Life at the firehouse also had its share of less dignified, yet utterly human moments. The urgency of the work meant that alarms could sound at any time, often at the most inconvenient moments. Whether you were halfway through a meal, or even in the bathroom, you had to be ready to drop everything at a moment's notice, literally everything. I remember one call where I was desperately in need of a restroom break, which led me to make an emergency pit stop at a gas station after being reduced to code 2 on the way to a structure fire. My crew found this hilarious - they never let me live it down.
Even at working structure fires, nature could call. I recall one incident as the truck engineer, I had to ask a nearby neighbor if I could use their bathroom. The absurdity of these situations was not lost on us, and being able to laugh at them was essential. Humor became a coping mechanism, allowing us to deal with the high-stress nature of our job while maintaining our sanity.
These situations taught me invaluable lessons about life as a firefighter. It wasn't just about putting out fires or responding to emergencies; it was about managing personal health, navigating department politics, fostering team camaraderie, and balancing a demanding career with family life. The fire service was not just a job; it was a lifestyle that required resilience, adaptability, and, importantly, a good sense of humor. Without the ability to laugh at oneself and the occasional absurdities of the job, the pressures could become overwhelming. My time in the fire service was filled with highs and lows, but each moment helped forge my character and shaped my approach to life both in and out of uniform. It was a career that demanded everything I had, and in return, it gave back in great measures of growth, fulfillment, and lifelong friendships.
After a while, about 10 years, I felt I had reached a milestone in my career as a firefighter. I was confident in my skills and understanding of fire behavior, building construction, all of our equipment and apparatus. With experience as a building contractor and having constructed several homes, I was well-versed in structural integrity, what kept buildings standing upright, and what could take 'em down. I started teaching fire behavior to our academy of new hire rookies and felt confident in all of our tactics and strategies - or so I believed. In both the fire service and life, the reality is that learning never truly ends. People who believe they understand everything often learn the hard way that they actually know very little.
During this period, when I thought I had a good understanding of the fire ground, we were called to assist on a mutual aid structure fire in Montecito. The fire was aggressively burning in the attic of an older home, and the first arriving unit had made entry through the front, only to find that the fire was actually concentrated in the attic. It was a chaotic scene with concerns about the length of time the fire had been burning.
As acting captain from SB City Station 2 that day, I sold the chief on the fact we needed to pull the ceiling to direct water onto the fire in the attic. Despite the urgency, I was focused - determined to save the building. What I hadn't considered was that the fire had been eating away at the structure for over an hour before we made our entry through a set of french doors at the rear of the house, nor had I considered the weight of a Spanish tile roof.
Armed with a charged line and a pike pole, we started to attack the ceiling, which was lath and plaster, typical of older homes built in the forties. Poking a hole in a lath and plaster ceiling is almost like poking a hole in concrete, it's a very thick hard material and takes a while. It was incredibly resistant, we were barely making a dent with all our efforts. Just as we managed to make a small hole big enough for a water nozzle, we heard the call to evacuate. Ignoring it initially, convinced we could gain control of the situation, we pressed on until the structure decided otherwise. Suddenly, the roof collapsed, before we could say "uh oh," the roof and walls created a tent-like opening on one side of the building while crushing the other side. Our hose line was pinched off, and my firefighter pulled me out to safety through another set of French doors still intact.
Standing back and seeing the extent of the collapse from outdoors, I realized just how close we had come to disaster. Had we been in another room 10 feet away in another room, we would have all been crushed under the weight of the roof. It was a sobering reminder of the precarious nature of our work. Initially, I was furious - adrenaline coursing through, frustrated that our efforts had been thwarted so dramatically. Yet, as the reality of our narrow escape settled in over the next few hours, I was overwhelmed by a profound sense of humility and gratitude. My firefighter, Lee, who would later become Assistant Fire Chief, had undoubtedly saved my life by pulling me out of that building.
This incident underscored a critical lesson that regardless of one's experience or confidence in the fire service, there are always unknowns that can quickly escalate into life-threatening situations. Every call has the potential to turn volatile, underscoring the inherent risks and uncertainties we face. It's a stark reminder that the fire service is unforgiving, demanding not only physical courage but also a willingness to accept and learn from each close call. The experience also reinforced the importance of teamwork and the instinctual bond that forms when lives are routinely placed in each other's hands. In the end, the ability to listen, adapt, and respond without ego can mean the difference between life and death. Such moments of reflection deepened our respect for the profession and for each other, fortifying our commitment to serve and protect with every fiber of our being.
Being in the fire service is inherently fraught with risks, a fact that became even clearer during my stint as an acting captain. This role was part of a program designed to prepare engineers like myself for potential leadership roles. Essentially, if a captain was absent due to illness or any other reason, an engineer with acting captain certification would step up and assume the responsibilities of the captain. This opportunity wasn't just about filling in; it was a real test of ability as well as a cost-saving measure for the department, and also an exciting challenge.
Another of my initial experiences in this acting role was at a fire in a multi story vacant commercial building. The call came during the early hours of the morning, around 3 AM. We faced a significant amount of heavy smoke on the second floor, and the situation was chaotic with several unknowns. The truck crew went up to the roof to ventilate, next in engine swept the first floor for any occupants, while my firefighter and I laid out a 300 pre-connect ready on the second floor. I remember yelling into the radio with urgency, "Charge the line, charge the line!" My voice may have betrayed a hint of panic - not from fear, but from the desperate need to get water flowing quickly. Thankfully, the response was swift, and with a fully charged hose line, we managed to quickly control and extinguish the fire confined to one room on the second floor. It appeared that a homeless person had been living in the room and left candles burning, which ignited the room and its contents.
The firefighter who worked with me that night later became one of the department's finest captains, a testament to the caliber of individuals I had the privilege to work alongside.
However, not all incidents under my command went as smoothly. Another time, we responded to a fire at a city recreation building by the beach, constructed with masonry and a Spanish tile roof. There was a large amount of smoke upon our arrival, and I instinctively followed standard procedure: I directed the truck crew to ventilate the roof while we prepared to attack the fire internally. It turned out, the fire was confined to a kiln at the back of the building - a relatively simple situation that required minimal intervention. Regrettably, in my zeal, I ordered the crew to cut through the Spanish tile roof, an action that was ultimately unnecessary. This mistake was a humbling lesson in the importance of assessing each situation carefully and not rushing to aggressive tactics when they are not needed.
The third incident over which I had command involved a series of dumpster fires - a scenario that unexpectedly spiraled out of control. A vandal had set multiple fires in dumpsters along a route from Santa Barbara to Goleta. In my overzealous attempt to manage the situation efficiently without disturbing the rest of the team at station one, I made several tactical errors. I left one firefighter at a dumpster while I and others moved on to additional fires. This decision to split our forces without adequate information or backup was a grave mistake. I underestimated the scope of the situation and overestimated my ability to handle it independently.
These experiences highlighted a critical gap in my skill set - delegation. While I had a firm grasp of fire behavior and operational tactics, effectively managing a team under pressure was a different challenge. It became apparent that the role of Fire Captain might not be the best fit for me, despite my understanding of the technical aspects of firefighting. This realization was pivotal, underscoring that leadership in firefighting encompasses more than just knowledge and enthusiasm; it requires the ability to coordinate and trust in the capabilities of others, balancing direct action with strategic oversight.
Through these trials, I learned invaluable lessons about leadership, humility, and the complexities of command. Each incident taught me about my strengths and areas for improvement, shaping me into a more competent and thoughtful firefighter, albeit one who recognized that not every leadership role was suited for every individual. These reflections on command experiences reveal the nuanced realities of firefighting - a job where life-and-death decisions are routine, and where learning from each call is as important as the immediate actions taken.
When the opportunity arose to take the captain's exam, I felt prepared with extensive training and practical experience under my belt. Despite this, I failed the exam. Those who passed, notably better at delegating and maintaining a comprehensive view of incidents, chose tactics like laying a five-inch supply line instead of a two-and-a-half inch, which I might have opted for. This wasn't just about hose size; it was about the capacity to plan for a bigger event and being able to deliver sufficient water - from 500 gallons a minute to 1500 gallons a minute - critical in scenarios where the fire unexpectedly escalates. The key lesson here was the importance of preparing for the worst-case scenario: go big or go home. This insight was something I lacked at the time, and it was a tough pill to swallow, especially since many who succeeded were younger and less experienced than me. The embarrassment was real, but in firefighting, the ability to laugh at oneself is crucial for moving forward.
Around my twelfth year on the job, after learning from numerous mistakes, I was assigned as a truck engineer at Station One - a role I found exhilarating. In the fire service, vehicles and their functions vary: while a fire engine primarily attacks fires with water, a truck serves as a support vehicle, equipped with lights, ladders, and additional firefighting tools. This position allowed me to engage in a broader range of fire and rescue operations, attending to every major incident in the city, from vehicle rollovers and cliff rescues to large-scale fires. It was during this period that I truly appreciated the diverse and dynamic nature of firefighting.
Working on the ladder truck opened a new chapter in my career. It was not just about mastering the mechanics but understanding truck operations, which was entirely different from engine operations. One of the greatest advantages of being on the truck crew was the exposure to varied emergency situations, enhancing my experience beyond the typical engine crew duties.
I had the privilege of working under one of the most seasoned truck captains in the department. His leadership and skill were unmatched, and despite some criticism from others within the department, I found his approach to be highly effective. He wasn't just doing his job; he was born for it. Under his guidance, I learned invaluable lessons about leadership and emergency management that significantly shaped my professional outlook.
During this time, the camaraderie and light-hearted rivalry between the truck crew and the engine crew were sources of daily entertainment. We, the truck crew, would jest about the engine crew, poking fun at their more limited scope of operations compared to our wide-ranging tasks that included forcible entry and large-scale tactical operations. It was all in good fun, but it fostered a spirited atmosphere that made the demanding work more enjoyable.
Additionally, my career continued to evolve as I was given the opportunity to serve as a driving instructor within the department. This role allowed me to teach other firefighters the critical skills needed to safely and effectively drive fire trucks. Beyond driving, I also contributed to the training academy, sharing knowledge on fire behavior and performing all of our live fire training exercises, further broadening my impact within the fire service community.
These experiences not only deepened my understanding of firefighting tactics but also emphasized the importance of adaptability and continuous learning. Whether through teaching new recruits, mastering different firefighting vehicles, or learning from a seasoned captain, each role brought new challenges and opportunities for growth. This phase of my career was not just about personal advancement but about contributing to the collective strength and capability of the fire service, ensuring that each new generation of firefighters was as prepared, if not more, than the last.