A Fire Fighter's Playground

by Dennis Stachowski

I was crammed in a van with fourteen other trained firefighters. When we turned the corner, the rowdy van turned quiet. Our attention was set on the bright red fire engines all lined up, lights circling like carousels. We knew we arrived to our house, the house we were told to set on fire, then put out. As we made our way down the narrow street crowded with fire engines on each side, I saw looks of envy on all the faces of the other firefighters outside our van. Their jealousy stemmed from the fact that they weren't going to be the ones to play around in the burning house. I remember the driver saying, "There she is, your playground." I glanced over at the house and an eerie feeling fell upon me. I started to think about the families that have lived in the house, and how they felt about getting kicked out, just to make way for the stingy businessmen setting up stores. I think of all the fond memories this house might have brought back to them, like their younger years or their children growing up in the house. I remember the house as if it were my own, a stone rancher with one kitchen, two bedrooms, and one bathroom.

I started to gear up and the excitement flowed throughout my body. First I put on my Nomex hood which reeked of sweet and smoke from the intense couple months of training. The hood is like that of a ski hood with one big oval cut out for your face except it is made out of a fire proof material called Nomex. I kicked off my shoes and stepped into my steel toe boots, pulling my fireproof pants up at the same time. I pulled my suspenders over each shoulder, adjusting them so they fit just right and weren't twisted. I threw on my heavy smoke smelling jacket and carefully fastened every snap, buckle, and button making sure not to skip one. Next I pulled my Nomex hood down to my shoulders and picked up my breathing apparatus (BA), slinging it onto my back like a heavy sack of rocks. I fastened my chest straps, then my shoulder straps, just like you would tighten the straps of your book bag. I then cleaned off my mask and secured it onto my face, making sure all the spider straps I used to snug the fit were properly tucked into my Nomex hood. Next I put on my fireproof gloves, still damp from the fire the day before. Then the most symbolic piece of equipment came next. A feeling of pride came as I put on my shiny, yellow helmet, on which my station number, forty seven, was painted vividly.

When we were finished gearing up, Command came around and gave us entrance numbers and assignments. I had received first team, nozzle man. That meant, I was on the first team to enter the house and I was head of the team, consisting of six men. Being the leader made me a little scared because I had to take responsibility for the safety of my crew, much like the secret service is responsible for the president. The order "first team prepare" came from our instructor, and I stepped over a one foot high ruble barrier onto a path of sweet smelling flowers, smashing them into the ground. I picked up the nozzle to the hose. I opened the nozzle up and shifted my weight so I wouldn't get knocked over by the power of the hundred gallons per minute pulsating out from the fully charged line of hose. I siphoned through the many patterns of the head of the nozzle, starting out at the fog type stream and moved towards a more straight stream. I set the stream of water on about thirty degrees and prepared to make entrance. I went on bottled air so the smoke would not get into my lungs and the air would help cool down my face.

I received the sign from the Chief and immediately made my careful entry into the building. As soon as I walked through the front door I dropped to my knees to escape the intense heat and heavy smoke above. As soon as I hit the floor my visibility came back and I preceded to lead my crew through the smoke filled house. I turned the corner to find the kitchen fully engorged in flames. I quickly shouted commands, which were muffled by my B.A. I told them, "flames in the kitchen." Then I told the search and rescue people to, "pull the ceiling down to make sure it doesn't spread throughout the walls." Quickly I opened the nozzle up as the two men behind me supported me, by helping maneuver the heavy hose through the room. The heat was intense and at one point I was kneeling right in the fire. Every once in awhile, a burning ceiling fragment would fall on us but our fireproof gear kept us safe.

As soon as the fire was out the outside instructors blew a foghorn, which indicated the inside crew to evacuate the building. I was so disappointed to hear that horn, kind of like a child hearing the second recess bell ring signaling play time is over. My crew and I walked out of the building and slowly started taking our B.A. off, giving our bodies time to adjust to our outside environment, like that of an adult on a hot day getting into a swimming pool with cold water. We laid our charcoal smelling gear out of the way and went to see our report on our actions in the fire. We got a ten out of ten as a grade, everything was done to exact perfection and I, the team leader was congratulated. I never got to go back in the burn house because on the third rotation the building collapsed under the intense heat. I didn't really mind. I was satisfied with my first entry. Nothing could have made me happier at the time. Although I am only a volunteer now I hope to accomplish my childhood dream of becoming a paid firefighter.