Smoke and Memorials

We all know about the existence of every day heroes. Men and women who leave the comfort of their beds at night to respond to an emergency. Be they EMTs, Parameds, or Firefighters, when they call, you become their priority. But how many of us ever get the chance to try it? How many of us get to live as they do for even a moment?

I grew up with a father who was a volunteer firefighter. His pager would drop tones, and away he'd run in his pajamas. Off to save a life, off to help someone through the traumatic experience of disaster. When other children said Superman was their hero, mine was always my father. And it runs deep in my blood.

My sister and cousins of mine have risked their necks for the safety and service of people they do not even know. And I know this. I know they run to the station. I know they wear uniforms. I know some of them have turn out gear. They drive emergency vehicles. But only this year have I ever gotten to really understand some of the greater experiences they live on a daily basis.

I've ridden in firetrucks. I've seen the lights. I've swerved to the side of the road to let them pass. I've been in the station when they come back, when they take off their gear and reveal they were sleeping, they were studying, they were enjoying their evening but dropped it to run to the call. But I've never been in their boots.

So all of that leads to this. At the end of September, I took my camera and shipped myself to Michigan to spend time with my sister at the Michigan Fireman's Memorial (MFC) in Roscommon. Why not? I slept in the station for Tip Up Town. I can run their radio if they need more hands on deck. I can run water to scenes and offer auxiliary support. So why not see more?

It was exciting for me, camping with Jen. Jumping into full immersion of her life. Seeing a part of her that I did not first forge ahead with. And what did she do? She made sure I got the full taste.

Roscommon Township FD runs an event called the Smokehouse Challenge. Ten teams from around the state compete to see who can get into their gear fastest, get to the three story building, and in smoke thick enough to hang a nail in, find two heavy dummies in under 15 minutes. Think it sounds like a cake walk? I saw well built men stumble out gasping for breath, red faced and hurt.

More to the point of this, the day before the competition, with smoke machines just pouring out the smoke, the local news crew wanted a mock run into the building for a quick newsreel tidbit. And for the very first time in my life, I got to see more of this life than I ever thought to.

My sister put me in her gear. I've worn her coat, I've donned her helmet before. But this was the whole shebang. And in it, I felt comfortable enough. Foreign to be sure, but it wasn't overly warm that morning and the gear isn't so dreadfully heavy as to be impossible. Even with her mask on, I was able to breathe ambient air through it. Warm from my breath but not difficult. But as she strapped that helmet on my head... it suddenly started getting very real for me. The mask was close, the gear made me feel like I was in a cocoon. Suddenly my brain sabotaged me with the thought... 'How fast can I get this off if it becomes too much?' The answer came back.. 'Not soon enough.'

But I would not lose it here. Jen does this for a living. There was no real danger! It's just a smoke house! Just two minutes in a smoke house! No fire. No flames. So I walked to the door, and met the guy from another department who would be taking the lead. "We're going in on our knees. Hold on to my boot and do NOT let go." Sure! Easy! Well.. wait. Now that I'm on my knees.. these gloves are bulky and your boot. It's big and my small hands are having trouble keeping hold. What if I get lost?

And then, just before they hit record, my sister reached down and clicked the little button that changed me from breathing ambient air to the forced air in the tank. And I about lost my shit. Have you ever breathed from a tank like that? You have to work to exhale and it sounds like Darth Vader. My heart rate skyrocketed and before I could chicken out, my guide took off. I clambored after his foot, clutching to it like I might die if I lost it.

I didn't even get all the way into the door before my brain spazzed the hell out. No visual save a thick, roiling cloud of smoke and the heel of the boot I was clutching. I could not even see my hand, I had no idea of the layout, and my tank and mask hissed in my ears as I tried to get my body to adjust to this new form of breathing. We crawled in and around a corner, out of sight and crouched with me clinging to his boot.

It's here that my mind started being a real dick. I'm shaking even recalling it. I sat there, trying not to move, trying not to be seen by the camera (which unknown to us had stopped rolling before we even got through the door). Beyond my mask the room was black, unseen and unseeable. But in my mind's eye, I could see the flames rolling across the ceiling. I could hear the timbers and furniture going up in a roar. It was no longer a game.

I closed my eyes tight shut for a second and heard my sister's voice in my head. 'Just breathe. Calm down and you go home.' I forced myself to slow my breathing as I sat there. I forced myself to at least try and not panic. So many times I nearly grabbed my guide to say I was not ok and needed to get out pronto. So many times I almost cried out for Jen.

While all of this was going on in my head, it's prudent to point out something that happened to just give more perspective on how I was affected. The air tanks have a sensor on them. If you stop moving, it fires off two or three warning beeps and then blares a whistle to alert other firefighters that you might be in trouble and where you are. My ONLY job in this smokehouse besides holding his boot was to wiggle my sensor when it gave the warning beeps. That's it. And I was so swallowed up in everything in my head that I never heard the warning beeps and did not know what alarm was going off for a full five seconds.

My guide helped me to stand, and then led me out of the door. Someone reached over and shut off my alarm but I was focused only on Jen. I barely reached her before I begged her to take the gear off, hands and legs shaking. She has a video of me emerging, and my nose and mouth are covered by the mask, and above that I was all eyes. Huge as saucers.

My time in there was sobering. I was in no real danger, but my mind just would not have it. The things that went through my head were frightening and I was truly terrified. Perhaps with some practice with breathing through those tanks, and crawling in that gear and I might have had a chance to not be so panicked. But I wouldn't have traded that either. That experience will stay with me forever.

But my lesson wasn't over.

The Memorial is just that. It's in honor of those who have lost their lives to save others. There is a statue near the fairgrounds. The statue sits on a base and the base has the names of firefighters who died while on duty etched into it. Behind, a wall bears the names of firefighters who died but not while on duty.

One of the newest names on the base was Wohlke. With the memory of being in that smoke still very sharp, my sister quietly told me about this man. On a structure fire, he had gone in and gotten lost. His voice was drowned out in the radio traffic. One of the things they train you to do is find the hose and follow it out. Wohlke found the hose. But he followed it the wrong way. His final, unheard transmission of "Wohlke out of air." was recorded. He never made it out.

Could I imagine dying that way? Could I imagine even risking that? No. Jen says that gear is her skin and those tanks are her lungs. And that if she dies in the line of duty, she dies doing what she loves. But I've seen what that's like. I've seen just the kiddie pool version of that and it was enough to frighten me.

To see that name etched there. To have an idea of what that was like. To understand the risks my sister and others like her take on a regular basis without second thought.. I have nothing. No words. It brings me to tears if I linger on those thoughts for too long. And the level of respect there is unmeasurable.

So if you know a firefighter, an EMT, or a paramedic, take five seconds to tell them 'thank you'. Take two minutes and get your ass out of the way when you hear those sirens. And when you go to bed at night, know that while you sleep, they watch, they wait and they stand ready to respond. And they don't even know you.