The World’s Busiest Firehouse Esprit de Corps Esprit de corps is defined as “a spirit of enthusiasm and devotion to a common cause among a group.” A good thing? To be sure, it is! Morale? In a group or unit, a service like the fire service, it’s good when both of these commodities are high. However, there is a flip side to these positive attributes that must be guarded against. There are plenty of examples throughout history, of individuals and groups having enthusiasm and devotion to bad things. The key is "focus." What is the focus? What is that "common cause" the group is, or should be, focusing on? In the fire service, it is our oath to preserve "life and property." With enthusiasm for that, all good things should follow. Competition, too, comes into play along side these positive traits. Competition is in our makeup, in our genes. From Cain and Abel down until today, everyone wants to be Number One — either for themselves, their side or their team. Mankind is competitive. When countries compete, they call it war, or the Olympics. Competition is pervasive all through nature. "Only the strong survive." Darwin called this creed, “Survival of the fittest.” But competition can be dangerous in the fire service because like most competitions, it comes at the expense of others. The Quest to be Number One. Because the fire service IS service, service to our fellow man, this is no little issue. This is an aspect of ourselves, and it should not be looked upon as a "necessary evil" that can and should be tolerated in the fire service. A little history; according to the book The Gangs of New York by Herbert Asbury (1927) and partially depicted in the movie of the same name by director Martin Scorsese: The Fire Department of the City of New York, before it became a “paid department” had volunteer fire brigades that were gang-related or gang-sponsored. Can you imagine living in such a time or under such conditions in the 19th century? “... the Bowery Boy loved his fire engine almost as much as he did his girl and considered both himself and his company disgraced if his apparatus was beaten to a conflagration.” To keep this from happening, “When the fire alarm sounded he simply grabbed an empty barrel from a grocery store and hurried with it to the fire plug nearest the burning building. There he turned the barrel over the plug and sat on it and defended it valorously against the assaults of rival firemen until his own fire engine arrived.” (p. 29) Can you imagine the lives and property lost because of this tactic? There was little retribution or few recriminations brought because of such conduct because, as the book makes clear, these were gangs, criminal organizations often affiliated and supported by high-ranking politicians of the day like “Boss Tweed of Tammany Hall.” It’s a more civilized world today. That could never happen. Our “oath of office” precludes such conduct and tactics. Right? Think so? Let's take a walk through more recent history — history in which we have been involved, witnessed, or of which we have first-hand knowledge. Because of the nature of this article, I’m afraid I’ll have to be oblique with some of the names and companies mentioned here, for obvious reasons. Anyone. though, who knows me and my history will know of whom I’m speaking and can testify to the veracity of the statements herein. Those who don’t can easily find out. "These stories are true," to paraphrase the opening of an old TV show, "The names have been changed to protect the guilty!" I was appointed to the FDNY in 1973. My first company was within two miles of where I was living at the time, the East New York section of Brooklyn. I remember in Probie School, in the final weeks of induction, we were asked to pick three to five fire companies to which we would like to be assigned and they would try to accommodate us. At that time, I had little knowledge of the department and what it was about in terms of "busy" or "slow," "good house" or "bad house." My thinking was distance and convenience. I didn’t know any houses back then. There was a fire house two blocks away from where I grew up. I remember putting that down on my request sheet. That’s about it. It didn’t matter. Whatever I put down at that time, I didn’t get. I came to be glad about that though, because I got a great company in a great house! It was a busy house. Lots of running and lots of work. This was a three-unit house, two trucks and an engine. There were a few such houses like this in those days — companies in areas of the city where the workload was so severe they installed a second unit of the original, engine or truck, to share the load. Did I say a three-unit house? Actually, at regular intervals, every third-or fourth-night tour, the squad company would come and be the fourth unit in the house, usually taking the position as the first engine, to give the regular guys a rest. That was the idea, but it rarely worked out that way. If there was a fire, a worker, everyone was going! A three-unit house was one with each unit fully manned with 25 to 32 firefighters, including a captain and three regular lieutenants. A regular "floating" officer covered an "open" or vacationing officer's spot in each unit. There were 75 or more men, plus the men of the squad who came on a regular basis. It was a daunting task trying to remember names. Fortunately, only a few, 18 to 22 or so, were working per tour. I came to this house with 13 other probie firefighters. In those days, the captain of the unit had a "magic" pen. With it, he could make you disappear! If you were a troublemaker, malingerer or whatever, if he just didn't like you, you were gone — banished to the "hinterlands" wherever they were. You were out of there, courtesy of the "magic" pen. Thus it was that 14 coveted spots opened up in one of the busiest houses in the city. We were literally "thrown into the fire" — no pun intended. We weren't exactly embraced with open arms. We had taken the spots of friends and colleagues — people who had already proven themselves, proven what they turned out to be. They, for whatever reason, ran afoul of the "magic pen." (It might be noted that the captains soon lost this ability. The union didn't like it. At the time though, they could not stop it.) We weren't totally shunned though. We were now there and theirs for good or bad. It was in their interest and especially ours, that we be trained. Probie School had been rough, but it only gave us the rudiments of what it was to be a New York City firefighter. We were in the real world now and expected to replace, in the eyes of some, "good men." Whether they were good or not, they were veterans; and we were new. We had a lot to prove. They were great teachers! My three years in this house were the most intense of my career! I learned methods and tactics of firefighting that would serve me throughout my career. The old joke about "How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice! Practice! Practice!" is certainly true. It's an axiom that can be applied to firefighting for sure. It can also be boring if that's all you did. It wasn't for us, the "Fourteen." For us, the practice was in DOING! There wasn't a method or tactic that wasn't going to be, immediately, put into use. The work came quickly, and so did learning. There were days and nights when we were rarely in the firehouse. These were the days when it seemed that the whole city was burning, especially our section of it! Competition? At this time and in this place, it wasn't an issue. There was enough work for everyone. To be true and objective, all the surrounding companies were very good units as well. We were all getting similar work and pieces of each other's work, depending on when and where we arrived at the time of the incident. Even though all companies thought or liked to think they could handle any fire by themselves, any clear-thinking individual knows this could not be the case. We worked together, confident in each other's ability and expertise. There were times, though, when this was not the case. The system had/has a built in "panic factor." This PF comes into play when one of the companies in the area has had an unusually busy night tour, say more than three working fires of a certain duration and more than 23 runs. (I may be a little off on the specific numbers, but not by much. These were not unusual numbers then.) Whatever the threshold was, on the next night that company would interchange or relocate to another house and that company would relocate to the busy company, taking in its runs and workers for the night. This is the panic factor. Like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates, you didn't know what you were going to get! These were always slower, less busy units (and who wasn't slow compared to us?) They were generally older too — old firefighters who had either spent their whole careers in that unit or had transferred in after getting their fill of firehouse shenanigans and wanted someplace less demanding. I don't think I'm telling stories out of line. There are places and firefighters like this. Now here they are, into something they wanted to avoid. I can understand this from a management standpoint, wanting to equalize the workforce — "share the load," as it were. But it wasn't an effective method of relief. Not only did it cause panic or unease in these older firefighters, but it unnerved the companies into whose midst they were now to toil. Note, too, that this method of relief only gave relief to half of the firefighters who had worked so much the previous night to kick this interchange into effect. According to our work chart, only three groups or individuals worked two nights in a row. The other three out of a group of six working are rotated in as three are rotated out. Another factor that loomed large and added to the PF was that neither interchange company was all that familiar with the other's response area. Neither the streets or type of buildings. This was frequently the case. Different types of buildings require different coverages. You don't cover a Queen Anne-type home as you would a row frame, for instance. To be fair, these older firefighters had probably forgotten more than I'd ever learn as far as fire goes; but the question would still remain and was constantly on the minds of all the companies when they came among us: "Can they make the floor above (the fire)?" Many times, then as now, as always, what happens above the fire is as important as what's going on on the floor of the fire. We, the companies in the areas we served, were confident in ourselves and each other — not so much in the interchange units. So was this necessary? Being honest, and being on both sides of this interchange system, working my second night, there were many times I was glad we were going to relocate. As far as not knowing the neighborhood, if you didn't have to go out for an alarm, who cares? I was glad for the rest. The year I first came to my new house, 1973, the two trucks responded to 9,795 calls together. Their peak year was 1970 where they responded to 8,047 and 7,897 runs respectively. I loved my time in this company. I loved the house and the guys in it. But time marches forward. Things change, times change. In the mid '70's, the city was losing its grip on fiscal responsibility and, horror of horrors, began to shut down units and firehouses. Sadly, the second unit in my house was one of those slated to go. As a matter of fact, all second units were disbanded at this time. They had run their course— served their purpose as far as the City was concerned. I can't attest to what happened in other houses, but in ours it was the worst! Grown men cried like babies! Some got clearly drunk! It was like a death, which it clearly was. The second unit was going down, never to rise again. It was over! I got to stay, as I was a member of the original unit in the house. Still, it was hard seeing your friends leave, scattered all over the city. They too, as we did in Probie School, could apply for preferred houses. The City made some effort to appease as many as it could to take the sting away. It was impossible to accommodate them all, but they tried. Since we're talking about competition here, let me acknowledge that, yes, there was competition between the two units. The original unit was generally older guys. The second unit, on average, I'd say, were five to seven years younger in age and experience. They were quicker — the whole company! They had a Seagrave rear-mount apparatus. Half a block, and it was at top speed! The original unit, on the other hand, had just gotten a new rig. They were a tiller company initially but had just gotten one of the new, at that time, tower ladders. It was a lumbering behemoth! Slow as refrigerated molasses, not just responding but getting into operation at a fire, as well. Each day at 0900, they would change bays. One would have a clear bay to take in first-due runs while the other would take the position behind the engine company to respond as needed. So, yes, the second unit, would, for these reasons, frequently beat out the first unit to and at fires. It was frustrating. Needless to say, not all in the original unit were sad to see the second dissolved. I wasn't one of them. I had never known a time when they weren't there. Though they had only been in existence seven years, the older guys in my unit, did remember what it was like without them. Still, they were friends and competitors. I thought they were the better unit. There are many who would agree with that sentiment. One good thing came out of dissolution of the second unit: we got their rig! Another thing to come out of the dissolution, though our competitors were now gone, we still had to step up our game — and not just us, we noticed, but all the surrounding companies. The second unit's not being there now meant that help was farther away. Back-up companies, second-dues, just because of distance or because of what they may be doing, as far as being involved in their own incidents, would be delayed. We had to hit our marks, carry out our assignments, hold our position whenever and as much, as possible. Six months later, though, I too, like the second unit, would be gone from this house and from the fire department. I was laid off along with about 2,700 other men. Some were hired back immediately. I wasn't one of those. Although I did come to work for the department in another capacity (fire inspector), I was out for the entire 18 months of the fiscal crisis. The city did some gerrymandering back then to stay afloat. I don't understand or even remember all of it, but it cost me the firehouse and company that I had loved. It seems that some of the firehouses had to be funded with money from the federal government, particularly money from the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) and the Comprehensive Employment and Training Act (CETA) programs. My old company was a HUD company now, and I was rehired with CETA money. The rule was "never the twain shall meet!" A CETA firefighter could not work in a HUD firehouse and vice versa. I tried a couple of times to get back but failed. Others, who had better connections than I, were able to make it back, but.... I did have someone intercede for me, though, to at least get me back to the area. I was able to go to the company immediately north of my old one — a single-company house, a tiller-truck company. I'm sure you can imagine the adjustment I had to make. Going from a three-company house to a one-company house was bad enough, but I hadn't worked in a firehouse for 18 months ... had not even smelled smoke, let alone, fought a fire! Adjust, though, I did. I came to love my new company. I stayed there 21 years! Old Times Flash forward, 10, maybe 12 years. I don't recall the exact year or reason, but it was a reunion of the members from my previous house. It could have been the 10th anniversary of the dissolution of the second unit. I don't remember, but many of these members were certainly there. No matter what the occasion was, it was great being back in the company of such great and varied men— my mentors, many, many friends. I still saw a lot of them, as many were still in the "old house," and we would always speak or wave as we passed at a job or whatever. But this gathering was different. It was a reunion of all the members who'd ever worked in our three-companied house — old and young. It was great — an amazing experience of fellowship! I was and am glad I attended. Foolishly, in my heart, I felt a little disloyal to my current unit by being back among these men who’d taught me so much, so quickly, when I first came on. But that was youth, I guess, and the unacknowledged longing I had to still be there. Old times were good to talk about, and we did. And when the experiences were not those that I shared in or remembered, I had the good sense to shut up and listen and thus learn. I learned a lot. There were many things that made this particular night, this particular gathering, significant for me. I've already mentioned some above. What made it most significant for me was the T-shirt. You pay your money for these events, I don't remember how much it was, but the money goes to pay for the hall, the food and a memento of the event, like a cup of some kind or a T-shirt. On this occasion, it was a T-shirt. What was special about it was what was emblazoned on the front of it. It had the front facade of the firehouse printed on it and the number of all three units that occupied it and under that, this statement, "The Busiest Firehouse in the World!" I was stunned! It had never occurred to me that such could be true. I asked the reunion organizer if this was correct? He assured me that it was! Runs and workers fluctuated throughout the years among the various top companies. It appears that, for the seven years that the second unit was in existence, it was Number One in average runs per year, with 6,475. The first unit, for the period 1964 to 1978, was Number One with an average of 6,109. The truck had a total of 91,631 runs during this same 14-year period, tops among all the city’s truck companies. The engine company over this period was Number Two in total runs at 90,775. Together, that’s 182,406 runs, almost 7,000 more than it’s Brooklyn "competitor" or rival house and more than 10,000 than its closest Bronx counterpart. Note also, that these numbers do not include the 41,053 runs the second unit made in its seven-year history. The engine company was Number One in working fires during this 14-year period with 60,912, while the truck was eighth with 45,292. Both the first and second units were in the top ten for average workers per year, with the second unit with the higher average and position, fourth, with 3,552 average, and the first unit, 10th, with 3,019. I was very proud of where fate had placed me at the start of my career. What a history! What standards these men set? I was proud to be included among them. These men who had done such great things and would go on to do great things. I could say I knew them and am glad to have known them. It was a great time, a good night. But I was in another place by this time, and I returned to it a little prouder and a little sad. I knew I was in a great house, but it wasn’t Number One. I knew, though, that wasn’t the goal. It was never the point. Those years I was in my old house, it was never about numbers. As I said above, I was surprised at the numbers; and I was there! That was something over which you had no control. What you could control was to "be as good as you could be." To be ready. When that alarm went off, nothing else mattered. You could be sad, mad or glad; but when you mounted that apparatus, everyone around you expected you to be at your best. You had to deliver! That was my resolve — to always be at my best! Divergent Paths Referring back to our first paragraph, our story here will take a little twist. I and you, dear reader, will have to make a judgment. I, knowing and observing the history and participating in some of it, already have. I present to you as objectively as I can the facts as I know them; so you, too, can make up your own mind. I know, the old saying goes, “Judge not.... Yadda! Yadda! Yadda!” But how can you not judge when lives were lost?! Looking back, it’s plain to me now that the night of our reunion and that T-shirt was the impetus for desecrating the image and standing of this wonderful house. It’s wonderful to be Number One. No doubt about it — bragging rights, if that’s your thing. But that and 16 ounces is still just a pound. It wasn’t overnight or just one incident that caused this change of view. Reputations, good or bad, are built over time. Consistency is the key. I, apparently, was not alone in newly becoming aware of my old house’s accomplishments and standing as the “Busiest Firehouse in the World.” Since that night, those of us who cared could see a shift in attitude and posture of some in that house. There was less fraternizing with others who were not of the house. Few returned waves of recognition. There was a new aggression at emergencies — not exactly pushing you aside, though there was some of that. They made their presence known no matter what order they were in the response. On tours of duty, when it was necessary to detail a man to equalize manpower, there was little welcoming or interaction with them if you worked there. The same was true if they were detailed to your house. They would isolate themselves until there was a call and we had to respond. Not all of them. Not all the time. But many times you would hear, "What’s with those guys?” I used to love to return there and work, on a detail, after I was rehired as a firefighter. (You could work a HUD house on a detail even if you were a CETA firefighter for equalization or manpower purposes. You just could not belong to that house. This system was in effect until the city regained its own fiscal reigns.) I knew the house thoroughly, the response area also. Somehow, I began to feel uncomfortable there. The fellows I had worked with had mostly gone, transferred, got promoted or retired. It was not the house I knew. The attitude was "We’re better than you and we’re gonna show you!" Where did that come from? What kind of attitude is that? We’re all one department, I thought. (This was naive of me because I’ve since learned that a department can be varied even within itself, on so many levels — experience, enthusiasm, dedication, etc.) It became uncomfortable working there if you did not belong there. I no longer did. Yes, it seems the realization that they were Number One had aroused a sense of importance in some of the members there. They were Number One, and now they were going to act like it! It’s kind of funny now, in a certain aspect. It can easily be pointed out that this is a fragile view to take of one’s position. For, as I’ve already pointed out, those who were there when those records were set had moved on. Those who were in the midst of those times had gone. So while it’s good to be proud of the history, your history, it’s history made by someone else. Anyway, being Number One doesn’t always translate into being the “Best!” I’m a Pepsi man, myself. I recall one incident with the engine companies from my old and new house. Now, "stealing" runs (jobs) from each other is nothing new. As pointed out in the aforementioned book, Gangs of New York, it’s a practice as old as the department itself. In this instance, the old engine company was in front of the new company’s house exchanging spent air bottles for our masks. We were a depot for such exchanges for nearby companies. Suddenly, an alarm came in. It was for a verified fire south of us. Our house was on a one-way street northbound, which they were facing. To get to the fire from where they were facing, you’d have to almost circle the block, make three right-hand turns. They did, and by the time the company for whose box it was could turn out, they were behind even with making the turn out of quarters against traffic that we had to do. To say the least, it was frustrating to be beaten to your own first-due box by another company. But these guys?! Suddenly, up ahead, traffic was not responding to the wail of our sirens and air horns. Impatiently, the engine in the lead mounted the sidewalk to drive around the stalled vehicles, it being a short distance to the cross street. In so doing, its right rear fender struck a lamp post, knocking it down and partially tearing the fender away from the apparatus. I think this qualifies as an accident in any jurisdiction. My new house’s engine, a block behind, seeing this development, was able to turn off and take an alternate route, but not before seeing the engine ahead quickly assess its damage and, incredibly, continue on. Now, at the very least, regulations require, in such instances, that you leave a member at the scene of the accident and notify the dispatcher. If possible, you can proceed. But with significant damage to the apparatus or property you should not continue forward. They continued on to the fire, took their position as the first-due company and fought a heavy fire situation in a four-story apartment house. Now, you can say what you will. "These guys were aggressive! They wouldn’t let themselves be stopped!‘ They made a judgment call! How bad an accident could it have been? A street lamp and a fender." Whatever context you want to put it in, this was significant property damage. A major accident! It would have been regarded as such if it had been reported. It was not. I’m sure I don’t have to point out all the ramifications this would have led to if this had come to light. It did not. As with most things that folks get away with, they were complimented for their actions at this fire. That’s right! Complimented! The deputy chief, after this fire, went around to all the companies who participated and declared what a wonderful job we had all done to contain and extinguish this fire. He had come to us after stopping at the house of the ones who had had the accident. Though he was unaware of it, he commended them for their performance. After he left them, they embarked on a quick course in metallurgy to repair that rear fender. They were emboldened after this. They had gotten away with it. They were the chosen! They would press every advantage! It wasn’t just this incident that irked surrounding units. It was their whole “us before all” attitude. The engine oft times, instead of helping get the first line into operation, would instead stretch a second line. Their own line. The truck would try to take the primary position whether it arrived second or third at a box. These and other incidents caused great erosion of respect, fraternity and cohesion with surrounding units. Their thought process may have been “It’s just competition! If you can’t take it... We’re Number One; it’s how we got here!" It wasn’t! Tragedy Early on a morning in mid-December 1998, an alarm was sounded in the houses of the first-due units of a box located in the southeast section of Brooklyn. The Brooklyn dispatcher informed the responding units that there was a “second source” meaning "confirmed emergency." The units acknowledged and continued on to the site. Four minutes after receiving the call, the first two units arrived simultaneously in front of the building of the emergency. The engine company from my old house, which had approached from the north, informed the dispatcher, and thus the other responders, there was fire on the 10th floor. The building was a Class 1 (fireproof) multiple dwelling. It measured approximately 250 by 50 feet, 10 stories. On the first floor were a compactor room, a laundry room, a room used for storage, a tenant’s lounge and 11 apartments. The other nine floors contained 15 apartments per floor for a total of 146 apartments. These were all for senior citizens and handicapped individuals. The apartments were designated by letters on each floor. The “A” apartment ‘wrapped around the elevator lobby on the north or #3 side of the building. Apartments “B” through “E” were on this side. (The fire was in Apt. “D”.) Four apartments, “F, G, H and J,” were on the south or #1 side of the building in this wing. The building was divided into two wings by an elevator lobby, with self-closing doors on each side on each floor. These doors are held open by magnets and close automatically when an interior fire alarm is activated. The apartment entrance doors are made of steel and are designed to be self-closing. There are two enclosed interior stairs at the far east and west sides of the building. In FDNY parlance, with #1 being the front of the building, the street, clockwise from there, each side of the building and\or the exposures, are identified. In this particular building, the exposure #4 stair, on the east side, is the “A” stair and the exposure #2 side of the building contained the “B” stair. (This is the case for this particular building only.) The stairs are enclosed all the way up to the roof. There is a standpipe in the exposure #4 stair with outlets on each floor. There is no standpipe in the other stair, but there is a hose outlet on each floor, about 30 feet from the exposure #2 stairway door on the north wall. Only one of the two elevators was working at this time. Six men entered the only working elevator — the officer and forcible-entry team (irons and can man) from the first-due truck and the officer, nozzle and back-up positions of the engine. They went to the ninth floor and proceeded to the 10th floor via the exposure #2 stair. The officer of the engine radioed down to his chauffeur to find out where the fire was located. (This is strange because, it was this officer who confirmed the fact that there was visible fire on the approach to the building. This is an isolated building in this neighborhood and can be seen from a distance.) In any event, the chauffeur radioed back that the fire was on the top floor, rear of the building near the exposure #4 side. The engine officer informed the truck officer, he acknowledged, and he and his team entered the elevator lobby. This was to be the last time they would be seen alive. This quickly became a severe situation with several things happening at the same time, as they do in all fires and emergencies. There was a report of a person trapped in Apt. 10E who couldn’t get out. The second-due truck company was assigned the task of making this extraction, as they did. Since this apartment was next door to the fire apartment, this side of the building, this “stair A," became very crowded. There is a timeline of events but it would be too much to recount here all of the things that occurred. Needless to say, there was a delay in getting water on the fire due to what’s already been described. The units arrived in front of the building in about four minutes. Engine One (the star of this piece), being on the wrong side of the fire, goes back down to the ninth floor and hooks up to the standpipe in the stairwell on this floor. By now the stair is crowded with other members from other companies and a civilian being removed from the adjoining apartment in a wheel-chair. Members doing this extraction stated that, at this time, conditions in the public hallway were heavy with black smoke down to the floor. The occupant removed, interviewed after the fire, stated that when the firefighters took her out into the hallway, it was really hot. She did not see any fire, just smoke. About two minutes before the extraction, the roof position of the second-due truck gave a report about the wind condition, from that position — a not inconsequential report, as it turned out. Firefighters, looking up and\or down from their various points of operation gave differing views of what was happening at the windows of the fire apartment. Some saw flames. Some saw only thick black smoke. Some saw nothing issue from this apartment. The wind on this morning was estimated to be coming from the northwest with gusts between 17 and 25 mph. Nine minutes had elapsed by this time. The engine, having stepped to the side on the crowded stair to allow the occupant to be removed, now had their line charged and were ready to advance into the public hallway. The fire said “NO!” It was at this point that the can position of the first-due truck, issued a MAYDAY call over his personal radio. Shortly thereafter, seconds really, he transmitted a second MAYDAY. Many heard the call and tried to determine the identity and location of the person in distress. This was 11 minutes after the first units entered the building. As the member from the second-due truck, who was holding the door to the public hallway, opened it, the engine was hit with a tremendous blast of heat that drove them off the 10th floor landing and down to the half landing. The officer of the engine burned his hand with this retreat. This was going to be a “gunfight” and so the engine took their “knife,” I mean hose, and made another attempt with the same result. I made that descriptive mistake deliberately because the engine stretched two lengths of 2½-inch hose with a lead length of 1¾-inch hose — a costly lapse in judgment, but more on that later. Their line was not opened at this time, and the nozzleman was burned. The door position, or third man, then took over the lead or nozzle position on the line. The officer called for a second line. A minute later, 12 minutes after arrival, a third MAYDAY was heard. Two minutes later, a third attempt was made. With the third-due engine company and the second line (a 2½-inch line), both companies made the push from the crowded stair and began to extinguish the fire. It was approximately 30 feet from the stair door and the door of the fire apartment. Progress was “extremely” slow due to the high heat and heavy smoke condition. With relief from other companies at the scene and a determined effort, the fire was eventually extinguished, 23 minutes later. Meanwhile, the first downed firefighter, the can man, was reached, approximately seven minutes after his initial MAYDAY call. He was lying in the prone position with his feet facing the elevator lobby door, next to apartment 10J. The second downed firefighter, the irons man, was found at this time but was not removed due to the effort it took to remove the first man. He was in the supine position, with his feet also facing the elevator lobby door. Seven minutes later, different rescuers would locate the body of this firefighter and remove him. All this is happening while water is still being put on the fire. At 0528 hours, the body of the officer of the first-due truck was found. He was in the supine position between the “H” and “J” apartments, closer to the “J”, with his feet toward the fire apartment. The fire was extinguished at 0535. This fire did not burn long as fires go, but it burnt furiously. It took 26 minutes to gain control of the fire in the hallway. Fire was still burning in the apartment. You can see what was transpiring above until final extinguishment. Within 13 minutes, it had downed three men, burned two others, with at least two others being disoriented and having to be helped from the fire floor. All before a single drop of water was applied. A second-alarm was sounded after about 20 minutes of operation. A third alarm was transmitted ten minutes later. Though the fire was still burning at this time, one can assume this was done mostly for relief purposes. Consequences The consequences of this fire — besides the obvious one, the lost of three lives — this writer is not privy to. There were other consequences, you can be sure. They, the department’s brass, usually come down hard on so blatant a flaunting of department rules and regulations. This would mean discipline to the officer working this fire, who went into battle with a 1¾-inch lead length of hose off of a standpipe system. Also, the captain of the company, if these two individuals are not the same, would also be disciplined, reprimanded, transferred, demoted or all of the above. Likewise, all of the officer staff could be removed and replaced. That’s some of the tangibles to have been dealt with. Others, of course, are what these men, the ones who died meant to those whom they leave behind — their families and, not the least, their friends and co-workers. What do you say to them? What can be said? In the safety report, the official report on this fire by the Safety Battalion of the department, interviews were taken from all participants, department members as well as occupants and workers in this building. A timeline was established from interviews and from tapes of radio transmissions. This report, though contradictory in various parts, lists five direct causes for the “mishap,” as it calls these deaths. Among them were the attempt to hook up and operate a line in the stair on the same floor as the fire. Inadequate communication among units operating in the stair and the unit operating on the fire floor, members of the truck operating in a hostile atmosphere and members of the truck operating in a hostile atmosphere without the protection of a 2½-inch handline when heavy fire and smoke vented from the apartment. There were indirect causes listed, including the wind (the occupant had partially opened the window to vent smoke before abandoning the apartment. This window at some point, totally failed.). Also listed were contributory causes, like the fire load in the apartment (the occupant had just installed new carpeting and much of the furniture was foam.). But, strangely, in this summary of causes, there is no mention of the 1¾-inch lead line used by the engine. The reason? “The Safety Battalion believes that the use of a lead length of 1¾-inch hose (by the engine) had no bearing on the mishap, since it occurred before the line was in operation.” In other words, these men were already down from their injuries. (They were pronounced dead at the hospital.) So, there was “no bearing” on the outcome? No consequence? The report goes on to state, “However, the use of a 1¾-inch lead length substantially reduced the flow of water from their line. This added to the amount of time that it took to control the fire, effect final extinguishment and remove the victims of the mishap.” (This is one of the contradictions.) It was determined after this fire, through flow tests, that three lengths of 2½-inch hose with a lead length of 1¾-inch hose, stretched from the ninth floor, produced a flow of 154 gallons per minute. Four lengths of 2½-inch hose, stretched from the eighth floor of the fire building, produced a flow of 290 gallons per minute. Both of these lines were operated simultaneously, as at the actual fire and the discharged flow was out of a tenth floor window. Except for 18 gallons, the 2½- inch line is giving you almost twice as much water and protection than the line with an 1¾-inch lead. So the scenario begs the question, Why? Why do it? Why use an 1¾-inch line off a standpipe? I have heard some swear by such a tool. Indeed, I have come into contact with some departments who use a 1½-inch line off the standpipe. This is not the policy of FDNY. So why would a company of the FDNY do this? The same reason that others do it and have done it. “That 1¾-inch hose is lighter and more maneuverable,” many say. That it may well be, but when stuff “hits the wall, “ you’ll wish for the extra gallons and power that the 2½-inch line brings to bear. An illustration might be useful here. We know that bravery and courage are needed to do what we do. To get up close and personal with fire in almost a blast furnace situation, which this certainly was, requires these qualities. If we could measure such traits, would you say that a person who uses a 2½-inch line in such a circumstance is brave? I would, definitely! How about a person who uses a 1¾-inch line in such a circumstance? Why, he is even more brave, isn’t he? He has less protection. How about a person that only has a glass of water and a straw? Is he brave? Immediately, your mind recognizes that you would not question this person’s bravery but rather, their acuity. This person is not smart. So it does not matter how brave you are, if you are not as smart. Go back up the line. Clearly, the person with the 2½-inch line, the most protection, is the most brave AND smart. Certain questions and conclusions can be drawn from this incident. Why the lead length of 1¾-inch hose? Because it has worked before. One can conclude this because there is no other reason for this hose to be taken into such a building. This was not an experiment. “Let’s see what we can do with a smaller line." No! It had worked out for them in the past. They had gotten away with it with no reprimand, and it became a company practice. This engine was not the first to arrive at this fire and not the first engine assigned, as verified by department tapes. But it assumed the primary position and, therefore, the primary responsibility of getting the first line into operation. If it wished to get to the fire, get that first line into operation, knock the fire down, then all’s well and good. It has the "glory."’ But when this is not accomplished because the fire has grown and taken hold, or there is a delay in getting water for whatever reason, then what? I disagree with the report, on the one hand, almost giving absolution for this action and, on the other saying, it had “no bearing.” It was three minutes after the first MAYDAY was heard that water began to flow. Two minutes after the LAST MAYDAY and the second attempt by the engine to put their line into operation. Yes, the men were down by this time. Could they have been saved if the proper tool was there, to meet that “tremendous heat” that caused the engine to fall back the first and sescond time? We’ll never know. We can only wonder. Esprit de corps, competition, however you wish to describe it, both were manifested at this incident. In this particular incident, the "esprit" was not communal, but isolating. The competition was for nothing, because, in the end, it took two lines to meet and combat this fire. We can imagine the thought processes of Number One wanting to stay Number One. If you have to cheat a little, jump ahead, what of it? It’s all in fun! There was no "fun" here. Three lives were at stake, and three lives were lost. Three lives and more. Reputation and respect were lost too. These are the intangibles. What took a lot of years to build was torn down in 35 minutes one early morning in mid-December 1998. The official report does not lay culpability at the door of the “Busiest Firehouse in the World.” But they know. All around them know. It was a tragedy. All numbers and data are taken from The Fire Bell Club of New York and official reports. © Copyright Firenuggets.com 2007 • Click here for Terms and Conditions of Use
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