ON FIRE ❘ by MICHAEL N. CIAMPO
It’s funny in this business how we talk so much about firefighting, either face to face or on social media platforms. We all know that it’s easy to press a key and write our thoughts and feelings about any subject matter we feel we’re an expert on or experienced in. But, what do we do when we get back to the firehouse and lie in our bunks and the voices in our heads question our actions? I’m not sure if you’re like me after a fire, critiquing your actions and your company’s performance a hundred times over: Did I do this right? What if I did this? These are the questions that bounce through the brain. Of course, some actions might seem trivial, while others might be more important: If I did it at one fire, why I didn’t I do it at this fire or sooner in the operation? All fires and situations are different, and we all react differently when confronted with different scenarios at fire scenes and emergencies. The keys to the way we will react are good solid knowledge, training, and experience prior to the event.
Mayday-Mayday-Mayday
It has been more than a year now, and I can still vividly recall giving my first personal Mayday transmission after being involved in an electrical fire and explosion. Thinking I properly gave the transmission, after a few years of studying for the promotional test, I gave it the way it was engrained in my head. But, like anything else, new procedures and equipment arrive and tactics change. Our new radios are equipped with two emergency alert buttons; when either is pressed, it boosts the transmission wattage and sends out a loud audible emergency signal over the radios, advising that a Mayday message or an Urgent message is about to be transmitted. It also allows the assigned firefighter’s radio to be identified, so we know who gave the signal and may be in trouble. It’s a great new feature and surely should be used, but under the pressure of the situation—lying on a concrete floor with gear on that felt like it was still burning, blurry vision from the lightning bolt and fireball that consumed me, and ringing in my ears from the thunderous “boom” noise—it wasn’t. There was radio silence after the explosion, and I thought my training kicked in as I depressed the transmitting button on the microphone and recited our procedure: “Mayday-Mayday-Mayday-Ladder Four Five; we’ve had an explosion on the fire floor—members missing—members injured” and it was repeated.
The incident commander acknowledged the transmission, and rescue operations began. Luckily, the other half of my team wasn’t in the explosion’s path and was able to dive into another stairway. They were all okay and proceeded down the hallway with members from other companies in search of the missing members and toward the green and purple flames still emitting from the closet. The missing members were located, and the remnants of the electrical box fire were extinguished with a dry chemical extinguisher.
After a trip to the burn center and a few months on medical leave, I was still replaying the radio transmission in my mind. The self-critiquing was still going on; I realized I needed to reach out and talk to the chiefs, officers, and firefighters who operated at the scene and other firefighting friends. Did the stress and pressure of the situation cause me to miss pressing the button on the radio, causing an unheard Mayday message or a delay in rescuing the other members?
Our department records radio transmissions. I listened and heard a clear, concise, and recognizable transmission with a sense of urgency in my voice. It was like someone took a pin and popped the balloon of pressure that was built up inside of me. Finally, I relaxed a bit more—my biggest fear was that I let down another firefighter who was operating at that explosion scene by not pushing the emergency alert button. Now, every time I relieve the officer on duty and put my gear in position on the apparatus, I glance at the orange emergency alert button on the radio’s microphone and on the radio itself, right next to the antenna (you can slide your gloved hand down the antenna to depress the button).
You will go to fires that will forever be engrained in your mind. Learn from them and, if you’re lucky enough to have a crew like mine, you’ll be happy to get back to work and see the gifts they get you because they missed you while you were on leave. Mine were kind enough to bring back a piece of the tile block wall that blew down and placed it on top of my gear locker as a subtle reminder. Of course, walking in for my first shift back, I had to chuckle, and I knew I had better leave it there to show them it didn’t bother me, or they’d be pulling another prank on me.
It’s funny how when you’re in a group around the kitchen table you’re able to discuss a fire and what went on with your unit’s performance and that of others who operated at the scene. You can always learn something or bring up a situation that was new to one of the members but similar to a situation another, more experienced member had already encountered. When you’re finished and heading home, will your mind wander while driving with the music on? Or will you call a friend and hash out the subject? I know some of you reading this column are going to play it over and over in your head, as many of us do, no matter how experienced or seasoned you are. Go ahead, make a call; someone will lend you an ear.
MICHAEL N. CIAMPO is a 34-year veteran of the fire service and a lieutenant in the Fire Department of New York. Previously, he served with the District of Columbia Fire Department. He has a bachelor’s degree in fire science from John Jay College of Criminal Justice in New York City. He is the lead instructor for the FDIC International Truck Essentials H.O.T. program. He wrote the Ladders and Ventilation chapters for Fire Engineering’s Handbook for Firefighter I and II (Fire Engineering, 2009) and the Bread and Butter Portable Ladders DVD and is featured in “Training Minutes” truck company videos on www.FireEngineering.com.
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