Thought it would be fun to give my take on the subject & show an example of the types of stories in the next book.

First a little background, my class was the first one appointed after the 1976 layoffs. We came on in a “manpower emergency”. The number of firefighters had dropped below 700. We had 8 days of training & were then sent out into the field for the summer.

I walked into Congress Street the second night after our graduation. Sitting on the apparatus floor was a yellow 1974 Ward LaFrance 1000-gallon pumper. It was clean, shiny, and its engine ran quietly & smoothly. The hose in its beds was a little gray, but the Smith valve on the end of the 3” was a bright, clean red. The crew were all in mid-career except for the captain who was a little further on. The Deputy Chief was Joe McLaughlin, who I learned later on had a reputation for being rather stern. I was a 20-year-old kid who was all ears and full of energy, waiting eagerly for the bell to hit. Surprisingly, the chief seemed to take a liking to me or at least he greeted me with a tolerant smile.

The captain and the guys were welcoming. The first run of the night was a trash fire by Penn Station and the captain encouraged the guys to “let the kid get a feel of the line.” After we got back to quarters, I would look up expectantly every time an alarm came over the bells. “No, we don’t get that one.” There was one Signal 300 before bed. Then at 04:00 we responded to a two-alarm fire on Orchard Street. Don’t remember doing much, but I had my first fire on my first night. Next days were quiet. The following nights we had another two-alarm fire on Orchard Street. We stretched a line into an exposure along with a hook and pulled a portion of the ceiling on the second floor. When we opened the ceiling, you could see a “rosebud” glowing in the wall. This was quickly extinguished with the line. Then for the next fifteen to twenty minutes the captain and crew discussed how if we hadn’t gotten the line in there, the rosebud would have taken off and we would have lost the building. This while the building next door was fully involved. I was chomping at the bit, ready to run next door and help fight some fire, but had to stand by and listen instead. I knew right there that I did not want to be in this company. After the next set of days, I was sent up to Six Engine.

When I walked into Springfield and Hunterdon, sitting on the apparatus floor was a tired, beaten-up Ward LaFrance. Its paint was dulled and chipped. Its hose a deep gray. On its side were the words Rapid Water. I noticed one of the nozzles was much larger than the others and the hose it was attached to was wider. The Smith valve had a cracked handle and the red paint was dull and worn. My captain for the next two tours was Jimmy Smith. The crew consisted of Paul Hauser, Eli Savarese, and Kevin Killeen. Bobby Werdann was on vacation. The Deputy was Chief Fred Grehl and his driver was Fred Charpentier. It was decided that I should stay at Six while Kevin went to “Tel Aviv” (I didn’t know where that was. Turns out that was the nickname for 29 Engine). The first night we didn’t catch anything, but the second night we had an eleven. Then the first day was quiet.

I got to the firehouse by 7:00 on my second day at Six. The weather was hot and humid. Kevin was already in, as was the captain. Billy Murnane from the third tour was driving. 7:15 the box for South Orange and Bergen came in. When we arrived on the scene, we found a fire in a three-store frame with a store front on the first floor. Kevin quickly stretched the three lengths. The captain broke the plate glass window of the store with a short hook while Billy pulled the handle to wet the line. The handle came out of the pump panel. Billy stood there for a second with the handle dangling in his hand and no water coming from the rig. Flames began shooting out of the opening where the plate glass window had been. We quickly stretched the four lengths, wet it, and Kevin began to move toward the window. He shouted for me to get a mask. I ran to the rig, right past the masks, to the other side, saw there were only ladders on that side, ran back around, stopping at the back of the rig to help the captain get the five lengths out, and finally back to the side of the rig with the mask compartment. By now Kevin had a mask on, so I threw mine on and we pushed into the first floor. He was operating the line while I lightened up. The chief had already asked for a second alarm as we pushed in. After the fire was knocked down, Kevin let me try the line.

For those of you who may not be familiar with Rapid Water, it is a chemical that is added to the water through a machine on top of the rig. This additive was said to align the water molecules so they flowed with less friction loss. Put it together with an 1 ¾” line and an SM-30 nozzle and the water flow equaled a two and a half (with a commensurate back pressure). When I opened up the line, it picked me up and threw me across the narrow room into the far wall. After slamming into the wall, I slid down onto a table. I shut the line down; picked up what little pride I had left; braced myself for the extra back pressure I had not excepted on my first try; and continued washing down the room. Kevin thought I was crazy. Shortly after this, the line was ordered up to the third floor with Kevin on the tip and the red ass (that’s me) lightening up.

After working in the heat and humidity for a prolonged period of time, guys began to feel the effect. It was a tough, draining job and I wasn’t going to take a blow unless ordered to do so. By the time the chief noticed me, I was wiped out and was told to join a line of men being taken across the street to College Hospital.

When I got into the ER, they removed my turnout coat and sat me directly under an air conditioning vent. And there I sat, my clothes drenched with sweat and water, the air conditioning blowing directly on me. A nurse had me take my shirt off, took some measurements, and left me under the vent waiting for my first blood gas test. And waiting. And waiting. In the background I heard Mike Cawley telling a doctor he had one more shot to find an artery or there was going to be some damage to the doctor and the ER. And I sat under that vent waiting and now shivering. Whatever heat I had in my body, excessive or not, was gone.

I was a forgotten red ass who didn’t have the sense to say anything. Instead, I sat under the vent and shivered. That is until I saw two middle aged nurses looking at me and chuckling. Then I heard them say, “He’s so upset.” “Upset?” I snapped. “I’m cold!” They quickly moved me from under the vent, got a gown over me, and I got through the first of what would be many blood gas tests. Got back to quarters, wrist a little sore, pride a little bruised, but convinced that as much as I didn’t want to be in Five Engine, I wanted to be in Six Engine. As if to reinforce that conviction, we caught an eleven that afternoon.