Crises on the Fireground: Water and Manpower at the Scene Introduction This article is intended for Mature Audiences Only. If you suffer from psychosclerosis (hardening of the attitudes) or are inclined to respond to the question, “Why do you do that in your department?” with “I dunno, we’ve always done it that way,” you may be offended. Oh, hell, read it anyway. The first word in the title looks like a misspelling. It’s not. I was an English teacher before I became a firefighter, and I was a special education teacher before that. It’s a plural. Of course, our business is all about crisis mitigation, or crisis management, if you prefer. And as we multi-task at the scene, we usually find more than one problem to address, and often one problem has created another. So it is with the subject of this article: not enough people and not enough water. And look, please don’t be offended by terms like “manpower” or “guys.” I use them simply because I’m comfortable with them and they have nothing to do with gender. I’ve fought fire with men and women in my own department, and their effectiveness had nothing to do with their gender. If you find these words offensive because of some unresolved gender-based issues, you are really in the wrong business. GPMs vs BTUs Traveling around the country, talking with firefighters from a wide range of departments—large and small; rural, suburban and urban; paid, volunteer and combination—I’m struck by the fact that most engine companies are either flowing less water through their handlines than they think they are, or less water than they should be flowing based on the reality of today’s fireground. I remember discussing this with the late Tom Brennan years ago when he was chief in Waterbury, Connecticut. Years later, in his “Random Thoughts” column in the April 1999 issue of Fire Engineering Magazine, he observed in an article he called “Burning Questions, Part 1” that years ago “the BTU product of one pound of household functioning items could only give off 8000 of these little devils…but the same products—plastic this time—give off more than 17,000 BTUs per pound today.” Ironically, that same issue was included an article by the late Andy Fredericks (FDNY Squad 18) titled “Engine Company Support of RIT/FAST Operations” in which he observed that “we know that the first handline stretched at a structure fire saves more lives than any other action performed on the fireground.” I share that quote of Andy’s at every seminar that I conduct. Look, the conventional wisdom is that the solution to fighting hotter fires is simple: apply more water. But the clichés we utter like “put the wet stuff on the red stuff” or “small fire…small line…big fire…big line” mean nothing if we don’t flow enough water. Back in the days when the typical pre-connected line was 1½-inches, the average flow was between 60 and 125 gallons per minute. And if that didn’t do the job, you pulled the 2½-inch. Remember? If you ask any experienced fire officer why their department replaced their 1½-inch hose with 1¾-inch, the answer is always the same: “to flow more water.” So how is it that most of us are still flowing about the same amount of water with 1¾-inch hose as we did 20+ years ago with 1½-inch hose? It begs the question, “Why did you spend thousands of dollars on larger hose if you’re not going to flow more water…as you intended?” What the hell is going on here? Are we stupid or ignorant or just lazy? The answers are: no, yes and yes, in that order. And then we have to consider the dreaded C word: change. Stupid Okay, let’s talk about stupid first. Remember that line in the movie Forrest Gump, “Stupid is as stupid does, sir”? It’s only a slightly more grownup way of saying “sticks and stones may break my bones…” which we remember from our childhood. Well, as much as we enjoy our self-depreciating humor in the fire service, we are not stupid. Stupid means you can not learn. You are not capable of learning. Obviously this applies over a wide range of skills, tasks and abilities, but it’s an important point. More than thirty years ago, when I was teaching in a state residential facility, one of my students confronted me in the classroom with the retort, “I may be retarded, but I’m not stupid!” And he was absolutely right. His words hit me like a slap in the face and thoroughly humbled me. It reminded me of an observation from one of my professors in graduate school that “you will learn more from your students than from any of your instructors here.” It was true then and it’s still true today. And at the risk of sounding like an academic, there is a huge difference between those who can not learn and those who, either because of low self-esteem or hubris, choose not to learn. I think it’s fair to say that we all know people like that. In the fire service, they are more than self-depreciating: they are self-destructive and a genuine danger to those they are responsible for. Their closed minds and self-important attitudes can endanger a firefighter as much as any hazard on the fireground. Ignorant Hey, I’m ignorant about a lot of things. So are you. I’m ignorant about quantum mechanics, Italian Renaissance music, and lots of other things, as well. The point here is that a lot of us are ignorant about determining target flows, developing engine company Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) to implement them, and training our people on fireground hydraulics so that we get enough “wet stuff” going to overcome the “red stuff.” The problem is that this lack of understanding, this ignorance, is endangering our brothers and sisters, and the communities we’re committed to protect. If today is Friday and you think it’s Thursday, you’re ignorant. You’re not stupid. You’re not a bad person. You just need to buy a damned calendar or a watch with one, and pay attention, for Pete’s sake! But if you’re going to stand at the pump panel of an engine and watch three of your buddies haul a hose into a burning building, you had all better be on the same page (that’s called an SOP) and you had better know what the hell you’re doing. If you can’t agree with that, I don’t know why you’re even reading this. Lazy No one wants to admit it, but this is a real problem on the fireground today. Big time. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched two guys (don’t start with me, now!) on a line, struggling with nozzle reaction because I’ve just arranged to have the volume of water they thought they had been flowing delivered to them, and they’re complaining that they can’t handle the line. So we do the numbers—you know, pump pressure, friction loss, pressure and flow at the knob, nozzle reaction—and they’re whining like kids on a playground who need a nap. That’s when I pull out my little plastic red, blue and yellow kid’s fire nozzle for a garden hose with an adjustable head like a shower nozzle and say, “Hey, try this…no, wait…it’s for ages three and up and has way too many adjustments to deal with…not a good choice.” That always gets a laugh, and then we get back to work. Change Nobody likes change. You know it as well as I do. It has nothing to do with the fire service, per se. It’s just human nature. Anyone who’s proposed a change to their spouse, their kids, their colleagues or whomever, knows this is true. For example, I was fired by an arrogant and self-important boss because I had the audacity to suggest that we needed to change our company’s focus on the stockholders and pay more attention to the training needs of the people using our products. It was just another reminder that people resist change, particularly if they perceive it to be in their interest to maintain the status quo at all costs. You can engage in platitudes about expanding your “comfort level,” or “stepping outside the box,” but on a deeper, psychological level, we perceive change as a threat to our very survival unless we really examine and evaluate it objectively. We’re just wired that way as a species. Enough about that…I’m going off on a tangent. Speaking of change, let’s look at our friends in law enforcement for an analogy that applies to operational changes in the fire service. Thirty years ago, the standard sidearm carried in the U.S. was a .38 caliber revolver, perhaps a Smith & Wesson, Colt or Ruger, and usually with a 4” barrel. The .357 magnum was another popular choice; more punch in a similar package. (For those of you who are too young to remember, check out the movies or TV re-runs.) The off-duty or back-up weapon was usually a snub-nose version, the 2” barrel chosen in spite of its seriously degraded ballistic accuracy because of its concealability. Hey, you gotta make choices. Today, you’d be hard-pressed to find a “wheel gun” in service. In spite of all the arguments vehemently mounted against semi-automatic pistols—they’re too heavy, too complicated, they’re more likely to jam, etc.—most policemen today carry a 9 mm or .40 caliber automatic. One of my sons is a cop, and even his off-duty weapon is a compact 9 mm. So what happened? Well, the bad guys increased their firepower, and the good guys had no choice but to do the same. The advantages of more stopping power and more rounds available in combat simply outweighed the perceived disadvantages. And so it is on the fireground. Fires got hotter, and we had no choice but to respond with more water: bigger pumps, larger supply lines (LDH), more robust attack lines and nozzles—pre-connected or not—and that’s all good! And yet the typical engine company today is delivering just about the same amount of water as it did with 1 ½” hose. We believe we’re conducting an “aggressive interior attack,” but in reality we’re like Harry Callahan pulling a long-barrel .22 revolver and asking, “So…do you feel lucky, Punk?” Care for an example? Let’s say you pull a 200’ stretch of preconnected 1¾-inch hose with a fog nozzle attached, and the pump discharge pressure is set for 150 psi. If your nozzle pressure is 100 psi, that leaves 50 psi for friction loss. The formula here is the old standby: EP=FL+NP (+/- EL). Since we calculate friction loss per 100 feet of hose, we divide 50 psi by two and obtain 25 psi per 100 feet’ of 1¾-inch, which yields about 125 gpm. You’re right back where you were years ago with 1½-inch hose and an adjustable gallonage nozzle with settings of 30-60-95-125 gpm. Look familiar? I see this all the time. The Solution First, examine the realities of your fire department and ask the often-overlooked question: How many people are advancing the line? More than anything else, that will determine how much water that line will deliver. Self-inquiry is a powerful tool. If you know that you can only count on two people on the nozzle and maybe a third back at the door, it clearly makes no sense to establish a target flow beyond their ability to manage and advance the line. I’m reminded of another comment by Tom Brennan on the subject of “two in/two out.” He described that concept as “too few people in the building being watched by too few people outside who have no idea what’s going on inside!” Inadequate staffing is only part of the problem of not flowing enough water, but it’s an important part that deserves our attention. Then, based on the staffing realities of your company, determine what your target flow is and compare that to your SOP and your actual flow. So, how much water should you be flowing, say, for an interior attack on a room-and-contents fire? There is no magic number, but if you want a rule of thumb, you should be flowing at least 150-180 gallons per minute. Finally, using basic fireground hydraulics, re-examine your engine company SOP and see if it makes sense in terms of tactics, strategy, staffing (manpower), fireground operations with other companies (truck, squad, rescue, etc.), mutual aid protocols, and so forth. And if you want to get your people to open their eyes to the possibility that change may be appropriate, get an outside colleague with some proven expertise and no hidden agenda or political ax to grind to come in and work with you: consider your history, your current needs and your options in terms of training and equipment. It’s interesting, isn’t it? We’re much more receptive to new ideas if they come from someone outside our immediate circle. Anyone who’s a parent knows this is true. Mark Twain remarked that when he was 18, his father was so ignorant he could hardly stand to be around him, but by the time he had reached 21, he couldn’t believe how much the old man had learned! Look, this is not complicated. It’s not difficult. We simply have to accept the fact that one of the reasons we still lose about 100 firefighters each year is either inadequate or inappropriate application of water on the fire. Read again that quote from Andy Fredericks. At the dedication of a statue of Andy at the Rockland County (NY) Fire Academy, the T-shirts commemorating the event had a quotation on the back: Andy Fredericks’ comment to John Salka following Salka’s presentation on firefighter self-rescue: “If you put the fire out, you don’t have to jump out of the window!” Conclusion There’s another crisis in the fire service that deserves our attention, and if you read the reports of line-of-duty deaths in this country, you are undoubtedly aware of it. The problem may exist in your own fire department. If one of the reasons we lose 100 folks in the fire service each year is inadequate or inappropriate application of water, coupled with a shortage of people in the operating companies, another reason is the appalling lack of physical fitness in our fire service today. Look at the fire press reports and note the incidence of heart attack and related cardiovascular events…but, that’s a subject for another time. Meanwhile, stay safe…be well…do good work…and keep in touch. © Copyright Firenuggets.com 2007 • Click here for Terms and Conditions of Use
|
||||||||||||||||||
