By Jonathan R. Bekemeyer
I worked at a major theme park during my junior and senior years in high school (at the “headquarters” park, if you will, and in the parking lot). My coworkers and I were kind of like the “grunts” of the establishment. We were hot, sweaty, dirty, sarcastic, angry, and often in harm’s way. I started at the bottom of the chain and, at the age of 17, quickly moved into a shift supervisory billet.
Now, to fully understand this responsibility, you must first understand that the parking lot is a massive operation. The parking lot is twice the size of the park itself. We had to handle getting guests parked, and then we had to handle transporting them to the ticket gates. It is a coordinated process that if not handled appropriately and skillfully, can quickly become chaotic and dangerous. I learned some very valuable leadership lessons during my short time working there, one of which is the “fork in the road.”
While at this job, I learned to make a decision quickly based on incomplete information, and to stick to my decision. I had to prepare myself before going to the fork in the road. I needed certain equipment such as cones. I needed to have a communication plan to include frequencies and call signs. I needed to make liaison with security and have them out there with me. I also needed to mentally prepare to be exposed to all sorts of emotions from guests. It was undoubtedly going to be my fault that the park had reached capacity. Nonetheless, I was entrusted by my managers to handle the situations with tact and accuracy. Mentally preparing was nothing to take lightly.
Roughly eight years later, I found myself once again standing at another fork in the road. This one involved deciding who lives and who dies. As a section leader in charge of 24 Marines, any time we were outside of friendly lines, I was in a position to decide who lives and who dies. I was not just in charge of 24 Marines; I was also in charge of the weapons organic to our section.
I also had the ability to call for close air support. Before we took the city of Fallujah, I was responsible for about 10 miles of a four-lane highway. This was a major artery that ran from Baghdad to Ramadi and beyond. It also touched the outskirts of the most dangerous city in Iraq at the time. After about two months of keeping the military supply route safe and clear, we shifted our mission to a full-out assault on Fallujah. I was, on numerous occasions, faced with a decision. I stood at a fork in the road and decided who lived and who died, either directly or indirectly, on a daily basis. All of us that fought in those streets stood at that fork in the road. All who have made contact with the enemy throughout history have stood at that fork in the road. Combat carries with it a steep learning curve, and one that redefines mental and physical preparation.
Now, nine years later, I once again am standing at a fork in the road. We, in the fire service, stand at that fork every time you check in on the engine. If you don’t realize it, then please take a minute to reflect on it, and accept it as reality. If you refuse to accept this reality, shame on you. We have people who are entrusting us with their lives and their property.
Imagine a water rescue incident where you deploy and find four individuals fighting for their lives. You have to choose who you rescue. Not fun to imagine, but it is your duty to contemplate these things. How we train is how we will fight. The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war. Does this not apply to our profession?
The same is true for the human mind. If you don’t prepare mentally, you will not be ready. You will fail at the fork in the road. Complacency kills. It was written on a piece of plywood in very large, crude letters and served as a constant reminder to my unit while overseas. That piece of plywood was the last thing we saw before exiting friendly lines. It is an image that is burned into my mind for ever. Why will I never forget that piece of plywood? Because it saved my life time and time again with its simple and honest message.
Imagine the worst case scenarios—struggle with them in your mind. Envision them, and imagine yourself mitigating them. When I taught marksmanship to recruits, I would stand in front of platoons of nervous recruits, sometimes numbering almost 100 at a time. I would teach them to lie in bed at night and envision themselves on the 200-yard line, the 300-yard line, and 500-yard line. I would tell them to imagine themselves on the qualification course, and I would tell them to envision themselves taking each shot through the entire course.
Do you think I taught them to imagine every shot in the black? Absolutely not! I taught them to imagine the majority in the black, but also to imagine missing occasionally. I taught them that when thexy imagine a missed shot, they are to stop and analyze. Don’t freak out. Focus on the fundamentals. Get back in the black. I was teaching them to strengthen their minds in terms of marksmanship. I was also teaching them how to prepare their minds for adversity during the qualification process.
In addition to teaching them to mentally prepare for human error, I taught them to imagine the weather being raining and windy. Imagine the odds being stacked against them, and visualize what it takes to overcome them. It is incredibly unrealistic and dangerous to prepare your mind for the “best case” scenarios. The rifle range is an extremely stressful event for recruits; if they fail, then they face having to stay in recruit training longer. If they don’t prepare their minds, they will fail. The rifle range and marksmanship is a dynamic topic that I could go on and on about. It is clean, pure evidence of the mind interacting with the body. In general summary, it is proof that without knowledge and mental agility, you are useless. You will not be able to deploy your physical skill set without developing your mental skill set. What I am getting at is to prepare your mind—as well as your body—for the worst. Prepare physically AND mentally!
We have all taken an oath. This oath is more than a badge or the raising of your right hand. It is more than a sticker on the back of your vehicle or a Facebook status. It is certainly more than a paycheck. When you check in on that apparatus, you have just renewed your oath for that shift; you have sworn to the people in your district that you will be there in their time of need. Whether it is a stuffy nose, a cardiac event, or a structure fire with numerous entrapped occupants, you are the one who will be joining them in their arena. When the tones drop, you respond to that person’s arena. The majority of the time, that arena may not seem like much to us. Imagine a pro baseball player at his son’s little league game. Would you expect him to be acting harsh toward the little kids? Would you expect him to be condescending?
What about when the tones drop and you find yourself en route to the major league arena? Are you prepared? Are you ready to face the horror? Are you ready to go the distance, physically AND mentally? Are you ready to “risk a lot in order to save a lot”? If you haven’t already imagined yourself in this situation and really meditated on it regularly, then the answer is no. It is pounded into us to “risk little to save little,” but trust me on this—if you aren’t mentally and physically prepared to risk it all, then you will find yourself incapable of doing so when the situation presents itself. You will find yourself standing at the fork in the road, pointing to the interstate. The difference is that in our profession, that interstate may lead to death. Don’t be the one pointing to the interstate when the parking lot is open. Prepare yourself, take responsibility, and accept the fact that every time you are tagged in, you may have to decide who lives or who dies. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. Prepare to stand at the fork in the road, saving life and protecting property. Prepare your body, but do not neglect your mind.
I hope what I have written here offends someone. I hope that someone reads this and resents it, because that indicates someone has read it that really needed to. Maybe you are reading this and asking “what right does he have writing such things?” I feel entitled to write these things because of the fact that my life depends on you. Unless you work in a big city, you are probably responding with a varied degree of limited resources. It is just the way it is. The smaller the group that responds, the more important it is for that the group to be highly proficient. Otherwise, you render yourself combat ineffective. Once combat ineffective, you have returned to our earliest point in history, which is simply salvage. Do our fires burn cooler or slower than in a big city? No! Our container may be smaller, but the fire inside is just as hot.
When you think of special operations units going into combat, what do you envision as far as staffing? Smaller units, correct? They can get away with that because of their extensive training and formulated tactics. Typically, they are the cream of the crop. They are stronger, faster, and smarter. This is in part because they have to rely even more heavily on each other than a conventional force. Do you have 40 firefighters responding on your first alarm? Do you have designated ladder companies and rescue companies? If not, then you have to be proficient in all potential billets, and you have to rely heavily on others. There is no room for slackers, because we do not have the numbers to allow us to double up the chain to make up for weak links.
Can you always save a person’s life? Can you always save a person’s property? No—sometimes the parking lot is full. However, should you find yourself at that fork in the road with room in the parking lot, and should you fail someone counting on you because of your own complacency, then you most certainly deserve to carry that weight for the rest of your time on this Earth. I do not wish that on my worst enemy, and I would do anything to protect one of my brothers from having that burden. Mental and physical preparedness is not a T-shirt and a certificate; it is an ongoing struggle against your own human nature. It is an ongoing war against complacency. Keeping your mind and body ready is like camouflaging on the battle field: it must be continuous.
Photo found on Wikimedia Commons courtesy of Bill Nicholls.
Jonathan R. Bekemeyer is a firefighter with the Lady’s Island/St. Helena Fire District in Beaufort, South Carolina. He was awarded a Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal with a “V” for valor in combat and has received two Purple Hearts. He was named Firefighter of the Year 2012 for the Lady’s Island/St. Helena Fire District.
