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The long-awaited Dublin Fire Brigade update!

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A voice rang out from down the hallway, with it’s owner appearing around a corner seconds later.

“Hey! We’ve got a call near the Liffey!

Glenn turned his head from us and cursed quietly.

“Are we goin’ swimming?” he asked, tentatively.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Glenn’s head lolled back towards us with a sheepish grin.

“Oh, thank God for that. I’m on the back step tonight, and that river’s dirty as hell.”

Glenn Delves is 29 years old and has been with the Dublin Fire Brigade for seven years. Currently assigned to the Tara Street station (which also serves as Brigade headquarters during the the day), his role as a firefighter, paramedic, and swiftwater rescue technician is nothing unique to the 40-some other firefighters in the house with him.

“Oh yeah, we’re all paramedics… and it just makes sense for most of us to be SRTs, since the river is right nearby and we go in there pretty frequently for all sorts of stuff.”

Waitaminute, back up. Forty firefighters?

“It’s the biggest house in Dublin. Even after HQ shuts down for the day, we still have a lot of people here.”

Almost as if he anticipated the question (probably by the incredulous look on my face), he added:

“Oh, and kitchen duty is horrible.”

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The tour of the firehouse was brief but fascinating. The station opened at the intersection of Tara and Pearse Streets was opened as DFB headquarters in April of 1908—the old brick watchtower still stands, and is a historically protected structure by the city of Dublin. Today, it exists as an open-air station with canopy covers for the apparatus and multiple floors for bunkrooms, the mess hall, administrative offices, and “Control Room” (the call-taking center for the entire city as well as many surrounding counties, staffed 24 hours a day by full-time Brigade personnel).

Unfortunately, our trip was cut short by Glenn and the rest of his crew headed out on calls—with approximately 133,000 calls annually, the Dublin Fire Brigade must balance the average 364 daily calls amongst twelve full-time (and three on-call or “retained”) stations. However, with locations like Tara Street staffing two engines, two ladder trucks, one tower ladder, two ambulances, a Haz-Mat Unit, and a District Officer, the workload seems pretty well spread-out.

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It was a wonderful trip, and I can’t express my gratitude to the DFB enough. If there’s any Dublin Fire personnel reading this, I sincerely appreciate your hospitality and wish you all the best in your careers—take care and stay safe, brothers.

Oh, and if you ever need a place to crash in D.C., drop me a line and I’d be more than happy to help out.

/RL

ireland_RL-13_smGlenn Delves, a seven-year veteran of the Dublin Fire Brigade, opens compartments on the fire engine and describes the equipment contained within.


ireland_RL-14_smAs Swiftwater Rescue Technicians (SRTs), the crews of the Tara Street station keep their river rescue gear ready on the apparatus at all times.


ireland_RL-15_smThe Dublin Fire Brigade utilizes Dräger breathing apparatus; three SCBA packs line the rear wall of the bench seat for the firefighters “on the back step” for that shift.


ireland_RL-12_smI think it’s universal: DFB personnel dislike their ambulance rotations just as much as their American counterparts do, it seems.

(I can just hear Dave Dennis now: “That suck-ass rookie paramedic would go to an Irish firehouse and take pitchurrs of a ambalance!” Yep—go ahead, Dave, have your fun.)

ireland_RL-9_smThis button from the DCFD Emerald Society is older than I am. There’s quite an impressive wall of patches just inside the entrance to the station—incidentally, one of Glenn’s coworkers is now the proud owner of a classic E26/T15 “Foghorn Leghorn” patch.


ireland_RL-17_sm(I bet they hate the sound of their printer winding up, too.)


ireland_RL-26_smAfter Firefighter Delves (unfortunately) stated that he disliked his appointed nickname of “Glennsy,” the jokes compounded until his gear was permanently branded with “Glennsy Delvesy” in permanent marker. Much to his chagrin, he discovered it just as he was escorting these visitors through the facilities.


ireland_RL-28_smThe distinctive markings on this helmet indicate the rank of “sub-officer;” personnel advance from Firefighter to Sub-Officer to Station Officer to District Officer and beyond, receiving increasing responsibilities with each promotion.


ireland_RL-25_smWe arrived just in time for evening shift change, so we were witness to the daily equipment checks; it would appear that DFB ladder technicians get to ride in comfortable style while operating the turntable.


ireland_RL-24_sm(I would be remiss if I didn’t include something about “raising” a “ladder”, no? Terrible joke, I’m sorry.) Both DFB aerial ladders within the Tara Street Station reach 100′ in the air when fully extended. “There aren’t too many high-rises throughout the city,” say Firefighter Delves, “but we’re downtown. The business district around us has the highest buildings you’ll see in Dublin.”


ireland_RL-16_smAll hose carried on the apparatus is kept rolled. At a fire, the equivalent of the American lineman’s position would get off the piece, unroll a section of hose, connect a nozzle, and then advance to the structure; the Dublin Fire Brigade does not utilize pre-connected lines.


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The DFB operates on a 39-hour work week, across four shifts (designated A through D). The spacious accommodations of Tara Street are more than enough to feed and house approximately forty personnel per shift, from firefighter through the on-duty District Officer.

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On a non-fire department note: a little bit later, I’ll add some pictures from the highlights of the remainder of my vacation. I know it’s not particularly relevant to RL as a whole, but it’s a beautiful country, and I would highly recommend Ireland for anyone who enjoys traveling.

Back from Ireland… pictures to follow soon!

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Alright, between unpacking, fixing my jet lag, and backing up all my camera’s memory cards, it’ll be a little bit before I can put something together about the DFB. Suffice it to say, we were treated to a great tour through the firehouse, had some hilarious banter with the guys… and I even snagged a DFB t-shirt (after exchanging one from E26, of course).

Like I said, more to come—but it’ll be a good one.

/RL

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Leaving for Ireland today! (plus pictures)

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Be safe, everyone… I’ll see you all in about a week!

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I had some film developed recently, and I thought I’d add a few of my (decidedly older) shots, just for kicks. I’ve always liked the grainy look of real film—almost unheard of in this age of digital.

/RL

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Demotivational Posters, among other things.

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I’ve been gearing up for Ireland and redesigning RaisingLaddersPhotography.com, so I haven’t had much time for writing lately.

I do, however, have a few gems that I made a while back tucked away for just this occasion—enjoy the photos!

They’re quite the throwback to Academy days—a strange mixture, but I think that’s what makes them fun. You’ll find the remainder of them in a new gallery here. Some of the images contain explicit language, so be forewarned.

/RL

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P.S. – the two above photos were from an early morning fire in the 1300 block of Trinidad Ave; E10 held the fire at the stairs, while E8 (second-due) got the knock on the basement fire. WUSA9 has a quick tidbit here about the fire.

CONSISTENCY_smOh, 358. We were… interesting.

Enjoy the rest of the posters.

I used to like snow. Really, I did.

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I used to like playing in the snow, stomping through it… snowball fights, snow angels, the whole nine wintery yards.

But after working in all this?

I’m kicking the head right off of the next snowman I see (and see them I will, because it’s dumping snow right now and I’m working tomorrow).

So many streets were impassable, even with snow chains. Many of our calls involved parking the engine and ambulance way down the block and hiking our equipment through the streets to get to the patient’s house—which may or may not offer us a shoveled walkway for access.

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I lost count of how many times we had to dig the ambulance out. The engine became stuck a few times, too—and without fail, as soon as we dig ourselves out, here comes a shout from down the street: “Hey, can you guys come give us a hand?”

Why you’re out here at this ungodly hour of the night, trying to make headway on an unplowed street in a little-ass sedan, I have no idea. But never mind that, intelligent citizen. We’d be happy to assist you in your time of need. *grumble*

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A few funny moments:

  • Walking back down the street—carrying the med bag, cardiac monitor, and O2 bottle—I slipped and landed, cartoon-style, right on my ass (I only wish the oxygen bottle hadn’t fallen between my legs at that exact instant). A few concerned folks who were out shoveling their sidewalks sharply stifled their laughter and asked if I was okay. Ah, everything’s okay here; my pride broke my fall.
  • Warning: not all packed snow is as sturdy as you might think. Standing on what used to be a sidewalk, I was asking questions to a patient outside. Suddenly, I found myself three feet lower than I was before. I’m sure it was quite comical (including my awkward climb out of the thigh-deep snow): “So sir, how long have you been FOOOM—uh, dammit.”
  • “Hey rookie! Why don’t you climb up front and see how the engine handles in the snow.” Shit. As I hauled myself into the driver’s seat, I experienced a horrible recurring dream that always ended with me typing a very long letter: “Dear Fire Chief…”
  • Calls delayed dinner until 8pm; calls further delayed my cleaning duties, such that I was still mopping at midnight. (Being a rookie; ain’t it grand??)
  • 1:30 a.m. – “Ma’am, how long have you been experiencing this headache?”   “Since July.”
  • 4:20 a.m. – resetting a fire alarm at a large garbage facility, slogging through (what I hope was) water as we contemplated what time our relief would arrive.

I folded up my sheets and pillow at 4:45 a.m., having not even climbed into bed once.

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As far as keeping up with changing weather conditions, Twitter can prove extremely useful.

DC Fire/EMS (@dcfireems):

DC Dept. of Transportation (@DDOTDC):

Maryland State Hwy Administration (@MDSHA):

They’re perfect for mobile updates, so you can keep updated whether you’re out and about or stuck inside.

I’ll be out there tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to another fun-filled tour on the Northeast streets…

Stay safe, everyone.

/RL

The Dublin Fire Brigade.

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Be forewarned: I have absolutely no Irish blood in me. However, given the great and long-standing tradition that those with Irish heritage hold within fire departments throughout the nation (as well as my upcoming trip to Ireland, which I’ll talk about later), I felt it only proper to craft something today about the Dublin Fire Brigade.

dubhistoricalrecord_smAlthough officially founded in 1862 by the Dublin Corporation Fire Brigade Act, the country of Ireland has written records and legislation pertaining to firefighting operations dating back to the 12th century A.D. According to the Irish Fire Services website, such archaically written gems include provisions for “forty buckets of  leather for carrying of water  to fight fires and twelve graps (sic) of iron for pulling houses that chance to be afire” (1546 A.D.), and the more absurdly graphic “…any person answerable for the burning of a street shall be arrested, cast into the middle of the fire, or pay a fine of 100 shillings” (1305 A.D.) As we would later see in the American history of volunteerism, Irish insurance companies would place “fire marks” on buildings to state which company protected the structure; for example, Sunwinetavernst Alliance placed a large metal sun with rays emanating outwards from it. (As a sidenote, Sun Alliance is still in business to this day—the original fire mark is visible at the bottom of their History page.)

The original superintendent—also known as the Chief Fire Officer—was a man by the name of J.R. Ingram, a native Dubliner who was a volunteer firefighter in both London and New York prior to his appointment. His initial brigade consisted of twenty-four men in a house off of Winetavern Street in Dublin, right near the famous Christchurch Cathedral.

ireland_mapToday, the Dublin Fire Brigade comprises almost 900 members with 14 stations, 22 fire engines, 12 ambulances, and a response area containing over 1 million citizens. The Fire Brigade runs the Emergency Ambulance Service (all the firefighters are paramedics, too) as well as staffing the call-taking center with actual firefighters.  Their apparatus is currently manufactured by UK-based John Dennis Coachbuilders, and the training regimen runs about 16 weeks for basic firefighting. As stated before, much of this information is available through their well-stocked website or this nice little find, The Irish Fire Service’s Firefighter Handbook (it’s 277 pp. and 2.71MB, so be careful opening it. You’d be better off right-clicking and downloading it if you want to read it).

So anyways, let’s get down to business. In the end of February, I’ll be traveling to Dublin for almost a week of sightseeing, vacation, and (hopefully) a good bit of photography (both fire department and otherwise)—I’ve already piqued my interest with a Flickr search!

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I’ve got some t-shirts and patches that I’m hoping to do a little trading with; what would really be great is if any readers/fellow bloggers know anyone who could get in touch with a DFB member I could meet up with. Medic 999, I’m looking at you! I know you’re in the UK, but just like us DCFD guys know some people in FDNY, I would hope you might have a few buddies in Ireland.

Any help?

Images courtesy of DCFD Emerald Society, Irish Fire Services, JSTOR.org, and Flickr users hwatterworth, bsii, and super tourist.

Finally, a first-due job… and a pretty good one, at that.

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photo-2Our wagon driver’s voice came from the front of the cab, punching through the audible mess of sirens and air horns as we screamed a left out of the firehouse.

“It’s off! This one’s off!”

The other back step guy and I looked at each other.

What?

We just left the firehouse…

…we’re nowhere near the address…

…do you see… I don’t… there’s no smoke in the sky…

…nobody’s said anything on the radio…

Nevertheless, as our brains struggled with how in the hell he knew that, we simultaneously reached back to turn our SCBA bottles on. Wayne may joke about many things, but this is not one of them. (Incredibly, he would tell us later that he knew about the fire so far in advance because of a “different cloud pattern”—his words, not mine—in the sky towards where the call was.)

We double-checked our gear, and I tightened the last of my harness straps as we made the turn onto 25th Place.

photo-1First thought: Ohhhhh yes.

Second thought: Hey dumbass! Quit staring… you have stuff to do.

As I laid out the supply hose and the wagon took off, I saw bright red paint disappear into a haze that enveloped the block. I ran to catch up to the rest of my crew, and I saw that the lineman was already masking up at the front door. I dropped to put my mask on, made sure his hose was flaked out well enough behind him, and headed inside.

What in the name of… Christmas?

Trampling through the living room and working our way towards the stairs, we found ourselves walking over an unbelievable amount of Christmas decorations. Reindeer, nutcrackers of varying sizes, tinsel, rope lights, string lights, extension cords, wrapping paper… anything you can think of, it was in our way (yes, that is Santa and his sleigh in the first picture).

The first floor had a little bit of fire going in the bathroom and kitchen (to our left and right off the small hallway, respectively). My lineman whipped the nozzle around in each room as I fed him more and more line to advance. Our ultimate goal laid in getting up the stairs to the second floor, so we knocked the first floor fairly quickly and prepared to go upstairs.

There was only one problem, which I had been warned of in the Academy (I can still hear VanHagen’s voice): “…yeah, you might have a minute or two to do your own thing, but just know that pretty soon you’re going to have about twenty other [expletive]ers coming right up your ass. If you’ve got something, it’s gonna get real crowded—real fast.”

And such was certainly the case. The third due engine company hoping to steal our fire with their own hoseline; the rescue squad trying to muscle past us to do a search…

God only knows who else was crammed in that hallway, but there wasn’t a whole lot of room to move. To top it off, it felt like every person behind us was standing on our damned hose—an unfortunate reality of being in a narrow hallway. After some pulling, some shoving, and a good deal of yelling, we had finally freed up enough line to make it up the stairs (which were rapidly turning into the world’s nastiest Slip-n-Slide made of soot, water, and melted plastic Christmas crap).photo-3

At the top of the stairs, Truck 15’s bar man was hooking the walls in front of me, and my lineman was working his way around to the left. We could see the orange glow just past the landing, and we wanted nothing more than to get in there and hit it. A few minor fires jumped up around us, sometimes beside us, sometimes behind us. George was smashing walls with his halligan bar and finding little pockets of fire; each one we extinguished put us closer and closer to the seat of the fire, as we moved inch by inch. The second floor was fully involved, and we approached the middle of the room to find the entire ceiling glowing. I sidled up beside Tate, anchoring the hose with my body so he wouldn’t have to fight as hard against the nozzle pressure. He knocked down the left side of the room, and was even nice enough to give me a minute or two on the line to knock down the right side—seeing as it was the first real house fire both of us had ever had, I was pretty damned appreciative (much to my chagrin, however, he was sure to snatch the nozzle back real quick. It was, after all, mostly his fire).

We heard the truck working around us, their saws opening up the roof and their hooks breaking out the windows. The smoke that had once surrounded us with a soupy blackness transformed into a thinner gray, and began to clear out.

And just like that, most of it was gone. We were ordered to be relieved by another company—and were running low on air anyways—so we made our way down the stairs and outside as the next engine sprayed down what little licks of fire were left.

photo-6Outside, we all peeled our masks off. Our coats were steaming, our faces were sweating, and our gear was fully soaked with dirty water.

But we had done it.

Engine 26 had fought the beast, and we won—and we had a kick-ass time doing it, too.

We cleared that call several hours later—after the inevitable and exhausting overhaul work of tearing stuff up, shoveling it into buckets, and piling it in the front yard—with soot on our faces and pride in our hearts.

Sounds corny, doesn’t it? Well, it’s true. The two of us spent the rest of that tour smiling, having finally done something that many people only dream of as a small child in a Halloween costume. Anyone older and more jaded experienced than I will probably say I’m just a young excited kid, still wet behind the ears and with much to learn—and they’re absolutely right. I’m still far too young on this job to know my ass from my elbow, but I’m having way too much fun for anyone to damper my spirits.

photo-5Say what you will, gentlemen—critique to your heart’s content, if you wish. But remember that you, too, had a first fire. It may not have been perfect, it may not have been a big story in the local paper. But it was yours, and it was your first.

I’ve got some great guys around to teach me and plenty of time for them to do so; for now, congratulations—here’s to Engine 26 gettin’ it done!

Proudly,

/RL

P.S. – My apologies to the big dude from Truck 6. Give me a call and I’ll buy you a beer.

Image © available upon request, used with permission.

DCFD’s own in Haiti, plus picture compilations.

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First and foremost, I’m proud to see one of DCFD’s own searching for survivors after the terrible earthquake in Haiti.

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From www.tampabay.com’s All Eyes feature: Christopher Holmes from the Fairfax County Urban Search and Rescue searches for survivors in the rubble of a building after a massive earthquake on January 14, 2010 in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Planeloads of rescuers and relief supplies headed to Haiti as governments and aid agencies launched a massive relief operation after a powerful earthquake killing possibly thousands. Numerous buildings were reduced to rubble by the 7.0-strong quake on January 12. (Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images)

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Sergeant Holmes and his dog before, and they do make quite the team together. Great work, Sarge—be safe out there.

Dave Statter of Statter911 has been doing an excellent job chronicling the efforts Virginia’s Task Forces One and Two; more information (video interviews, news updates, pictures, etc.) is available here.

Alan Taylor, the brains behind Boston.com’s The Big Picture, has kept up an excellent feed of images from various stages of collapse, rescue, and recovery; Earthquake in Haiti; Haiti 48 Hours Later; Haiti Six Days Later.

(As he writes on the Big Picture “About” page, these photos are the best selections from various wire services that flow into the Boston Globe; he’s got a hell of an eye, and I eagerly await the Mon/Wed/Fri updates.)

Lastly, I’d like to include this image: from the UK’s Evening Star comes a photograph from Port au Prince (© Matthew McDermott) that shows a much greater side than most of the typical pictures of death and destruction so rampant in the news today.

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This is Kiki, an eight-year-old boy who was rescued in the Nazan district after being trapped for over a week underneath the rubble. I’d be pretty ecstatic, too!

A great job and best wishes to every rescue worker who is down in Haiti doing something to help—and here’s to hoping everyone makes it home safely.

“Documenting the Decade” – or, how I made the New York Times!

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A few weeks back, the New York Times website asked for submissions to be considered in their “Documenting the Decade” feature. I figured I’d toss some of my work into the ring, and two of my photographs were selected! I mean, it’s not the print version (which I’ve always wanted to be included in)—but with the advent of the internet and e-book readers like the Amazon Kindle, who reads physical newspapers anymore?

I do, damnit. Hands covered in newsprint are an archaic badge of honor… so I’m still going for the print edition someday.

Screenshots below lead to full-size images. The first is from Inauguration Day, and the second is from the weekend blizzard the east coast had in the middle of December.

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Georgetown University EMS: a story in photos.

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A little while back, I spent a day with Georgetown University’s EMS system (officially yet whimsically known as “G.E.R.M.S”). I originally contacted their PR director because I was intrigued by the notion of an independent emergency service provider that operates within a city that already has a full-coverage Fire and EMS Department. It’s not a bad little operation; the providers are competent and excited to work, their training regimen goes above and beyond the national minimum standards, and there’s certainly no shortage of undergraduate students eager to join the ranks. As an entirely student-run organization under the umbrella of Campus Safety, they have developed as an excellent resource on campus whose response and subsequent medical care has proved useful to students, faculty, and visitors alike.These frames and accompanying text are what I dug up one rainy afternoon with G.E.R.M.S.

Click on the photos below for the larger, more-readable version!

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Thank you to the entire G.E.R.M.S administrative and training staff, with a special thank-you to Brendan Maggiore (VP of Operations), without whom this endeavor would never have come together. If anyone would like to see additional pictures from that day, all of them are available in this gallery on Raising Ladders Photography.

Keep up the great work, G.E.R.M.S.!

/RL

P.S. – an interesting bit of lore: on a shelf above the staff mailboxes, there is an old frame holding a conundrum of a photograph. It is, quite clearly, a glamour shot of actor Danny Glover. However, upon closer inspection, it says “To Germs, continue your great work. Danny Glover.” The strangest part? Nobody has any idea how it ended up there. Despite the photo’s prominent location for “quite some time now” (i.e. longer than anyone whom I asked remembers), there are no records, memories, or even legends of its origin. One G.E.R.M.S. member took it upon himself to look back more than a decade into the service’s employment records, interviewing and calling prior staffers about the photo—nevertheless, the search proved once again fruitless.

Any ideas?

Recruit Class 360: congratulations, and good luck! (w/pictures)

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Happy New Year! Yes, I haven’t put up a new post since last year, but there were several factors that led to this:

  1. I wanted to leave the Nikon Festival instructions up for a while, so visitors could make sure to see them (be sure to vote if you haven’t already, and tell your friends/coworkers about it!);
  2. I’ve been keeping busy by helping a recently-graduated recruit class with photography;
  3. I wanted to finish processing all the photos before I posted any of them here.

Anyways, most of that is boring stuff you don’t care about. Let’s get to the pictures!

Some context: Recruit Class 360 invited me along on a special tour (i.e. not the one that the general public gets) tour of the Capitol Building, so the first four photos are a few shots from our chilly winter trek to downtown D.C. They also took one of their official class photos there.

They liked my work, so they asked me to come along to their graduation on December 31st, in which public speaker and Pro Football Hall-of-Famer John Riggins was the guest of honor—the remaining photos are some of my favorite frames from the ceremony.

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Mayor Adrian Fenty stopped by to deliver his remarks, and then shook the hand of each member of 360.

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Mr. Riggins was given a ceremonial helmet, signed by the recruits from 360, as well as a new pair of boots for working around his farm.

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This last frame is my personal favorite from the entire day. Mr. Riggins’ daughter was present at the ceremony with him, and I caught her just as she was trying on Dad’s new helmet.

The full sets of both the Capitol Tour and the Graduation are available through my other site, RaisingLaddersPhotography; there, you’ll find all of these pictures and more, plus all the “hold your certificate and grin at the camera” shots that are inevitable at any ceremony. They’re cheesy but necessary—tell your mother to buy a few!

Just a quick note: All of my photos are my exclusive property, and should not be used, printed, or displayed without my express permission… *ahem*  Engine 6 / Truck 4, I’m looking at you! (source). I’d be more than happy to agree to the use of my photos, I just want to know if you’re doing it.

All the best to the new Probationers from Recruit Class 360; one of them is coming to E26 on the shift after me, so I’ll be seeing him more than a few times; to the rest of you, thank you for the wonderful opportunities to be a part of your graduation. Take care, and good luck!

/RL

The Raising Ladders video made it the final round!

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Yes, it’s true… out of well over a thousand videos, mine was selected as one of the final fifty contenders.

I’m very grateful to FireCritic (as well as Captain Wines of Roanoke City Engine 9, who originally passed it on to FireCritic) for plugging my video on his site; all that remains until the contest is over is for everyone to vote on it. Audience participation is held in high regard, so please help me out and give my video a ratings boost!

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Engine 26 is (almost) famous… again!

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Damn, first we’re in a (most excellent) short film, and now a TV show! Well, almost.

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Thursday evening, a film crew came by the firehouse to shoot a segment for Extreme Forensics, a show on the Discovery Channel. The subject matter was D.C. area arsonist, Thomas A. Sweatt, who started a wave of fires several years ago in Maryland and the District. One of the 37 fires he admitted to was a two-alarm in June of 2003, in which an 86-year-old woman lost her life.

Extreme Forensics, realizing that E-26 had responded to that particular location on Evarts St, NE, showed up and asked if some of the guys who were actually on that fire could re-create a bit of the action—you know, run to the engine, put on boots, jump in, pull out with the lights and sirens going.

Wait a minute. Does some of that scene sound familiar to you?

(Yeah, the guys were a lot more amenable to following their directions than mine… damn this red tag! Hey, I got it done under more extreme circumstances. There were more than a few “creative directions” that ended up on my cutting room floor…)

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I can only assume from watching those forensic shows that the footage will be either heavily vignetted/put in black-and-white (so the audience knows it happened in the past); slowed by about 50% (to add dramatic tension); and given an over-the-top voiceover by a man with a pleasing baritone voice.

It won’t air until next year, but supposedly the production company will provide us with a copy of the episode.

What’s next?

Nikon Festival: Video Submission

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I’ve just completed and uploaded my official submission for the Nikon Festival “A Day Through Your Lens” competition (this might explain the absence from blogging for a bit, eh?)

In keeping with contest rules, I’m not supposed to upload the video anywehere for public viewing except through the contest website, so I’ll just have to link it:

Twenty-Four Hours: A Day With Raising_Ladders

It was a hell of a project, but I’m glad to finally have it completed and sent in—now I can take a much-needed break from editing.

Thanks to everyone who helped, including my family, my friend/editor Sean, and the entire crew at E26 #2.

/RL

The Sitting Room: New additions

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The first question is very specific: ”Is anyone on the list [of recently graduated recruits] being assigned here?”

The next question is more general, and includes an air of devilish curiosity:

“So, what’ve you heard about them?”

It happens to everyone, I suppose. From our first few days in the Academy, stories began to compile and fledgeling nicknames started to stick—from what I’ve heard, sometimes these things can hang around for your entire career. When the guys in a house get wind that Probationer So-and-so is on his or her way, people start asking questions. Usually, somebody knows something about them.

Half the fun of the Academy, after all, was the people you were around all the time—it’s only fair that you have something entertaining to call them, usually with a story to accompany it. “Hightower,” “Kitty Kat,” “Country,” “Greg Brady,” “Nipples,” various alterations of last names/first names/middle names/nonsense names…

Of course, the funny stuff is just the tip of the “what’ve-you-heard” iceberg. Are they a good worker? Are they a loudmouth or are they kinda shy? Lazy as hell, didn’t do anything in the Academy? Go-getter type, but gets frustrated easily?

Nobody is immune to it. Besides, it seems as if word travels faster via firefighters than by any other means of communication. Remember the movie Waiting? Even though Ryan Reynolds’s character was referring to the restaurant industry, he got it exactly right:

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Monty: “Are you gonna take the Assistant Manager job?”

Dean: “Wait. How the hell do you know about that?”

Monty: “Are you kidding me? You know this place. People with a day off already know.”

—————

Speaking of the Academy: one recruit class just recently graduated, while another fresh batch started in the machine this morning. Notably, two friends of mine are in this new class; I can just see them driving nervously down Shepherd Parkway in the five a.m. darkness, as excited and uncertain as I was exactly three-hundred and sixty-four days ago.

Best of luck, guys. I hope your first week goes well!

Oh, and one more thing: find someone in the class who likes taking pictures.

(Seriously, what other advice would you expect me to give?)

Car vs. Tree… vs. Rescue Squad

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Whap!

“Keep your head down, dammit!”

Even with my head safely turtled into the collar of my turnout gear, I could still recognize the voice of Truck 15’s driver above me. He had given me a sharp smack on top of my helmet as a gentle reminder that there was a large hydraulic tool nestling its way into the space above my head.

As my legs started to cramp from my awkward placement between a tree and what used to be a car door, I wondered how I had arrived in this position.

“Units responding with the first battalion, respond on tac channel zero-alpha three.”

I stumbled out of the bunkroom and caught snippets of the radio transmission as I climbed into the wagon, trying to shake sleep from my brain the whole way there.

“…vehicle into a tree…”

“…report of persons trapped…”

I snapped up the last of my turnout coat and grabbed my helmet as the engine pulled up on scene. A four-door sedan had lost control on a turn and slammed broadside into a thick tree. The (now) horseshoe-shaped vehicle had only a single occupant, who was now pinned between the front edge of the passenger seat and the glove compartment.

“Hey, man! Get me the $@&* outta here! Pull me up, man!”

Okay, he’s breathing. That’s always good.

The layout man went over to put the car in park while I headed around to the passenger side. The vehicle had rebounded off of the tree, providing a two-foot space in which I could talk to the driver through the shattered side windows.

“Good thing the squad’s coming. They’re gonna have to cut this guy out.”

My officer’s voice spurred me into action. I saw an opportunity for something interesting, so I grabbed a c-collar and squeezed into the narrow space. I mean, if I’m going to be up at 3am, why not get my hands a little dirty?

With the collar firmly in place, I assumed my awkward half-crouch stance, arms extended to hold manual spine stabilization. I felt the rescue squad rumble up on the street behind me, and I could hear their voices discussing the best way to get the patient out. Suddenly, a sheet descended on the patient and I, whiting out our view of the surroundings but enabling me to clearly talk to him and determine the extent of his injuries.

Moments later, bits of windshield bounced off our makeshift tent as the glass saws went to work. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t banged up too bad; he was just pinned into the car. I tried to stretch my neck a bit to combat the strange angle I had it at in the window–which brings us back to the beginning.

I heard a hydraulic cutter hit the B-post of the car, inches above my head. It hissed to life as metal bit into metal, making the first of several cuts necessary to remove the roof.  Several minutes later, the top of the car and our covering were lifted, having completed the modification into a convertible.

This, of course, only served to give us a little more breathing room for the final steps: rolling the dash and extricating the patient. Using hydraulic rams, the squad guys actually pushed the dashboard further away from the seats, giving us enough space to wiggle the patient out. Now, it’s good-news/bad-news time.

Good news: while in the car, the patient had full functionality of his extremities, a normal blood pressure, and was answering all of my questions appropriately while denying any pain.

Bad news: having his torso/abdomen squeezed by the dash was apparently keeping his blood pressure at a decent level. When we stretched him out onto a backboard, we found his blood pressure had dropped to around 65-70 and he was acting a little woozy. Oh, and now everything hurts. While inside the medic unit, I helped package him up, started two IVs, and sent him on his way to the trauma center.

Back to sleep?

Well, it’s almost 4:30am.

Nah, might as well stay up and wait for the first relief to arrive.

Holiday Week!

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Between working, traveling, cooking, photo editing, and prepping some upcoming side projects, this has been quite a week.

Whether you’re eating, flying, or collecting that lovely holiday pay when you read this, best Thanksgiving wishes to everyone. Stay safe, and I’ll see you on the far side of National Food Coma Day!

/RL

Where have all the fires gone?

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I slung my bottle around and deposited it on the floor of the cab with a disappointed thunk.

Yet another box alarm that turned out to be nothing. A heavy sigh escaped me as I slowly unsnapped my coat and climbed up to the hosebed. I mean, I’m still learning (and still bright-eyed and eager to actually do this job), so I have no problem drilling or trying to absorb something useful from every call we run—but it’s no wonder that people on this job start to get complacent.

How am I supposed to become adept at fighting fires if I never get any practice?

I usually make it a point to ask the more senior members I come across what our city was like when it still burned. When you could run a good working fire as frequently as every few tours, if not more often. When Trinidad was the kind of neighborhood that only lives in stories now, and the guys on the engine didn’t even want to drive through there in full daylight.

We just don’t burn like we used to, say the old salts—they opine that nobody does anymore.

New York City? Nah, not really.

Detroit? Okay, maybe. West Baltimore, perhaps.

They scratch their chins and stare off into the distance, fondly remembering when being a firefighter was about fighting fires. ”All these medical locals be damned!” they declare. “We’re not the Big Red Ambulance! Times were better back when…”

I will, unfortunately, never know those times. I can only listen to the stories, and dream of being a firefighter in the generations before me. I knew that this job wouldn’t be like Dennis Smith’s Report From Engine Company 82, or Tom Downey’s The Last Men Out: Life on the Edge at Rescue 2.

But I still dream, and often the words from those dog-eared pages leap into my head at night. They rush right back out, however, as we run our first medical local within minutes of my arrival at work.

Stethoscopes and saline bags get more of a daily workout than helmets and halligan bars.

Any fire this city does have, however, doesn’t seem to be coming my way. Even shortly after I graduated from the Academy, I kept missing a room-and-contents here, a rear porch off there. I suppose it’s just my brain attaching significance to unrelated, unfortunately-coincidental events, but it’s disappointing nonetheless (I know that there’s an eponymous Law that describes this perfectly, but I can’t seem to remember it.)

July 8th, 2009: When I was still mentoring at E15, I was relieved one morning just two hours before the guys went to this.

July 30th, 2009: My mentor kept me at 15 for a few extra weeks; this, in turn, caused me to miss this multiple alarm (had I been on my current shift at E26, I would have been on that fire).

Last tour, I climbed into the back of 26 in the morning to relieve the lineman, and it smelled just… wonderful. The day before, they had been second due to this.

—————

I’m sick of writing about medical calls. Sure, they make for good copy—moments in the back of the ambulance can be touching, funny, heart-wrenching, or absurd. But I long for the day when I can sit down at this screen and crack my knuckles excitedly, knowing not where I shall begin. Trembling with excitement, I’ll lower a shaky coffee cup and put fingers to keys.

“My First Fire!”

No, no, no… too Play-Skool-esque. It must be… cool. Unique, and… and… I don’t know. [furiously hammers the Delete key]

I’ll wrack my brain for hours, typing and re-typing until it has just that right feel to it—and yet I probably still won’t like it. It’s been built-up and over-hyped for so long.

Damn it all, I spend the majority of 192 hours per month in the back of a fire engine… and yet I have no serious digital ink to lay down about firefighting. Expressions of my recent hot-headed frustrations were met with a soothing word from a more experienced, fire-savvy friend:

“Relax, playboy. It will come.”

But when?

You know you’re a probationer when:

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RL_11_09_2009-1

• You’re telling your friends where to meet up later that night, but directions to the bar include “it’s right near the hydrant on the southwest corner,” or “…it’ll be in the twelve-hundred-block of  Connecticut Ave.”

• “Yes, sir” has entered your everyday lexicon, even at home.

• Directions to your house have ended with the phrase “…to box.”*

• When a late-night phone call suddenly wakes you up, your legs swing out of bed and you fumble around in the dark for your boots. Oh wait… yep, I’m in my apartment. Dammit.

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• When responding to even the simplest of questions, one must fight off the urge to recite what particular article, section, and sub-section the answer comes from in the Department Order Book.

• You have become very, very good at washing dishes.

• Between your name tag, Probationer tag, and your collar brass, various items get snagged or ripped off your uniform all the time. Thus, wearing any collared shirt at home has become an exercise in absent-mindedly touching your clothing to make sure everything is pinned on properly—and then realizing that you’re an idiot.

• While you’re running errands, the distinct ring of a multi-line phone system causes you to look around and think for a split second that you have to go answer it. You soon realize you’re in bank, or an office, or a restaurant.

• Similarly, you have an unexplainable urge to answer your cell phone within two rings.

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—————

Note: The phrase “…to box” is a reference to the information book in the firehouse. If you flip it open and look up a certain box number in our response area, the directions read something like this:

Box 1234: Left on Smith Street, right on Jones Avenue, right on Davis Terrace to box.

10am: Area Drills.

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“Uh, left on Rhode Island, right on Montana… uh… left on…”

Frustrated, I looked down at my paper. There were lots of street names, copied from the chalkboard—just no descriptions of how to get there, which was the purpose of the whole exercise.

It will come in due time, I suppose. I’ve been trying to learn the area as best I can without formally receiving any maps or running routes; it’s been mostly based off of talking with the wagon driver and the other guys on the back step with me. We’re all supposed to know our first-due area like the backs of our hands, and now that I passed my seventh-month test last tour, I’ll be receiving a list of common addresses to tackle—not to mention major buildings, abnormal addresses, hydrant locations, short streets, and a plethora of other data that we need to know.

I remember when I was sixteen and volunteering as an EMT, I had a map of our first-due area that I had drawn my self, and I used to drive around the area on the weekends to get a feel for it. I may have to do this again; granted, the area I’m supposed to know is much larger now, but I believe the process is the same.

Just add it to the pile of stuff to study; a fellow probationer told me that your eighth-month test is the hardest, because it’s more of those damned questions on top of trying to turn your head into a mapbook.

Either way, it’s just another step. As one of the more senior technicians told me last tour:

“One day, you’re going to be here at night, sleeping. And then the bells are going to go off. And as you wake up, you’ll hear the address… and a map is just going to pop right into your head. You’ll know exactly how to get there… and by the time you fully wake up, you’ll realize that you’re sitting outside of that very house with the parking brake on.”

—————

Note: Similar to “The Sitting Room,” “10am” will be reserved as a header title for anything related to drills and training—the name stems from the fact that by Department rules, every shift is to train on something at 10am each day (with certain exceptions, but the general idea holds true).

The Sitting Room: Space Exploration and You.

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“Damn, first they crashed two hunks of metal into the moon, and now they’re launching another rocket? Why in the hell is this worth spending money on? Going into space in the sixties and seventies didn’t do anything for us except make us proud that we beat the Russians, and it’s not going to do anything for us now. We should be fixing the budget with all that money.”

I saw him slap at the remote in frustration, trying to find something less infuriating to watch on the TV.

Trying to drown out the new sounds of some hunting or fishing show behind me (I couldn’t be sure, since I’m not allowed to watch TV in probation—all I heard was a southern accent saying “We got us a big ‘un right here!”), I closed my eyes and shook my head.

I need to get out of probation… because I’d like to have a high-volume discussion about why what you just said is stupid.

Alas, I had to finish my meal in silence, unable to weigh in on The Farm’s Space Talk. Little did any of them know…

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First off, NASA’s budget is barely perceptible on the fiscal radar. For FY2009, NASA announced a budget of $17.6 billion. In contrast, the Department of Defense was given just over $515 billion in “discretionary authority”—the allotment to repair and update our nation’s aircraft fleets is $17.3 billion alone.

More importantly, I find it inconceivable that someone—who was alive when a man set foot on the moon, mind you—is unable to grasp the tremendous impact that NASA and space exploration had on our lives as a whole. GPS units, medical imaging (MRI/CAT) machines, ear thermometers, satellite dishes, game controllers, anything made of plastic… the list goes on and on.

Oh, you’d like some more applicable specifics? Well, turn your head away from the TV I can’t watch (yes, Joe Hick’s Fishin’ and Huntin’ Time is being piped through the cable box, yet another invention from space) and listen here.

Power tools that we use, both here and in our homes? Well, a 238,857 mile-long extension cord doesn’t work very well for digging moon rocks.

Temper Foam, like the stuff inside our helmets? It was originally seat padding developed for both aircraft and spaceflight.

Fire-resistant clothing and material? The inherent fire risks associated with space travel (small compartment, oxygen tanks everywhere, sparks and wires, etc.) were unfortunately only addressed after the Apollo 1 fire that killed astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee.

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While their poorly-designed suits were only part of the whole picture that led to the death of these heroes, properly flame-retardant gear might have helped keep them alive long enough to find a way out of the test cockpit—instead, Grissom and White’s suits were found melted together. Following this, a great deal of research was conducted into making the entirety of the suit (and much of the material, fabric or otherwise, inside the cockpit) heavily resistant to heat and flame. Today, much of what we all have in our gear lockers is a descendant of NASA material, having adopted and bettered the technology for modern-day firefighting.

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Now, you tell me that’s not impressive. Sure, everyone knows that a good deal of modern technology comes from the military—but did you know that a whole mess of other stuff came from the space program? Kindly don’t piss and moan about NASA. They’ve been working for decades to do more for humanity than many other agencies, and on a shoestring budget at that (they’re running with 3% of the DoD budget—a mere drop in the governmental bucket).

Besides, it’s just cool. It’s space. The Final Frontier… “to infinity and beyond…”

Who didn’t want to be an astronaut when they were a little kid? My parents have said that when they were younger and they watched a man get out of a spacecraft and walk on the damned moon was one of the most amazing things they’ve ever seen. I’m jealous I didn’t get to see it myself.

On a funnier note, writing this post reminds me of one of my favorite Onion articles.

So, whaddya think? Are we wasting our time with the Ares-1-X and the new Constellation Project?

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Constellation Project logo and Apollo 1 crew image courtesy of NASA in the public domain.

Ares launch pad image © Bill Ingalls/AP/NASA.

Note: If you haven’t already figured it out, I have created this new category/headline for specific types of posts—”The Sitting Room” shall be hereafter reserved for my take on a wide variety of conversations, serious or otherwise, that go on in the firehouse. No, it’s not gossip, and no, it won’t be getting anyone in trouble. Think of it like a “miscellaneous” category.

Fakers, flaggers, and fighters.

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FakerPaperclip

“Ugh… you have got to be kidding me.”

On average, I say that about five times per tour. In this particular instance, I was (quite comfortably) slouched down in the passenger seat of Ambulance 12—returning from my fourth switch-out that night—when a woman ran out into the street, frantically waving one of her arms. The other, unsurprisingly, had her cell phone sandwiched to the side of her head.

I blinked twice, hard, as if to clear both the sleep from my eyes and the woman from my view. As I climbed out and grabbed a pair of gloves, I convinced myself that rolling my eyes was an Ancient Chinese Secret used to increase alertness—at least, that’s my story if anyone saw me do it.

Flaggings usually don’t amount to much. Granted, there’s the occasional “this guy was just shot,” or “she clutched her chest and fell down and now she’s not breathing,” but for the most part, being flagged down is akin to hailing a taxi on a day when it might rain: “…So, should we? Eh, maybe not, we can make it… oh, here comes one! Let’s get it anyways, since it’s here!”

Let’s not assume anything, though. I mean, she was quite the Samaritan: She ran out into the street, laughing at something on her cell phone (trust me, she was not speaking to a 911 operator); flagged us down; then barged past us into the storefront as we tried to find the patient, saying “Ooh, I gotta finish gettin’ my nails done!” Of course, she stepped over the unmoving supine figure on the ground, nearly skewering his skull with a stiletto in the process.

Quite the Good Samaritan, indeed.

Bystanders said he walked in and laid on the ground with no explanation. Okay, well he’s breathing. That’s good. Strong pulse, also good. Outwardly, there doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him. Blood sugar? Well within normal limits. Maybe a heroin overdose? It’s fairly common, so let’s just take a look at his eyes…

Cue the Microsoft Word Paperclip Assistant. If you were to click “yes,” you would see a small list:

  1. Do not roll your eyes in the back of your head when I lifts your eyelids. It’s a dead giveaway.
  2. If I lift your hand up and then drop it, let it fall to the floor. Lowering it in a controlled manner is another silly move.
  3. Please do not let me catch you opening one eye to look around at what’s going on. I will tell you to stop wasting my time, as well as the time of the other ambulance, EMS supervisor, and the entire damned engine company who you woke from a nice deep sleep.

So into the ambulance we went. As expected, the patient miraculously “woke up” moments later and said he was fine. Now grinning from ear to ear and looking at the swarm of people gathered around, he kept saying that he didn’t want or need any medical treatment. No history, no complaints, no physiological problems, and not a care in the world.

“What happened? I fell down? I must’ve just passed out… long day, you know? Ha-HA!”

“Yes, sir, I do know. (sigh) Please just sign this.”

—————

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Hey, it could be worse. About a month ago, a man in Australia flagged down an ambulance (expecting just a ride, no treatment) and then attacked the crew when they wouldn’t take him where he wanted to go.

Damn. In America, the public is at least able to come up with some reason why they need to go to the hospital–whether it’s toe pain or a cough for two weeks, at least it’s a reason.

I first encountered “free taxi” syndrome when I worked in Pittsburgh. Let’s say you wanted to go visit your friend, but you don’t have a car or any money and he’s waaaay across town. So, call 911! Tell us you have something like elbow pain, and that you want to go to Allegheny General because your doctor’s there, or something. (Really, anything. As the patient, legally you’ve got plenty of leeway.) As soon as you get to ER triage, though, you can just sign out AMA* and walk to your friend’s house!

Wonderful, isn’t it?

We run our strips. We go home.

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Damn, I was just about to go to bed.

Halfway to the bunkroom to wake up the next guy on watch, the tones went off. I shook the sleep out of my head as I spun in place and headed to the desk. I didn’t catch the dispatch, so I grabbed the printout and read it as I grabbed the intercom mic.

“Engine, engine. Medical local, for the…”

I paused as my eyes finished the page a split second before my voice did. Dammit.

“…cardiac arrest.”

—————

A hysterical wail cut through the air to my left, now audible only because we had turned our sirens off. I grabbed the medical bags and started in that direction (it’s usually not a good sign, but it ain’t a bad locator beacon, either).

As I had pretty much expected, there were three things present inside the apartment:

  1. some bored-looking cops;
  2. a hysterical family member;
  3. a motionless body.

As I passed the first, deftly avoided the second, and approached the third, one of my hands found a place near the side of her head and tried to position her airway—the other snaked up beside her neck and felt for a pulse.

I recoiled slightly; she was as cold as the sidewalk outside, and about as flexible. Rigor was setting in, so I turned to my crew (who, wonderfully, had grabbed a BVM, oxygen, and a tube kit out of my stuff) and gave them the curt headshake reserved for TV characters who have to stoically answer the female lead’s tearful rendition of “Did he make it, doctor?”

“Just the monitor, guys.”

I still feel strange running EKG strips on obviously dead folks. I mean, in certain DOA situations, our patient is exhibiting obvious “signs incompatible with life” (decapitation, dependent lividity, rigor mortis), and yet… we must prove it.

So, we put EKG stickers on cold limbs, palpate depressurized arteries, and take pink and red pictures of motionless hearts.

I folded the paper up and turned to leave. By this time, the screaming daughter had left, replaced by a much calmer son with a thousand-yard-stare.

“Excuse me.” It was barely a whisper.

“Yes?”

“So, what’s the situation?”

“Well, she’s been down for too long, so… there’s unfortunately nothing we can do for her.”

I kept it simple. I’ve tried the other route, and it doesn’t usually work out so well in these situations. So, I swallowed all the typical, feel-better phrases that I’ve heard used countless times before. They sound like bullshit, and they feel acidic in your throat.

“So, she’s gone?”

I stared for a second.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, okay.” His thousand-yard stare turned from me, scanned the room, and stopped on Mom.

I left without a word, seeing his back still turned on me and his head slowly nodding.

We run our strips, and we go home.

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Welcome to the Hivemind.

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RL_badge“Holy crap! What happened to your site?!”

I’ve received more than a few of these emails in the past few hours, and I suppose I’m to blame for not really explaining how this drastic refurb job came to be.

Some time ago, I was officially invited to join FireEMSBlogs.com, the new home for what are being called the best of the best industry writing on the web. Essentially providing access to our interconnected community of blogs, the new site is designed to serve as a “home base” for news about fire/EMS that’s spread all over the web.

And just how does this affect RaisingLadders, you may ask? Well, it gives me an opportunity to rub shoulders with the big dogs, to paraphrase FireCritic—bloggers with much more experience, exposure, and readership like STATter 911, FireGeezer, HappyMedic, et al. The biggest benefit that I’ll see is increased traffic, because the bloggers who have a lot of eyeballs on their pages each day help drive more readers to those of us in the network who are not-so-famous, myself included.

I encourage everyone to check out the blog network’s homepage and read some of the other blogs listed on the front page—there’s a reason they were chosen by the guys who founded Firehouse.com, and I feel very honored to be included in this group.

Congratulations Chris and Dave for pulling this off! I’ve been eagerly awaiting the launch, and now I’m very excited to see how all this network synergy affects us; we few, we happy few, we band of bloggers…

Enjoy RL v2.0!

The Gauntlet.

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"You should stop…"

I froze in place, realizing for the first time how sweaty I had grown in only a few minutes in gear.

"…drop…"

I crumpled to the ground, covering my face and bashing my knuckles in the process. Come on… stage training be damned—why commit to a fall when they probably don't care how it looks anyways?

"…and roll!"

I could barely contain my laughter as my world went alternately bright and then dark, bright and then dark. The ecstatic squeals and shouts of first-graders were all around me as I flopped around, probably looking for all the world like a big tan fish rimmed in Scotch-Brite.

Yes, it was time for the elementary school kids to meet their Friendly Neighborhood Fireman!

Gijoe Don't play with matches, don't use the stove, ask your parents if you have a smoke detector… 

I had to seriously stop myself from quoting a childhood hero: "Now you know. And knowing is half the battle!"

Demonstrations for elementary schools seem to be pretty common in the Department; the only unfortunate part is that it usually falls to the rookie to demonstrate the finer points of, well, everything.

"How quickly can you get dressed?" Uh, let me go get my gear, and I'll show you!

"What's the stuff on top of the fire truck?" Give me a second to climb up there, and I'll show you!

"How do I call 9-1-1?" Well…

The kids really seem to enjoy having us come by their school; it's really not all that bad unless the children turn violent. And I don't mean playful-violent. I mean full-on, someone-call-a-priest, Children-of-the-Corn violent.

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The Gauntlet.

We try to teach children not to be afraid of us in gear. Admittedly, with our helmets, masks, gloves, air cylinder, and Darth Vader voice, we do tend to frighten the little ones (we always get a few at every school who hide behind the teacher). However, when the children are encouraged to approach and see us up close, one of them always gets a little adventurous. This "fun" spreads like wildfire, and before I know it, I feel like Mickey Mouse on a bad day at Disney World.

Once, I had a child raise his hand not three feet in front of me. In his calmest voice, he asked his teacher: "Can we slap the fireman?"

That was not a good day.

Nevertheless, it's a pretty rewarding experience. From showing them the inside of the engine, to making sure to give the siren a little extra juice when we (inevitably) have to go on a run, they love every second of our show-and-tell.

I may have felt like an idiot while I crawled around on a sidewalk, or been embarrassed by getting bowled over by a bunch of sugared-up six-year-olds…

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…but it's totally worth it.