For Openers

The business of firefighting is one of specialized knowledge and tools. The fresh recruit's days are filled with protocol, history, terminology, and drilling - daily drilling. Power tools, ladders, SCBA (self contained breathing apparatus), bunker wear, rope skills, on and on and on. Nozzles, hoses, spanners, appliances, pumps, and monitors. You drill to hone skills, forging muscle memory. Fine-tuning technique to save time, your back, and preserve your equipment. For a hundred different tools, there is, for each, a compartment, bracket, or cubbyhole to be memorized.

Woe betide the probie who drops a ladder during a raise, for instance. Even if it doesn't injure someone, it must be pulled out of service, pending an inspection for damage and replacement - time and money wasted. More lasting, though, is damage to the clumsy firefighter's reputation. A good story will be shared during lunch and retold over dinner and then served with morning coffee. It's like a snowball rolling down a cartoon hill. Embellishments flesh out unknown details and invented conflict lends added flavor. Eventually, everyone in the department gets a taste - until someone else screws up.

The reality is that people make mistakes, and things break. It's preferable for that to happen while drilling, when safety can be maximized. It's expected that there will be a material cost to doing business. Everything has a service life, and when it wears out it is replaced. If a tool repeatedly fails, it might not be the right tool for the job. That can apply to probational firefighters, too. So, be careful when you're a probie.

My department consistently damages and replaces one particular piece of equipment. It is arguably the most expensive item we repair or replace, yet, ironically, new firefighters get precious little training on the device. Operation is seemingly simple, consisting of a single button interface. Like good comedy, it is all about timing, and that might just be something you can't teach people.

The garage door opener is an awesome responsibility to wield. When the tones go off, the driver usually opens the door, everyone piles in, and then the pipeman has to close the door behind the vehicle. If it's nighttime, or the station is empty, security is paramount. This can be vital for stations in neighborhoods where the neighbors might rob you blind. Keeping out the weather and animals is important too.

Many of the garage door openers we use are lame. The pipeman has to roll down the window, and thrust a hand holding the remote outside to make them work. In an engine, you can't see rearwards, and the driver has to give you a "clear" signal, lest you bring the door down on the rig. Most, but not all, of our doors finally have a sensor that reverses the door if a beam of light across the opening is broken. Without exception, the remote has a secret sweet spot that you must find to make the operate the door.

I bought and installed a Sears Craftsman garage door opener for my home, and it outperforms just about every unit in the department. I can open/close the door a block away, and my hand stays inside my truck. It boggles my mind that our fire department garage door openers are so primitive.

I busted my station door on a clear July morning during my probation. The tones went off around 0300 for a residential fire in another station's response area. We weren't dispatched, but procedure required us to "move up" for coverage, taking calls in the affected area. Groggily, I climbed in the rig, and grabbed the remote in preparation for closing the door. Rolling down the window, my deep subconscious mind tried to make me aware of something. In a fog, I listened to a distant faint voice in my head mention something about a garage door, as the engine rolled forward.

BOOM... CRUNCH, CRACK

The engine stopped. We climbed out. Looking up, the door had hung on the ladder rack and bowed outward, and popped off the tracks. Ruined. Devastated. Destroyed. The engine appeared fine, though.

Awww, shit. So..." My captain, WJ, looked at me. " ...what happened, Schlem?"

"I dunno..." (Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!) " I guess I hit the button too soon..."

I volunteered to wait for the door company repairman to arrive for the next hour, keeping watch on the open apparatus bay. When he arrived, he told me that he fixed about 10 doors a year for us. He estimated the damage between three and four thousand dollars. Yikes.

We are currently waiting for a double-sized door at a different station to be repaired. And engine rolled into the door while it was closed. The estimate came in over $20,000. The City requires work above ten thousand bucks to go to bid. It's been broken for 6 months, now.

I wrote up an explanation of the events and the usual protocol for closing that particular door. I spelled out what I thought happened and what might have prevented it. I gave my statement to my captain, and he included it in the accident paperwork. There was no disciplinary action taken.

My next shift, I transferred to a different station, as a normal course of probation, and no one there knew I had killed a door. I cleaned the toilets and kept my mouth shut. A few guys from the old station gave me some grief when I saw them, but luckily someone else drove a ladder truck through a door the next week and my mistake was quickly forgotten.

They say it happens to everyone. Hopefully, it will end. There are now optical sensors on the door I busted.