Spring

By Michael Morse

I had bid a spot on Engine 2, this was my first week driving.  The driver of the truck, also known as the chauffer is responsible for getting the crew to the incident quickly and safely, apparatus placement on scene, the proper running of the vehicle, all of the tools and EMS supplies and most important, the pump.  This particular morning Engine 2 was detailed from the Branch Avenue Station in the North End to South Providence.  Our job was to be available for calls while the fire companies from Broad Street were conducting a fire extinguisher drill at one of the fuel companies that inhabit the Port of Providence.  Kenny, the officer in charge that day was working overtime and had no idea this was my first week driving the engine.  Wayne and Arthur occupied the rear jump seats, each with their own particular set of duties for whatever call we were sent on.

Halfway through the drill the truck radio sparked to life;

Attention Engine 2, Engine 11, Engine 3, Special Hazards, Ladder1, Ladder 8 and Rescue 1, respond to 151 Washington Avenue for a fire on the second floor, reports of trapped occupants.”

We roared out of the drill yard toward the fire.  I saw smoke coming from over the tree line about a mile from our position.

“All companies responding to 151 Washington be advised, there is an infant on the third floor and a handicapped male in a wheelchair on the first.”

I made the truck go faster.  Behind me Wayne and Arthur were “getting dressed,” putting on their turnout gear, no easy task in a speeding truck with limited room to move.  Kenny did the same while answering the radio.

We were first in.  I was responsible for the positioning of the apparatus and the pump.  I turned the engine down Washington Avenue and saw flames shooting from a second floor balcony.  Cars were parked on both sides of the street leaving just enough room to squeeze through.

“Go fifty feet past it,” said Kenny, calmly, referring to the burning house.  Ladder 5, right behind us needed room to set up the aerial ladder.  I stopped the truck, Kenny went in looking for victims, Wayne and Arthur went to the rear and grabbed a hand line and started the process of stretching it into the front door of the fire building.  Ladder 5 stopped behind me, two members immediately went to into the house, two got the ladder ready.

At this point I had Kenny, Wayne and Arthur inside the burning building, an infant on the third floor, a handicapped man in a wheelchair on the first, and two firefighters on the roof.

“Charge my line!” came the muffled order from Wayne who had found the fire.

I put the truck in pump by putting the engine in neutral, hitting a switch that transferred the power to the pump, then shifting back into drive.  The red throttle handle on the pump panel controlled the pumps RPM, I needed it to get to 150 psi to get the right pressure to the nozzle.  I turned the throttle, heard the engine strain and expected the gauge to show something.  It stayed at zero.  Smoke came from under the truck.  Engine 10 had joined the fight, backing up Engine 2.

“Charge Engine 10’s line!” came from the radio.  I had nothing to give them.  All of my training led me to this point.  I felt the crushing weight of the responsibility for all of the lives depending on me.  I turned the throttle higher, still no movement on the gauge.  The truck jumped a foot forward.  I froze.  The officer of Engine 10 screamed for water, I tried harder but nothing worked.  At the depths of despair, just when I thought the pressure of the situation would crush me, Wayne appeared from the back of the engine, walked over to the pump panel and figured out the problem.

“You’re not in pump.”

It clicked.  When I flipped the pump switch on from inside the truck, the adrenaline was so high I probably switched it back off with out realizing it.  The truck was in drive.  It’s a miracle it didn’t run down the street and kill somebody.  Thankfully the maxi-brake held.  Wayne opened the cab door, put the truck in neutral, stepped over to the pump panel, throttled down, then put the truck in pump, throttled up to 150 psi, opened the gates for Engine 2 and Engine 10’s lines and told me,

“Go fight some fire.”

He pumped for the rest of the incident, I found Arthur, we eventually put the fire out.  The handicapped man and the infant were saved, everybody survived.  After the fire, while we were picking up I expected Wayne to start torturing me.  Instead, he explained what I had done wrong, even tried to give me an out by suggesting the truck malfunctioned.  Some of the other guys were not so forgiving.  I learned a lot that day, lessons about pumping, grace under pressure, and that I loved Wayne like a brother.

Wayne is the only person I’ve met whose skull is thicker than my own.  He sees things his way, I see them my way, neither one of us will ever admit the other is right.  I have come to respect the man and understand that the way he goes about the job, while different from the way I do things is just as effective when looking at the big picture.  The fires go out, the patients are given the best care and the station is maintained.  If anything I have learned to relax a little, and am better for it.

“7 serving 3”

The game went on, an up and down battle, both players giving it their all.  It was tied at twenty when the bell tipped.

 

Michael Morse, a Providence (RI) Fire Department member for 22 years, writes about his experiences as a firefighter on Engine Co. 2, 7, and 9 and Ladder  Co. 7 and 4, as well as his time on Rescue Co. 1 as a lieutenant and Rescue Co. 5, where he is currently captain. He lives with his wife Cheryl seven minutes from his station, which, fortunately for him, is “worlds away.”

 

 

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