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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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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.

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.

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.

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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?

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.