By Sam Giamo Jr.
When asked to submit an article about the fire service, the first thing I did was laugh. I am well aware that there is nothing funny about training or sharing knowledge that might be life saving. I laughed because I realized that just about every conceivable topic has been addressed over and over again; besides, who would want to listen to a guy who has been out of the job for five years and had never made a name for himself outside of his hometown? Then came the flash, and I saw the BIG picture.
Actually, as much as the job has changed, it has stayed the same, and there is a tremendously underused wealth of firefighting knowledge on the streets, golf courses, and beaches of America. It was evident after September 11, 2001, by the hundreds of retirees who returned to New York City and went to work on the pile. It’s evident at funerals and picnics and everything in between when you see the young bucks listening in awe while the old-timers tell stories from the “war” years. Personally, I learned quite a bit about fighting fires from some of those old-timers. It was all part of the BIG picture.
When you are young and new to the job, you think you are immortal. You are fearless and want to prove yourself to the senior members. You are learning new things every day and on every run, and sometimes it comes at you so fast it can be overwhelming. The things you are called on to do, the things you see and hear in those early years, can be a blur when added to all your other responsibilities. Sometimes you just can’t process it all, but it’s there in your memory, waiting to be drawn out. The little trick about looking for the bolts on the outside of a door with a fox lock to see which way the bars move … the bit about bleeding the line before entering the fire area so as not to add air to the fire … your first fatal fireit all gets stored, but we don’t always process it right away. It also becomes part of the BIG picture.
I had about six months on the job and was working in an engine company in Brooklyn, New York. We got a call for a vacant building fire about five blocks from the firehouse. We were there in two minutes and found the place roaring: a four-story brick 40 × 60 stand-alone structure with fire out every window. Type A surround and drown, right? Well, it turned out that after the main body of fire was knocked down and we went in to mop up, we found two victims burned beyond recognition next to a gas can. Obviously failing Arson 101, they soaked the place with gasoline and lit the match from the top floor!
I was one of four or five probies working, and they made us bag and carry the victims. Only another firefighter can imagine the comments. I was thinking, “Are these guys kidding me, or what?” That was all I could remember about that fire for years until I forgot about it altogether.
Not too long ago, I got together with some old retired buddies for four days of golf. Guess what? That story came up. Only this time, a point was made that must have registered at the time of the fire, but I never gave it a second thought. We were ordered to stretch a 2 1/2-inch handline and a 3 1/2-inch handline to supply the tower ladder that was setting up in front. As I was screwing the coupling into the gated wye on the tower ladder, someone called for water. The chauffeur of the engine was old-school, and he used water pressure to chase the kinks. The water got to the coupling before I could finish the connection and open the gate, and it blew the coupling off the wye and past my head with enough force that it would have taken my head off had it hit me.
As my buddy told the story, I could feel that big hunk of brass whiz past my face. Then it finally dawned on me: That thing could have killed me that night, and I had never given it a second thought for almost 30 years. It was just another frame of the BIG picture. Needless to say, my golf game was a little off that day.
It’s amazing how much gets stored in your mind over the years that you never get the chance to process. Then, all of a sudden, you are not doing the job anymore, and the free time allows you to think back on “the day.” Memories of events good and bad flood back. Moments of fear and triumph pop into your head when you least expect them. Sometimes you feel like you’re going crazy, sometimes like you MUST be crazy. Other times, it’s a feeling of great satisfaction for a job well done.
Every firefighter realizes that the job is dangerous and the next run could be your last. It’s engrained in your mind from day one. You can’t dwell on it, however, because you would never be able to function properly. You teach yourself how to beat back the emotions so you can carry on, but you realize that what you’ve just seen or done is not normal. It is, however, part of that picture.
As you go through your careers, you will train and retrain on all the things that will keep you alive so you can retire some day. You will learn new techniques and disciplines and review the basics. Of all the things you will learn, the one that matters most will be the one discussed the least: your sense of well-being. It is something that HAS to be addressed. A sound mind leads to a sound body. A sound mind and body lead to sound decisions at an emergency scene, and they will get you home to your families at the end of the day. When the most horrific events happen to you, deal with them then and there. Let it out; talk it outwhatever it takes. If it is just too much for you, go see a professional. Your sense of well-being is just as important as your level of readiness. They work hand in hand.
Hopefully, by now you realize where I am going with this. This isn’t about some new knot or tool. This isn’t meant to be a revisit to a tragedy or just a “war” story. This is meant to shed some light on the aftereffects, as I like to call them, of a lifetime spent dealing with unimaginable horrors and not taking the time to process them, a lifetime of being a tough guy.
Take care of yourselves, my brothers and sisters. Your family and friends will love you for it. Your job performance will benefit from it. Most importantly, it will help make your retirement years what they should truly be, the golden years. After all, most of us took the job well aware of the risks and dangers. We did it because we truly wanted to help. We did it because we wanted the steady job. We did it for the early ages at which we could retire. Whatever the reason, we did it and may be doing it as we speak. Sooner or later, we all ride off to that big firehouse in the sun, passing the torch to the new guys. It’s tradition. It’s part of life. It’s part of the BIG picture. Let’s all work together to make that picture a happy one.
Sam Giamo Jr. has been a member of the fire service since 1975. He is a lifetime member of the Plainview (NY) Volunteer Fire Department, where he rose through the ranks to become chief of training in 1998 and chief of department in 1999-2000. He joined the Fire Department of New York in 1979 and retired in 2002. He is an assistant instructor for Tactical Rescue Training Inc., a company that specializes in basic, advanced, and technical rescue operations instruction.
