The Origin of the Maltese Cross

Although many fire department tools and symbols still in use have historical origins, the Maltese Cross goes back a bit further than most.  Around 1113 AD, a Benedictine Monk founded the Order of Knights Hospitaller, subsequently known as the Knights of St. John.   

Originally a charitable organization, the Knights were drawn into battle to defend their city against attacking Saracens.  The Saracens hurled containers filled with flammable liquids onto the defenders, followed by flaming torches.  The Knights were flamboyant in dress, wearing crimson capes over their armor.  The knights rode among their burning brethren, using their capes to extinguish the fires, demonstrating courage and gallantry. 

As a reward, the Knights were given the Island of Malta and the eight pointed symbol became known as the Maltese Cross, one of valor and protection.  Regularly used on badges, patches, and apparatus, the nearly thousand year old emblem has a lineage of honor. 

 

Arson: It ain't like it used to be...

Arson is considered by most, and particularly firefighters, to be a serious crime. Pennsylvania treats it as a first degree felony.  Federal sentencing guidelines call for as little as five years in prison.  States vary, but things were a bit different in the old days.   

Here in my area, just a generation ago, but long enough for the statute of limitations to expire, a local fire chief was reliably rumored to have taken a fire setter back behind the station and administered an “attitude adjustment” to the offender which was probably more painful than what the judge ultimately meted out.  If our current crop of politicians believe laws and punishment for arson are stringent today, they are not students of history.  The first such law in Pennsylvania was passed in 1700, and stated “Whosover shall be convicted of willfully firing another man’s house, warehouse, outhouse, barn, or stable, shall forfeit his or her own estate to the party suffering, and be imprisoned all their lives in the House of Correction at hard labor to the behoof of the said party suffering.”  Apparently life with hard labor wasn’t a sufficient punishment as in 1718, the penalty was increased to death, and in 1767, they took away the condemned’s access to a clergyman before execution.  

As tough as the old Pennsylvanians were, they had nothing on the Babylonians in the days of Hammurabi, around 2000 BC.  “If in a man’s house, a fire has been kindled, and a man who has come to extinguish the fire has lifted up his eyes to the property of the house, and has taken the property of the owner of the house, that man shall be thrown into that fire.”  In both Japan and early Edwardian England, the older Babylonian concepts were continued; the penalty for incendiarism being death by fire, a rather poetic form of justice.  

While societal norms and our jurisprudence have evolved over time, most can probably think of a few incidents where we wouldn’t have minded taking a fire setter on a Marty McFly time travel journey back to meet one the judges from these time periods.  So if anyone knows where to find an old DeLorean….

 

The Birth of a Legend: The Snorkel

The once common Snorkel long ago became the fire service “Xerox” of articulating platforms.  If it bent in the middle, that’s what it was called.  One normally thinks of design, particularly of something as complex as aerial fire apparatus, as a long process involving engineering calculations and the development of sophisticated plans.  Didn’t happen that way… 

Back in 1958, Chicago Fire Commissioner Robert Quinn borrowed a tree trimming truck with a 50 ft. articulating boom and platform and attached a monitor nozzle to the basket.  A three inch hose line was strapped to the booms to feed it, and a new piece of firefighting apparatus was born.  Load and stability testing was done on the tree trimmer, and when found to work, the rig was painted red and placed in service.  Known in the “Windy City” as “Quinn’s Snorkel,” reputedly because the firefighter’s got so wet in the bucket and thought it resembled the diving device—I don’t see the resemblance myself—the name stuck.  

The original tree trimming truck was built by the Missouri based Pitman Manufacturing Company.  In 1959, a stockholder by the name of Art Moore acquired the Snorkel product line and established the Snorkel Fire Equipment Company.  

The first Snorkel was retired in 1968, and subsequently acquired by the Snorkel Company and restored at their St. Joseph, Missouri manufacturing facility.  While less common elsewhere, snorkel type apparatus remains in service in Chicago to this day. 

 

 

The author flying a circa 1970 American LaFrance "Aero-Chief" articulating platform in the early 1980s.

 

A great look back.

A New Way of Training: Changing How We Think

Just about two weeks ago, I had the great opportunity to discuss fire service training on the Fire Engineering radio show hosted by Chief Dennis Rubin along with Chiefs P.J. Norwood, Jonathan Riffe, and Lieutenant Frank Ricci.  The questions and discussions were thought provoking.  For myself, I tried to concentrate my comments beyond the day to day tactical training areas which, while critically important, were covered exceptionally well by my fellow participants.  Instead, I tried to focus on an area I see as under discussed—advanced education.   

It’s not sexy and certainly not as “fun” as live fire evolutions, firefighter survival, or even the bread and butter practice of advancing lines or throwing ladders.  What it is, though, is critical for the “business” of the fire service. 

The importance of lifelong learning cannot be over emphasized.  The next generation of fire service leaders will be confronted with a spectrum of problems only some of which we can imagine.  Others will reveal themselves over time.  Managing the “all hazards” response agency that fire departments have become in a continuing era of increasing demands and highly pressured financial resources will need a new problem solving paradigm.  This won’t come about by simply repeating what we’ve done in the past, as good as it may have been.  It will require a new generation of strategic multi-dimensional thinkers.  The military has understood this for decades, sending officers for advanced degrees in a multitude of disciplines at “civilian” universities.   

I’ve argued before, college level classes, particularly in the humanities, won’t teach you to handle a nozzle better, but if you let them, they will teach you to think, to examine and solve problems differently.  Problem solving, with the challenges of the future, will be a skill of paramount importance.  

A thought process which looks at problems from a historical perspective, from one of engineering and mathematics, business and statistics, and puts all these pieces together, will help bring new and innovative solutions to the forefront.  The catch phrase “thinking outside the box” is easy to say, but much harder to do.  Non fire related classes teach some of these alternative problem solving methods, how to look at issues from other directions and perspectives—essentially a new and different way to think.   

The next generation of leaders will need not only to be great firefighters and command officers; they will need to be outstanding writers, politicians, accountants, business managers, and strategic planners. 

The Original Denis Leary

Today we think of Johnny and Roy as an ancient historical portrayal of firefighters; their all-American wholesomeness overtaken by more complex characters and stories in Backdraft, Ladder 49, Rescue Me, and now Chicago Fire.  All of these, and the original “Emergency” are but Johnny-come-lately’s (pun intended) to the original and main theatrical firefighter of American History. 

Fireman Mose Humphreys was played by actor Frank Chanfrau in thousands of performances on stages throughout the country in the 1840s and 1850s.  Although nine scripts were written, only one survives.  He became an urban folk hero; the personification of New York firemen and to some degree, all volunteers of the day. 

Mose was a cigar smoking, heavy drinking, hard fighting, baby rescuing, rowdy fireman who stood for good against con-men, crooks, and politicians.  Think Denis Leary before there was Denis Leary.  The working class of the day related to the character and stories as he protected the community, rescued “damsels,” and fought the politicians.  The middle class viewed him differently as a symbol of societal unrest. 

The performances in the 1800s resulted in something more than just entertainment.  They provided fuel for debates on fire department reform, particularly in cities which experienced firefighter violence.  While many historians today agree that the early stories of firemen fighting each other on scenes were overblown and not as widespread as legend has it, the instances which did occur were likely magnified by the fictional portrayal.  Mose became a caricature, and as he grew in popularity, so did the inaccurate perceptions that all firefighters were involved in violent behavior. 

In today’s world with the pervasive presence of social media, you tube, and myriad other forms of entertainment, this past history is interesting in showing that public perception being shaped by art is not new.  There was no actual Mose, but his character was based—with obvious fictional liberties—on the characteristics observed in firemen of the day.  That a fictional character influenced public debate and change in the fire services of the day should be instructional to us.  Who is more real; Tommy Gavin or Johnny and Roy? 

 

Fire Archaeology: Still Salvaging After All These Years

The stories of most major fires concentrate on the immediate impact; the deaths and injuries which resulted.  Just over 40 years ago, a fire occurred which caused no deaths or serious injuries, the impact from which is still being felt.  Just after midnight on July 12, 1973, fire broke out on the sixth floor of the National Personnel Records Center in Overland, Missouri.   

Construction work on this building to hold military service records was completed in 1956.  When the original studies were conducted during the design phase, conflicting advice was received from archivists and personnel at other government records retention facilities.  Some strongly recommended the inclusion of automatic sprinklers and others argued against.  Not surprisingly, since we are talking about this fire forty years later, the anti-sprinkler forces won.  Storage of paper records in folders and boxes packed on metal shelves and file cabinets filled the building—a massive fire load.   

The fire response exceeded 6 alarms.  The interior attack was abandoned at 3:15 AM that morning due to deteriorating conditions, but the exterior attack continued for days.  On the 14^th, firefighters re-entered the building to begin final extinguishment and overhaul on the sixth floor; a task complicated by partial structural collapse of the roof.  By the 16^th of July, a single company remained on scene.   

Following fire extinguishment began a salvage operation which continues even today.  Computer tapes and microfilm records were among the early transfers to an off-site facility.  All six floors of the building experienced substantial water damage, and the recovery of water soaked records was a massive operation.  Wet records were re-boxed and the escalator railings used as a slide to move them to the ground floor for transport.  Setting up a temporary facility at the nearby Civilian Personnel Records Center, plastic milk crates, eventually 30,000 of them, were used for open shelf drying, but a better solution was on the horizon.   

A vacuum drying chamber was located at the McDonnell Douglas Aircraft plant in St. Louis.  The chamber was originally constructed for space simulation as part of the Apollo moon program.  Once archivists confirmed the technology worked, two additional chambers at the Sandusky, Ohio NASA facility were located and used as well.  Wet records were placed in the plastic milk crates, which were stacked nine high on wood pallets, and the records loaded into the chamber, which was sealed.  Air was evacuated from the chamber and the temperature lowered to freezing.  Hot dry air was then introduced until the wetted materials reach 50 degrees F.  Depending upon how wet the material was, multiple cycles could be needed to dry the records.  With a single chamber capable of holding 2,000 milk crates, nearly eight tons or 2000 gallons of water could be removed during a run.   

The charred and burned materials recoverable from the sixth floor created another challenge.  Luckily, this material was not disposed of following the fire, but stored as “B” files, as improvements in technology have made the information from some of these materials usable again.  Today a team of thirty uses the latest restoration techniques to recover information from these documents. Working in latex gloves, this group represents an archival CSI for documents; cleaning mold and debris and utilizing digital technology, scanners, and specialized software, some information from burned sections can be revealed and recovered.   

This information remains important.  Requests are received from veteran’s families for information needed to obtain various programmatic government benefits along with on-going work by genealogists and historians.  The meticulous work the recovery team does, like archaeologists unearthing an ancient village filled with information, is critical in helping these servicemen. 

 

Sprinkler protection became an important component for all such government facilities following this fire; a lesson learned like many others, through disaster.  While we will likely never know how many records were lost in the fire, the cause of which remains undetermined, that recovery and restoration continues forty years later is nothing short of miraculous. 

From the Farm Orchard to the Interior Attack...

If you stay around long enough, you’ll see that many things in the fire service are cyclical.  In the late 1930s, an orchard owner noticed his neighbor’s house burning, and dragged his sprayer, manufactured by a guy named Bean, over to fight and ultimately extinguish the fire.  From this developed the high pressure fog system for fire apparatus.   It was not unlike many pieces of equipment which had their start in other applications—think high lift jacks and positive pressure ventilation fans—so did high pressure, adapted from agricultural use.   In the 1940s and 1950s, the use of high pressure fog was a common tactic and its face was the ubiquitous John Bean, at least one of which was seemingly owned by every rural or suburban department. 

The pumps operated at 650-800 psi at low flow through gun type nozzles.  Useful on indirect attack situations, there were weaknesses in other applications.  Overtaken by volume pumps and larger lines, they slowly faded from use on structure fires.  The parent company, FMC Fire Apparatus, ultimately ceased operations in 1990 following a failed expansion into ladder trucks. 

Today, the technology is rearing its head again in the form of ultra-high pressure.   Pumps for low flow 18-22 gpm handlines delivering water at 1100-1400 psi are now being manufactured by HMA Fire.   As with many “new” technologies, it is being suggested for a variety of applications from ARFF to woodland, and yes, even structural fires.  Where it will go is unclear, but the fire service trip around the circle is virtually complete.

James Bond—Nope, More Like Maxwell Smart: The Jet Axe

The side compartment of the vehicle was opened and the rectangular package removed and carried to the ladder located in front of the smoking building.  The action hero briskly climbed to the roof and brought his burden to near the ridge line, carefully laying it with the long axis perpendicular to the peak.   

He punched a hole in the cover, pulling a hidden control box connected to the package by a wire harness from the interior.  Retreating to the safety of the ladder, he climbed below the eave to shield himself, tempted to yell out “fire in the hole.”   Pushing the button on the control in his hand was thrilling.  The noise from the explosion caught the attention of all those nearby.  Smoke poured from the opening in the roof, a perfectly cut rectangle in the shape of the package, not from the explosion, but from the fire below. 

Ventilation without a saw; what a concept.  This isn’t Bond, Schwarzenegger, Stallone, or Bruce Willis, nor is it a USFA development project for 2017.  This is technology from the middle of the last century; the Jet Axe. 

The Jet-Axe wasn’t just for ventilation; it could be used for forcible entry as well.  Developed using military style explosives, and designed to focus the blast in a narrow area, it came into use primarily in the late 1960s, and out shortly thereafter.  The manufacturer apparently did not account for the explosive contents becoming unstable over time and bouncing about in ladder truck compartments.   

Legend has it that the problem first reared its head in San Francisco when an unsuspecting truck company had a new hole where a compartment door previously resided--a Jet-Axe “operated” while the ladder truck was underway.  Word spread quickly, and most were removed from service promptly. 

For those of an inventive nature, research shows that the trade-mark on the name expired in 2001 (making it available again) and was last owned by Explosive Technology, Inc. in Fairfield, California.  Lots of things in the fire service are cyclical in nature; maybe this will be another... 

 

The Firefighter Trampoline

Jumping from a burning building has long been, and remains, the last resort of a desperate victim, usually with less than optimum results.   But on November 10, 1904, two girls jumped from an overcrowded fire escape platform, and this time things were different.  They were caught by New York City firefighters using an unusual circular fabric device, a safety net.  Now more recognized in comedic videos and seen in museums, the Browder Safety Net was at one time a common piece of equipment for ladder companies.  Developed by a Civil War veteran by the name of Thomas F. Browder in 1887; he continued to evolve and improve the design, adding additional patents in 1900.
 

 

There were other successes, including one in 1901 in New York City in which twenty people reportedly leaped to safety.  Failures, though, were common as well.  In Newark in 1910, four women jumped simultaneously from an upper floor of a factory and tore through the net.  Although two deployed nets saved a few, a similar situation occurred at the infamous Triangle Shirtwaist factory fire and many more jumpers were missed. Additional stories on other fires abound of individual victims who jumped, but missed the net or hit the edge, sometimes injuring firefighters. 

Ladder trucks carried the net folded and typically mounted vertically on the side of the apparatus.  It could be deployed in seconds, but required at least ten or more firefighters holding it at shoulder height, in the right place and time.  With the fabric center and springs connecting it to the circular frame, it was a portable man held version of the circus trampoline, but with less bounce.

The ideal way in which to jump was with the legs straight out in a seated-like position, and arms crossed in front of the torso with the objective being to land on the small of the back or buttocks.  While a firefighter could easily be taught this during a routine training session, a victim at a fourth floor window with smoke pouring from around them or flames nipping at their heels would not be a receptive student.  The firefighters on the ground would catch them, or try to, in any orientation in which they jumped. 

As time passed and the length of aerial ladders increased, the need for the Browder net decreased.  Concerns over its safety and effectiveness grew and in the 1950s departments began to phase out their use.  These nets are now little more than a curiosity, displayed in museums, fire stations, and at least one firefighter’s home bar.  If keeping a fire scene from being a “circus” is a good thing, no longer bringing our own trampoline probably helps.    

 

 

From Triumph to Tragedy: The Legendary Phelim O’Toole

An otherwise ordinary evening was followed by tragedy and heroism in the early morning hours of April 11, 1877.  The elegant Italianate style six story Southern Hotel, almost a football field in length faced Walnut St. in downtown St. Louis.  At about twenty minutes after one in the morning, a fire was discovered in the basement.  Notification of the fire department was delayed by upwards of ten minutes due to a lost key to the fire alarm box, allowing the fire to spread to the upper floors via vertical shafts. 

The first alarm brought six engine and two truck companies for the fire which ultimately would go to three alarms and requirel the response of every piece of apparatus in the city.  The first arriving ladder company, a “Skinner Escape Truck,” was led by Foreman Phelim O’Toole.  O’Toole was an Irish immigrant who was hired by the St. Louis Fire Department at the age of 18, about ten years before that night. 

Upon arrival, O’Toole noted fire on the upper floors and almost a dozen occupants yelling from windows.  Positioning the truck was difficult due to obstructions, but when in the best position possible, they extended the ladder and O’Toole began to climb.  Fully extended, Phelim found himself five feet short of the 6^th floor window sill. 

Accounts vary some, but by most, O’Toole had the occupants tie bed sheets together as a rope, securing their end to a bedframe, and then lower the other end from the window.  He swung out on a rope from the ladder tip to the dangling bed sheets, and climbed to the upper window sill, and began to lower the victims to firefighters on the waiting ladder.  Moving from window to window, he is credited with saving over a dozen people.  Conditions continued to deteriorate, but the last reachable victim was removed just before the building collapsed, taking twenty one remaining occupants with it. 

It was following the Southern Hotel fire that the Pompier Corps of the St. Louis Fire Department was developed. Pompier Corps

O’Toole received a $500 award from the city, which he donated to assist orphans. This was a sizable sum when compared to his monthly salary of $75.00. 

The Southern Hotel was not O’Toole’s last experience at the end of a rope.  A serious fire erupted in the dome of the County Courthouse.  Phelim climbed the dome with an axe, rope, and hoseline.  After chopping through the roof, he tied off the rope and entered through the hole.  Dangling from the rope, he attacked the fire with the handline. 

Shortly after, on July 6, 1880, O’Toole died in the line of duty.  It was not another dramatic scene, but a “routine” cellar fire in a vacant house.  He entered the building with a hand held extinguisher, and when he began to operate it, the casing exploded, pieces tearing into his chest, fatally injuring him at 32 years of age.

His funeral service was as big as his reputation with an estimated 20,000 people attending.  Gone but not forgotten, the St. Louis Fire Department continues to honor his memory, christening the marine unit fire boat the “Phelim O’Toole” in 1994. 

Top Hats to Tupperware: Fire Helmet History

At the tender age of three, most youngsters can identify a firefighter.  Even with the myriad colors, shapes, and styles today, the helmet, going back almost 200 years is synonymous with the job.  The first fire helmets, hats really, would hardly be identified as such today.  They resembled top hats, Lincolnesque in style, but with a band or painting to identify the company the individual belonged to more so than to provide protection. 

Jacob or Jacobus Turck is generally credited with this design from around 1740.  This lasted around 100 years until Henry T. Gratacap designed a new helmet constructed of hardened leather sections for protection and a large rear tail to help shed water.  Although changes and improvements have been made, the shape of this original design from around 1836 (dates differ) is the one even children could recognize today. 

 

Gratacap’s operation continued to grow and in 1869, he sold it to two brothers; Jasper and Henry Cairns, who possessed a last name which is arguably the most well known in the helmet business today.  Cairns brothers continued to evolve the designs and materials, but the leather helmet remained a core component of their business.  In 1937, Cairns introduced an aluminum helmet.  A generation later, in 1962, their vacuum formed polycarbonate helmet line began; and in the “modern” era, Philadelphians, Phoenix, and Metro helmets were among the new style that some saw as a radical change from the classic shape.  But it was radical only at first glance as even these helmets retained the short front brim and longer rear tail.  Helmet types and styles have developed fans and detectors over the years.  Leather helmet devotees sometimes disparage the plastic models as “Tupperware.”

Aluminum Helmet

 

 

Cairns Metro Helmet

 

Although safety standards have dramatically changed the interior, the exterior of a leather helmet manufactured today, as well as the classically shaped plastic versions, would no doubt be recognizable by Henry Gratacap or the original Cairns brothers.  In a world where change seems to be the only constant, that the basic design of the fire helmet could remain intact for 177 years is nothing short of amazing. 

Gifford Pinchot and Forest Fires: The Early Battles

Most of the focus on fighting forest fires; the tools, techniques, and tactics, have long been on the West.  The beginnings, though, came from one of our own; a Pennsylvanian.  Gifford Pinchot, who served two terms as Governor, headed the Forest Service in the early 1900s, starting under President McKinley, and through the administration of his friend and supporter, Theodore Roosevelt.  In the early days, Pinchot was a Forester with no forest, as control of the actual Federal land was in the General Land Office.  Finally, in 1905, Roosevelt was able to out maneuver the land barons’ both in and outside of Congress, and transfer control of the forests to Pinchot’s agency, the newly named United States Forest Service. 

The danger of fire was one of the ways in which Pinchot convinced a reluctant Congress to fund his corps of green shirted rangers.  The danger was not illusory.  In 1871, the Pestigo fire in Wisconsin burned over a million acres and killed 1,182 people.  In Minnesota in 1894, another tragic fire struck which killed 413 people.  Pinchot knew that fire was necessary and in some cases beneficial to forests and understood that nature could never be completely controlled.  His fire control efforts started a debate which continues to this day as to where to draw that line. 

The rangers on the front lines were highly motivated by poorly paid; a miserable salary even for the day of $900 per year.  Pinchot’s directions to them on fighting fires were simple.  As he told the New York Times, “the one secret to fighting fires is to discover your fire as soon as possible and fight it as hard as you can and refuse to leave it until the last ember is dead.”  The Forest Service had some successes in their first two summers as only one tenth of one percent (0.1%) of Forest Service land burned each year.  There were bad years as well, however. 

One of the assistant rangers hired in the Bitterroot area was Ed Pulaski.   He was older than most of the Yale Forestry program graduates initially hired by Pinchot, but a skilled outdoorsman.  The man himself, who died in 1931, is little known, but his name lives on as the inventor of the tool still in use today—the Pulaski tool. 

 

Successors to Pinchot such as Bill Greeley took his concerns and tactics on fire and elevated them in priority increasing the Forest Service role in prevention and suppression efforts.  The debate continues over the proper level of these, but forgotten by many is that man with who it began, Pennsylvanian Gifford Pinchot. 

Old School Rescue: A History Lesson

Back just a couple of years in firefighter time, in 1877, following a tragic fatal fire at the Southern Hotel, the St. Louis Fire Department established the first Pompier Corps.   Christopher Hoell, a German immigrant, and Zero Marx lead the unit and taught climbing and rescue skills to other departments across the country. 

They used specially developed scaling ladders, a belt with a large hook, which modern (hopefully) descendants of remain in service in many departments to this day, and ropes.  These ladders were not simple to use, but provided access to buildings blocked by wires or trees, and to elevations above that which could be reached by aerial ladders.  Multiple pompier ladders could be used, which with rope, provided a way to get hose lines to upper floors. 

The top of the ladder, with its iron catch, would be hooked over a window sill, and the firefighter would climb the narrow rungs to the window.  He would stand on the sill and pull the ladder up and raise it to the next window and repeat the process. 

This required considerable dexterity, strength, balanced, and a large dose of intestinal fortitude, to use polite terminology.  These ladders remained a presence on at least some ladder trucks for almost a century and hang in many fire houses today as a reminder of a storied past.