Editor’s Opinion ❘ By BOBBY HALTON
I am a big fan of using “how-to” books. You know the type; they are supposed to help you to try to fix or repair stuff. These types of books have been around forever—the idiot’s guide, DIY (do it yourself), Zen and the Art of whatever—all of them very useful and often very frustrating at one time or another. Lately, I have been aided by “how-to” videos in my misguided adventures in plumbing, auto repair, electrical, and a wide range of other activities I have no business attempting to do.
Like most, if not all, firefighters, I like to fix stuff. I will often try to fix something first before I pay or hire someone to fix my stuff. Maybe as a calling, we are curious or adventurous. My wife says, in my case, it is because I am cheap. My reply is always, “Well, it is broken already, anyway, how much more broken can it be if I try to fix it?” And, for full disclosure, I can break and screw up stuff a lot worse than it was to begin with, with very minimal effort.
Regarding “how-to” books and now videos, my experience so far is pretty much the same: They sometimes seem to or maybe do leave out steps. Sometimes, they assume you have skills you have no clue about; at other times, they are wonderful, exactly what I need, and make all the difference. The question is not really, Were the books or videos good or useful, and did they address the issue? Unquestionably for someone somewhere they did. Maybe it would be more accurate to ask, Was I the right consumer or the medium—the right fit—for my car, refrigerator, garbage disposal, toilet, or me?
I feel the same way as I attend fireground classes, extrication classes, and rescue classes at conferences and in-house. I don’t think I am alone. Sometimes, I guess we all feel we couldn’t follow the line of thought, we missed the point, or we became more confused than before attending the class. This is not a great insight. The folks who opened Baskin-Robbins (31 flavors of ice cream) figured that out a long time ago: Some folks like chocolate, some like vanilla, and the others like all kinds of abominations of so-called flavors.
It is not an unusual thing to attend a class or drill, and our buddy says the class or the instructor rocked it for her. She thinks the instructor walked on water and now she has a new perspective on high-angle rescue or swift water rescue or handline movement. While she is extolling Captain Moses and the new 15 Commandments of Pump Panel Troubleshooting, you are scratching your head wondering if she was in the same class as you. You almost hate to say what you thought because you think maybe you weren’t paying close enough attention, maybe you need to go to it again to see what you missed, or maybe your crew mate is a lot smarter than you are.
Now, all those things—maybe she is smarter than me, maybe I was daydreaming, maybe I need to go back and sit through it again—could be and very well were true in my case. I found often I did need to hear it or see it again. All these things were true on many occasions. It doesn’t make me a bad firefighter or her a better firefighter. I think it goes to skill sets, communication styles, and experience and training levels.
My instructors throughout my career have been almost universally wonderful people—firefighters with passion, excitement, and focus. They are great people who have captured some aspect or many aspects of our work with tremendous clarity and insight. The classes, the training is often a “how-to” experience or a “how this thing works” explanation, both of which allowed me to do tasks better; manage tactics more effectively; and be safer, better, and more equipped to be a functional firefighter.
As firefighters, we all want to be better—a better driver, better engineer, better company officer, better chief officer, better student, better boss (put the job function here). This is why we go to “how-to” classes incessantly, why we buy “how-to” books for how to be better or proficient at some of the functions if not as many of the functions as we can be in our departments. “How-to” is not really about stuff; it is about us. Yes, we want to fix broken stuff, but the key is we “want to fix it.” We want to be better and, for firefighters, better in every way.
I thought about this “how-to” mentality and took some time to review the job descriptions and knowledge, skills, and abilities for my department and some friends’ departments. These descriptions are excellent and very comprehensive; they describe in detail what folks in our various functions should be able to do. The topics are not worked out in nuts-and-bolts “how-to” methodology. They are in a generalized nature; that is a good thing.
The generalized nature of job requirements in our profession allows us to find the best “how-to” for our organizations, the situation, and us. A great example of the perfect “how-to” speech came from America’s second-best President’s famous Gettysburg Address. It did not make the standard for “how-to” speeches. Most of the usual suspects—elite newspapers and powerful people of the day—hated it: It was too short, no substance, an awful “how-to” speech for commemorating a battle and helping to unify a nation, they opined.
But we know the speech reached the hearts of those who it needed to and continues to today. Likewise, a class that works for me or an instructor who works for you does not necessarily have to be perfect for everyone or every situation. I guess there are as many “how-to” ways as there is stuff to fix.
