I knew I wasn’t going to die, but if I didn’t see sunlight and breathe fresh air soon, I was going to panic anyway. Swallowed up in darkness as I crawled through a smoke-filled room, I took a relaxing breath and concentrated on the task at hand: saving an eight-year-old boy from a burning building.
The billows that surrounded me smothered the light coming from my flashlight, which I pointed forward anyway. “Turn right,” a voice from behind me said. “Do you see the victim?”
“No,” I said, peering into the haze. Then I did. Eager to get out of there, I gripped his neck, pulled the limp body toward me, and wondered how I was going to drag him, the flashlight, and my weary hide out of the building.
Suddenly, penetrating brightness filled the room, and a towering figure stood silhouetted against the morning light just a few feet from where I knelt. I’d never been happier to see an open door.
As I inched outside and then struggled against the weight I was carrying to stand, I noticed my left hand was still wrapped around the boy’s throat. “Good thing he’s not a live one,” I said through my oxygen mask. My voice was muted, and I sounded like the villainous Darth Vader as I breathed.
“Let’s turn off your oxygen,” Lt. Charlie Thomason of the Chattanooga Fire Department (CFD) said.
“That was intense,” I said as I slipped off my mask.
“Uh huh,” Lt. Thomason replied. “Now imagine that with heat, fire, and the sound of popping wood.”
I nodded in amazement. I hadn’t just emerged from a towering inferno, but a controlled environment filled with theatrical smoke. The victim wasn’t real, either, but a doll. The weight on my back was actually there, though, and I was glad to drop a little of it as I shrugged off the oxygen tank.
Fire Ops 101
As you’ve watched fire trucks wailing toward a burning home, or seen firemen battling flames on the six o’clock news, have you wondered what it’s like to do what they do? Until recently, I hadn’t. I once saw volunteer firemen in a small town collapse in grief as they pulled a lifeless body out of a burning home, but even then, I didn’t consider what it must have been like to be in the midst of that hellish blaze.
Then I received an invitation from the CFD to take part in Fire Ops 101, a free class designed to allow members of the media and local government officials to experience firsthand what firefighters do every day as they protect the lives and the property of the citizens of this community. It was an experience I’ll never forget.
Four of us responded to the call: City Councilman Chip Henderson, City Councilman Larry Grohn, a female reporter, and myself. Together, we spent the morning of Saturday, Oct. 25 at the CFD’s Training Division on Amnicola Highway facing thick smoke, intense heat, and grueling exercises. Chattanooga firemen guided us each step of the way, providing instructions, keeping us safe, and sparing no details as they explained what we were doing and how it related to their job.
Into the fire
My fellow cadets and I started the day by worming our way into our “turnouts,” the clothes firemen wear. It took me nearly 15 minutes. As I clomped around in boots that felt like anvils hanging off my heels, I was told the clothes added 60 pounds to my weight. “No problem,” I said. “I’m going to sweat off ten pounds before we start the first exercise.” In addition to being heavy, the clothes were hot - and we were in an air conditioned building, not a burning home.
The first exercise consisted of the scenario I described at the beginning of this piece. With just enough instructions to make me sweat a little more, Lt. Thomason sent Councilman Henderson and me into the smoke-filled building. The councilman took the lead, feeling along the wall to his left while holding an axe and a crowbar and searching for the victim with a thermal imaging device. I clung to his trousers and aimed the flashlight to help him see.
The lack of a mental picture of my surroundings and the snug confines of my gear made me feel claustrophobic. I couldn’t see more than a few inches beyond my breathing mask, and we got hung up at least once as the councilman turned into the nook between the end of a couch and a nearby wall. I thought we’d navigated a tight maze, but as we looked at the room after the smoke had cleared, we saw we’d felt our way along the edge of a square room.
I remembered what Lt. Thomason said about the actual conditions firemen experience, and marveled at their ability to keep cool (pun intended) and save lives.
Our next exercise was smoke-free but even more taxing. Our charge: Haul two hoses up three stories, connect them to a pipe, and spray a stream of water out an open window. As Councilman Henderson hoisted a heavy coil of hose over one shoulder, he handed me the pickaxe and crowbar and said, “You’re carrying these this time.” Lt. Thomason then handed him an even heavier bag of tools.
By the time we’d made it up three flights of stairs, you’d think neither of us had ever exercised. Panting and wheezing, we connected the hoses to a pipe that runs from floor to floor and then the councilman turned on the water. To my astonishment, the hose felt as solid as a steel pipe once it was full.
Councilman Henderson was the first to unleash the beast within that hose. I stifled a laugh as he sprayed nearly everywhere but out the window. He eventually hit his target, though, and then it was my turn. “It can’t be that difficult,” I thought as I secured the hose under my right arm, gripped the handle, and pulled the release. Moments later, as I was being whipped around like a wild snake, I caught a glimpse of Councilman Henderson holding back a laugh.
Our semi-close encounter with fire came next. As a fireman lit a pile of hay and wood pallets inside a steel enclosure the size of a large dumpster, intense heat hit our faces where we stood outside. I watched slack-jawed as the flames licked the ceiling and then began to creep across it, looking almost like liquid.
As I gripped a smaller hose than I’d held earlier, my instincts told me to douse the base of the fire. Our instructor said doing so in a real world scenario would send hot steam falling on any victims or firemen near the blaze. Instead, he instructed us to spray the ceiling to beat back the flames, which would allow a fellow fireman to reach a victim. The searing heat subsided, then returned after I turned off the hose. As I fought the elements, I thought about the physical and mental fortitude it must take to face such flames in a situation similar to the first exercise.
Whatever firemen and women earn, they deserve it.
After putting out a gas fire with a chemical extinguisher, we moved to the junk yard, where we used the jaws of life to rip apart two vehicles. I learned about how firemen will snip the roof off of a car so they can safely extract a victim with a spinal injury, and how the CFD sends two trucks to every accident requiring the use of such equipment so they have a back-up.
The jaws are heavy, powerful, and demand respect. As they started to twist in my hands after I’d jammed them between the door and the body of a Saturn, I tried to secure them with my leg. My instructor stopped me before my femur bone snapped.
After lunch, which the CFP provided, it was time for another new experience: rappelling down the side of a building. As the instructor strapped me into the harness, I felt like a 2-year-old who needed to be dressed, and worried about the rope holding all 260 pounds of me, plus lunch. The instructor set my mind at ease when he looked at me and said, “It can hold 11,000 pounds, so you’ll be safe.”
Thank you ...
As I stepped over the railing of a balcony six stories high, the instructor told me to simply let go. “Clearly, he’s never done this,” I thought, “or he’d know that’s easier said than done.” I clung to the rope like a newbie all the way down, but as soon as my feet touched concrete, I was ready to go again.
Councilman Henderson got the last laugh as he stepped over the railing, pressed his feet against the balcony, laid back, and spread his arms. “Clearly, he has done this before,” I thought. I was right.
Wrapping up
If your house were on fire, and either you or a loved one were trapped inside, you’d want the best of the best to respond. The other cadets and I endured four hours of lightweight exercises; the men and women of the CFD go through six months of backbreaking training and intense classroom study. By the time they’re assigned to a station, they’re trained to handle hazardous materials, tend to the severely injured or others in medical distress, and more. Firemen and women don’t just put out fires, they gain a plethora of skills that enable them to save lives in extreme circumstances. And their training continues throughout their career.
During my handful of hours with about a dozen CFD firefighters, I heard them speak with knowledge and passion about their work, and I watched their camaraderie as they labored together to help a handful of citizens complete simple tasks. They didn’t act like colleagues, they seemed like a family, and they came across as genuinely concerned about the safety of every person in this community and the integrity of every inch of property within their domain.
If my house were on fire, and either I or a loved one were trapped inside, I’d want the CFD to respond.
For more photos, pick up a copy of the Hamilton County Herald.