#benjax911

A peaceful night’s rest is once again broken by the eerie, electronic sound of the tone-out. Someone in the city has an emergency, and it’s my duty to fight fire and save lives. I jump out of bed and my head swims from standing up too fast, as the station speaker, at an ear piercing volume, delivers the emergency information. The adrenaline begins to course through my veins when the dispatcher announces, ”Quint One – respond to structure fire....”. I pick up my cap, in which I placed my glasses and a pen inside. I write the address of the emergency on the palm of my hand and proceed to the wall map of our response district, for it is my responsibility to get the team of firemen to the correct address. I tell myself to take a deep breath and stay calm; I will not become overwhelmed by the excitement. Someone’s house is on fire, and I must make rational decisions to get my crew to the scene of the emergency. I have studied my map and located a fire hydrant near the address to which I’ll be driving the fire truck. After making my way to the apparatus bay, tapping the garage door button on my way, I glance over the fire truck to make sure my truck is ready to go. ”Red Thunder”, a Freightliner FL80 with an E-One Chassis and a 65 foot Snorkel Telesquirt ladder perched atop her glistening, red body, yet again, will be pushed to her limits. With a click of the battery switch and the turn of the key, her beautiful, peaceful spirit roars to life. I jump into my firefighter boots with my protective pants and suspenders pushed around the ankles. Almost in one motion, I pull my bunker pants up around my waste, pull the suspenders over my shoulders, and jump into the driver’s seat. After depressing the emergency lighting switch, a tornado of flashing red and white light creates a furious dance against the walls of the bay. Releasing the parking brake and placing the transmission into the drive position, I slowly pull onto the apron of the fire station parking lot. I have entered a black, mystical realm of the quiet world asleep and safe in their beds. Red Thunder begins her journey through the still night, soaring down the roadway. I race to the scene quietly so I do disturb the slumbering community inside the erroneous security of their homes. A million things are racing through my mind during the response: I am creating a picture in my mind of what I might expect when we reach the fire and I am recalling the special equipment the firemen will need to battle the blaze. I always plan for the worst. Do not allow your thoughts to become clouded with a theory of false alarm. ”Quint One’s on-scene. We got a one story residential structure with heavy smoke comin’ from the rear of the structure. We’ll be layin’ a supply and makin’ interior attack from side ”A” with a pre-connect. Gimme a first alarm. Quint One has command,” my officer reports on the radio from the seat to my right with a trained calmness in his voice. The house billowing with thick smoke is in sight. I stop the truck at a fire hydrant a few houses from the scene. ”Hydrant Man.... Jump!”, I yell to the fireman sitting behind me. He will pull the end of the largest hose we have, from the stacks of folded hose atop the truck, to the fire hydrant. The Hydrant Man signals me to continue to the scene, after wrapping the hose around the cylindrical monstrosity of a yard decoration; he will connect the hose to the hydrant while I continue the trek to save a family and their belongings. The inundated amount of tasks will be accomplished in record time: Set the brake, activate the PTO, place the pump into gear, place the wheel chocks on each side of the front tire to prevent the truck from rolling if the brake fails. The next function of my job is engineering. As the Engineer, I immediately report to the pump panel of Red Thunder where I produce the necessary hydraulics for fire suppression. The Firefighter and the Officer pull the neatly packed hose, laying across the top of the truck, to the front door of the structure. While the firemen are forcing entry into the house, I pull the ”tank to pump” valve and the ”pre-connect #2” valve to charge the hose with water. I increase the engine speed with a twist of the throttle knob to produce a powerful stream of water, capable of knocking a man off his feet. My tank water will not last long; I have to expedite my hydrant connection. I will break a connection in the serpentine of adjoining hoses leading to my water source. After connecting the five-inch hose to my pump intake, I open the keystone valve. I signal the Hydrant Man to charge the line by sounding three short blasts of Red Thunder’s air horn. The supply hose fills with water and the whine of the pump decreases. I quickly readjust the throttle; there will be too much water pressure for the firemen inside the house. The pump is set, the firemen have plenty of water to extinguish the fire, and I am now available to backup the firemen inside the burning structure, in the event they become injured. The Driver/Engineer’s job is not yet complete on this ”fire ground”. There is a multitude of special equipment and tools that the firemen will need to find and extinguish the fire, to rescue trapped occupants, and to begin to salvage the property inside the house. I place a large, gas-powered fan near the doorway of the structure to facilitate the removal of smoke, promoting less damage on salvageable property within the structure. Red Thunder carries it all: ladders, pike poles, tarps, chainsaws, and more. If a fireman needs a special piece of equipment, I will get it for them or produce an item that will serve the same purpose. I will continually monitor the pump and produce equipment throughout the fire-fighting operation. Next task will be ”Mop-Up”. All the firemen work as a team to prepare Red Thunder for her next venture. Loading hose, checking to ensure equipment is still operational, and cleaning soot, covered tools will require almost the same energy we exerted in the fire-fighting operation. Before leaving the scene, I account for all the equipment and tools and make sure my water tank is full. ”Quint One is clear. Command is terminated,” my officer reports to dispatch. It is time to go back to the house. I will crawl back into by bunk with a hope that my shift will end soon. I made sure Red Thunder had all of her equipment on-board when I reported for duty over twelve hours ago, and that has paid off. We saved the structure and salvaged much of the property, thanks to the teamwork, preparation, and training involved in a fireman’s job. My job and Red Thunder are among the necessary links in the chain required to provide a well-equipped and well-trained fire department.

The sputtering of a motorbike crescendoed as it echoed through the outdoor breezeway at the newly remodeled, suburban strip-mall.  Encroaching upon the new, model train store was a small, wiry, cotton-top adolescent on a poor excuse for a bicycle with a playing card strategically placed in the spokes for sound-effect.  Almost in one motion, the bike skidded several feet as the young boy rode the pedal brake from one side then stepped off into a run.  On arriving at the store, the child set the kickstand, to park in the walking path, symbolizing his believed importance.  From inside the store, the shopkeeper looked up from the counter to see the frequent visitor then turned back to his newspaper.  The dark-tanned nine year old, wearing hand-me-down shorts, a fish-net shirt, mismatched socks pulled up to his knees, and Velcro sneakers not worthy of being called shoes, entered the store, oblivious to the shopkeeper’s obvious attempt to ignore him.  Bright, green eyes peered through the boy’s coke-bottle lenses, set in rugged plastic frames, beset on the determined browser’s face.

Thus begins an hour or more obsessing and dreaming of the ultimate, model train experience.  He cannot fathom the thought of slowly collecting his passion; all or nothing was the only agreeable outcome for the lad.  As with many other short-lived fantasies, he would soon move on to a new dream.  His parents knew all too well the investment in any purchase would soon collect dust as new desires are discovered in the rapid change of the technological revolution.  At rate of five dollars per month of allowance, the lonely, young “Gen-X’er” would never have the means to fulfill his heart’s desires.  Entitlement driven anger towards his folks flourished as each dream is smashed with one of many usual reasons including, “We can’t afford it”.  He was constantly plagued with frustration over that excuse because the other kids in the neighborhood seemed to get anything they want.