Editor’s Opinion | By David Rhodes
At the time, I was a 25-year fire service veteran with 10 years as a battalion chief. I had seen a lot of changes, been in command of a lot of fires, and formed some pretty hardline opinions on what worked and what didn’t work at fires. Some fellow fire service instructors sent me a copy of a study on horizontal ventilation that was published by Underwriters Laboratories. I skimmed through it rather quickly, looking for key points but not really digging deep into the substance.
My takeaway from the study was that horizontal ventilation made fires grow bigger and hotter. I didn’t really put that into any frame of context, but I accepted that it must be true. I used that interpretation to further boost my own belief that vertical ventilation was better anyway. From my own personal experience both as an engine guy and a truck guy, I had never faced the loss of a structure when my department was able to accomplish vertical ventilation.
A young man came to Atlanta to do a presentation on the horizontal ventilation study, and it turned out that he was the principal person who had conducted the research. I listened intently and even asked a few questions. The guy seemed very knowledgeable, and the way he presented it filled the blank spots I had from not reading the complete study and possibly not understanding some parts I did read.
I approached this young man after class was over, introduced myself, and bragged to him about never losing a structure on which we completed vertical ventilation. Then I pulled the trigger! “So, when are you going to study real ventilation, you know, vertical ventilation?” To my surprise, he said it was coming up next and asked if I would like to participate as a panelist with firefighters who would guide the research team. I paused for just a second and thought that this wouldn’t be fair. I would go into a room with a bunch of scientists who had little pencils and slide rules and would totally blow their minds with my vast experience and knowledge! “I would love to,” I answered.
Our first meeting included 25 firefighters from all over the country. We went around the room sharing our experiences with vertical ventilation, and I was puzzled: Not everyone did things the same way I did. Not everyone had the same experiences with the same tactics. I was shocked and dismayed at what I was hearing from some departments that I thought would be masters of the techniques. But when the representative from FDNY said that FDNY did not typically vertically ventilate residential structures, I thought the end of the world was near, hell had frozen over, or I was being held captive on Safety Island as part of a bad dream. I pinched myself to make sure I was in a real meeting.
The night went on, and we had more informal discussions. I was able to ask questions without embarrassing myself in front of the larger group. I began to see things through a different lens. The FDNY representative talked about 12/12 pitched roofs so snow doesn’t build up. Hell, I didn’t typically put personnel on 12/12 roofs, either. Another guy from out west talked about all the clay tile roofs. Hell, I didn’t typically put personnel on clay roofs, either. The differences weren’t so different. They just had a lot more of those roofs than I did. In my area, 12/12s and clay are just for looks; they aren’t the norm.
The research structures were built, and a series of several dozen experiments were conducted. It turns out that just like a grill, the more air you give the coals (opening the front door) while opening the top vent (the roof), the hotter and more intense the fire will become without any other forms of intervention.
I had always been taught that if a window was taken for a VES operation, you needed to go and shut the door to that room to block the air flow and protect the room. I knew that if I opened the front door and didn’t take any action, the fire would eventually find its way to that door. However, I never considered opening the door ventilation but always considered opening the window ventilation (duh!). There was a moment, watching a live burn experiment, that the stars in my head lined up and I realized that opening the front door was ventilation, and I grasped that knowledge and understanding were two totally different things. I must be the dumbest person in this room not to have understood that my years of cutting holes in the roofs were not actually the cause of our success, I thought. Unwittingly, my department happened to have been doing coordinated ventilation and attack and didn’t even know it! I was forced to acknowledge the worth of the engine crew and the timing of the hoseline.
Research will never solve all the fireground issues in every circumstance for every incident. The comprehension of fire dynamics and the effects of certain tactics, timing, limitations, and successes further builds our understanding of the science involved in fires. The fire service, from the chief all the way down the line to the member on the nozzle, needs to have understanding and not just knowledge. This is the cornerstone of decision making.
Questioning why we do things often proves or improves methods and tactics that have been in place for decades. It also exposes some things that maybe we don’t fully understand or have made assumptions about. So, before you go around bashing any type of research, just realize you might get caught one day being the dumbest guy in the room—like me!
