it and say “yeah, that’s exactly how it is.”

What are you working on right now?
I just submitted my thesis for my Masters in American History. That has been consuming me for most of the past nine months. Now I hope to return to the novel I began shortly after publication of “Fire Men” which is an action adventure genre work, naturally set in a fire department. A Lieutenant dies while battling a fire which was deliberately set in an insurance fraud scheme and his best friend and brother-in-law who leads a ladder company in the same department searches for the arsonist.

What do you like to read?
I read mainly history or action/adventure.

Where do you get the names for your characters?
When I wrote the book, I used real names to allow me to keep track of people and try to ensure I captured their personalities. In the revision process, though, the majority of the names had to be changed. I stole an idea from a writer’s seminar I attended, and bought a baby name book, and reworked the names from that.

If your book was made into a TV series or Movie, what actors would you like to see playing your characters?
While I can’t say for everyone in the book, I would certainly be willing to settle for being played by Brad Pitt. The resemblance (not) is so close!

Who designed your cover?
The publisher took care of the cover, and I think did an incredible job. I was stunned the first time I saw it, and could not have been happier.

Where can people learn more about your books?
Folks can visit my website for more information. The book is also available in paperback on Amazon.com as well as Barnes & Noble and in virtually all e-book formats.
http://fire-men-book.blogspot.com/
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0982256590/ref=s9_simh_gw_p14_d0_i1?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=0CM4CBCA5H4DWQXT1Y38&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=1389517282&pf_rd_i=507846
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fire-men-gary-r-ryman/1100719030?ean=9780982256596

http://patbertram.wordpress.com/2012/08/28/gary-ryman-author-of-fire-men-stories-from-three-generations-of-a-firefighting-family/#comment-2906
 

The Continuum of Change: Residential Sprinklers vs the “Good” Fire

One sentence from a recent conversation continues to stick in my mind.  “If it weren’t for that sprinkler in the townhouse, we would’ve had a good fire.”  It was stated only partly in jest, the young firefighter, like many, always wanting more of the challenge of a “good” fire.  No one, save the psychotic, wants to see someone else’s property destroyed much less anyone injured; but this is juxtaposed with the firefighter’s inherent desire to perform their craft and test themselves in that environmental nightmare we call “inside.” 

We need a partial shift in balance to begin better educating the younger firefighters as to the desirability of residential sprinklers.  For the most part, their response to commercial sprinkler alarms and fires is something they accept as common and normal.  The expansion of residential sprinklers, however, is newer and something which reduces the size and number of their bread and butter—the house fire.  Understanding is one thing, but acceptance is another.  Sliding the scale so these aggressive young men and women buy into the importance and value of these systems is a critical leadership task. 

It is difficult to see, accept, and support technology which if (or hopefully when) it becomes widespread, can eliminate much of the reason many of us came into this business to begin with.  It’s like the people version of steam replacing the sail or the car replacing the horse; not gone, but much reduced.  Just the same, pushing for these systems over the construction industry lobbyists and their pocket politicians should be continued.  That, and educating the younger generation of firefighters— so they can succeed where we haven’t. 

My Wish List for the Next Generation of Firefighters

Communications integrated into the helmet and face piece.  The tinny speakers in masks never worked right and it’s ridiculous to try to talk through face pieces.  Extension microphones are actually getting bigger, not smaller, unlike every other piece of technology in the world.

An infrared heads up display in the face piece.  There are no reasons that every firefighter shouldn’t have a camera, and no reason you should have to carry the thing. 

Apparatus designs in which hose and equipment can be reached from the ground.  This isn’t so much reengineering as it is going retro.  When I started, you could reach the pre-connects in the rear from the ground, and standing on the tailboard, you could see the driver.  There is no reason we need ladders on apparatus to reach our own equipment.  You shouldn’t have to practically set up scaffolding to reload the hose bed. 

C’mon folks; we had guys walking around on the moon in 1969; there is no reason we can’t have these simple items on a cost effective, and importantly, firefighter proof configuration. 

The Times Have Changed…Maybe Not

I recently came across a fascinating historical document.  The rules and regulations for the Los Angeles Fire Department from 1901 are, in many respects, not much different than those in place in many departments today, a century removed.  One major difference was apparatus propulsion, the turn of the century still being what we view as the romantic era of the horses.  Contrary to the opinion of the third generation, his father (me) and grandfather had no actual experience in the horse drawn days.  After reading the policies relating to the care for the diesel engines of the day, one wonders if the brothers then viewed them with the fond nostalgia we do.  The rules show the importance of the animals was paramount

RULE 13.
CARE OF HORSES, APPARATUS, HOSE, ETC.

SECTION 1. Horses shall be fed not more than four quarts of grain and about twenty pounds of hay daily, and twice a week shall be fed a bran mash.

SEC. 2. Hours for feeding horses shall be 6.30 A.M. and 4.00 P.M., and must be watered at least thirty minutes before feeding time.

SEC. 3. Horses shall be thoroughly groomed every morning, their hoofs picked out and cleaned, their manes and tails washed with soap and water once every week and thoroughly dried after washing; the sheath shall be washed every two weeks. Grey or white horses may have stains sponged off with warm water and soap, but must be thoroughly dried immediately. White legs may be washed in the same manner, otherwise the legs must never be washed. Washing horses is strictly forbidden, unless by permission of the Chief Engineer, and then only with bucket and sponge.

SEC. 4. On returning from an alarm, horses' mouths and nostrils must be sponged out, and may be given a few swallows of water, and, if warm, must be scraped, rubbed dry, and blanketed. Sweat should be removed from around the eyes and under the tail with a damp sponge. Horses must never be given grain while hot after a run or exercise.

SEC. 5. Teasing or annoying horses, or teaching them tricks is strictly forbidden.

SEC. 6. Horses shall be exercised daily within three blocks of the house, for a period of not less than one-half-hour, hitched to the apparatus (Sundays excepted). In wet weather the horses shall be exercised without the apparatus.

SEC. 7. A bucket must not be used to catch the horse's urine in, nor shall they be taught any like peculiarities. If a horse is staining to urinate, straw should be shaken under him. The stall should be washed out immediately and all manure must be removed immediately.

SEC. 8. If a horse is injured or shows signs of sickness the commanding officer of the company must be notified at once.

SEC. 9. Horses must be treated kindly, taught by kindness to come promptly to their place and perform their part of the service without the unnecessary use of the whip. The unnecessary use of a whip by any member will subject the offender to suspension or dismissal.

Morning check-out, washing rigs, changing fluids, filters, adding fuel, waxing (grooming); reporting mechanical problems or accidents—maybe things haven’t changed much after all. 

1901 LAFD Rules & Regulations

Upcoming TV Appearance

I will be appearing on PA Live on WBRE Channel 28 on Friday, July 27th with Dave Kuharchik and Monica Madeja to talk about "Fire Men:  Stories From Three Generations of a Firefighting Family." Tune in at 4:00 PM to watch!

Fire Men: Stories From Three Generations of a Firefighting Family

Cats, Bats, and Stubbed Toes

We’ve all heard the stories of people visiting Emergency Rooms for stubbed toes—this is real—I have personally responded on an ambulance call for a person with a stubbed toe.  The fire department equivalent, again real, is the stereotypical cat stuck in the tree.  My father had the best response I’ve ever heard when the dispatcher would call with a report from a citizen of a feline atop a sapling.  “Tell the caller we’ve never seen a cat skeleton in a tree yet.  When the kitty gets hungry enough, it’ll come down.”  End of discussion.  Other animal control calls for squirrels or bats in houses get filed in this miscellaneous category. 

Less amusing was a recent incident I heard about where a citizen broke a fire truck windshield; literally beat a spider web of cracks in it with his bare hands, because the fire department couldn’t make his power come back on after a storm. 

What some members of the public fail to remember at times is that it costs money every time a fire truck turns a wheel.  Fuel, wear and tear, and indirect costs like insurance are all part of the equation every time a piece of apparatus moves.  That’s the mechanical side; more importantly there is wear and tear on people too.  Ill maintained and malfunctioning alarm systems are the bane of our existence.  No fine or penalty seems sufficient after the third straight night of a false alarm at the same place at 3:00 AM. 

The unnecessary, abusive, and downright strange calls continue to make up more than their fair share of any department’s call volume.  You have to go, though, ‘cause that’s what we do. 

The Final Count: 48 Hours From the Inland Hurricaine

The Maryland, DC, and Virginia area was pummelled by what some have decribed as an inland hurricaine.  Wind gusts to 90 miles an hour, and heavy rain fall combined to cause wide spread damage, power disruptions which may not be resolved for a week, and countless emegency runs.  The station where my son Michael lives in Montgomery County was in the midst of this, and in 48 hours, ran 52 calls.  Many were wires and trees down, automatic fire alarms, etc., but others were more serious.  These included

4 box alarms for structure fires
1 fatal wreck with one down the embankment and ejected
3 collapse calls for the squad
2 transfers to Howard county for the tower

All the above was in temperatures exceeding 100 degrees at times, and regularly in the high 90s.  Not exactly a "fun" weekend. 

A Sarcastic History of Portable Radios

I have seen an evolution in portable radios which goes from the Paleozoic to Bill Gates.  One of the first portable radios I ever used was a single channel RCA model about the size of a squished loaf of bread, but weighing considerably more.    Unless you had hands the size of a linebacker, it took two to actually use the thing; one to hold it and the other to key the transmit button.  The next generation was a four channel Motorola, two of which we didn’t need, slightly bigger than a brick and about the same weight.   They were damn good radios that took a licking and kept on ticking.  Extension microphones came next which put the most important parts of the radio on your collar, the speaker and the mic itself.  All you had to do is turn your head, mash the button on the side and talk. 

Initially, only Chief’s had portables, then company officers, and now everyone.  The rapid expansion in radio availability turned the fire ground from a nice quiet, pleasant place, into a cacophony of noise, squeals, screamers, and those that loved the sound of their own voice.  Eventually, most places establish communications policies that reined in the worst offenders, but you can still hear the white noise in some areas. 

Interoperability became the next buzz word, with the so called need to be able to talk to the world, and as the size of radios decreased, the channel capacity increased until the hundred channel radio became ubiquitous.  Most of these units would live, die, and be replaced with the next latest and greatest model without ever having used more than ten percent of the channels they contained, but it was critical to have the secondary fire police channel of some department three counties away that you had never, in the history of the department, ever run with. 

Now the radios will talk to you, Siri-like, although they won’t answer questions –yet, or tell you where to get a good pizza on the way back to the station (hint, hint Mr. Motorola—just kidding).  The radio lady, Sophie I’ll call her, tells you what channel you’re on.  Good thing, cause it’s not like I can remember who or what is on channel 63. 

The extension mics have started to grow also, and now are almost as big as the radios they are attached to.  Speaker and mic button aren’t enough now; volume controls and a mayday alert, all of which supposedly can be worked by gloved hands in the dark.  Good luck.  Makes me wonder why we need the extension mics anymore—just attach the radio to the collar.

Technology is a wonderful thing, but the complexity has reached the level that I pine for the days when you didn’t need an electrical engineering degree to use a portable.   Maybe, just maybe,  RCA will start making radios again. 

Micro Manager Metric Maniacs

The overwrought alliteration shows my disdain.  They are everywhere, but they use code words to describe themselves.  I’m “detail oriented” they say.  Never will one introduce themselves and say, “hi, I’m a micromanager.”   Their involvement in every aspect of operations is necessary, because no one can live up to their expectations. 

One chief who was an administrative nightmare to work for had many of these characteristics.   I called him a “shotgun manager.”  He never met an idea he didn’t like, so there were a hundred projects all in progress at the same time.  Because of this and the necessity for his involvement in everything—he couldn’t delegate to save his life—that meant that nothing ever was completed.  Since everything was a priority, nothing was.  Luckily, he wasn’t like this on the fire ground (fire ground micromanagers are even more scary) , and to this chief’s credit, he eventually evolved, changed, and improved, but that is the exception with this type of manager, not the rule. 

The data collectors are worse.  They never met a metric or measurement they didn’t like.  Just because an activity is quantifiable doesn’t mean it should be.  The argument is that the “workers” only do well what is checked—so these guys check everything.  When we measure everything, the same shotgun result occurs.  Since everything is a priority, nothing really is. 

My contention has long been there are typically four or five big important things that make an organization successful.  Measure and take good care of those, and everything else—the details—will take care of themselves.  I never thought it was rocket science, but maybe it is.  Einstein said “not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.” 

You are about to take that first important jump in rank.  It might get you a different color helmet.  It definitely will change other things. 

You’re a good firefighter, but you’re young and will be moving up over more experienced firefighters, some of which are your friends.  There are mixed emotions.  How you respond to this is a test in your capacity for greater responsibility.  Not everyone wants promotion, and reaching a level of satisfaction is not a bad thing.  Some of your friends are content at their present level and job. 

The important and difficult part of managing your buddies is perspective and balance.  You can’t let them get away with murder on the one hand, but a domineering heavy hand is no good on the other.  Finding the balance point is easier said than done, and will take time, trial, and error.  Anyone who tells you they know exactly where that is, well, they’re lying to you.  The good guys under you will want you to succeed.  Those that don’t, and they are out there, will be easily identified.  Even though some will attempt to undermine your authority, treat them fairly.  That doesn’t mean you let them succeed with their obstructionism, but by not lowering yourself to their level, others will notice. 

Lead by example, both in the station and on the fire ground.  Show, don’t tell.  A good officer doesn’t have to talk a lot to earn respect and get others to follow.  Treat the firefighters under you the way you wanted officers to treat you. 

 At every level, somebody moves up, and others do not; it is how it is.  By now you’ve seen good, bad, and great officers.  Take the characteristics of those you like and respect, and emulate them.  As importantly, avoid those of the officers you don’t. 

Be accepting of change, but not unthinkingly.  All change isn’t bad, but it isn’t all good either.  The rookies will frustrate you at times.  Some may not progress as quickly as you think they should.  Try to learn patience.  Everyone learns in different ways and rates.  Mentoring is a long game, and sometimes goes into overtime. 

You know already that the right people don’t always get the promotions, and so does everyone else.  Putting on a new helmet doesn’t make you an officer.  Your actions and attitude do that. 

You Might Be a Redneck Firefighter if.....

Fire is fire regardless of where you work, and fire departments are full of folks with unusual personalities. My experiences in fighting fire in a rural area have given me an appreciation for the unique characteristics of the country. So, with that in mind, you might be a redneck firefighter if…….

The soda machine in the station is actually filled with Rolling Rock.

There is a sign-out sheet in the station to show who borrowed the engine battery for their tractor.

The tanker port-a-pond doubles as the community pool during the summer.

The dirt in front of the station looks like black top….from tobacco “juice.”

The station has the manual from the department's 1958 engine—sold 20 years ago—and the envelope was never opened.

One of the towns founding families has three roads named after them—all the same.

Cow versus car is almost as common in the run log book as car versus deer.

You would need mutual aid from three counties to get a single engine out for a car fire one day a year—the opening of deer season.

The helmet you wear is older than half your members.

"Old" Guy Stuff

Okay, this doesn’t go back to the horses, but if you experienced many of these (I did all of them), then you might be a “seasoned” firefighter if……

• You rode the back step (and put you gear on while doing it) Only once…..that was scary…and stupid.

• Rode an engine from which you could actually see the driver from the back step.

• Wore ¾ boots inside

• Wore a Scott I with no bell

• Wore “red ball” gloves.

• Know what a Plectron is—and had one—with tubes.

• Remember using the 10-codes.

• Wore a cotton duck coat.

• Remember the introduction of “safety straps” for the back step.

• Taken a 2 ½ inside. Something that should still be done, but isn't much.

• Cut off a pair of leaky ¾ boots for your first set of bunker pants.