Of Firemen... Wives...
And Daughters...
"ENGINE 51,
LADDER 22, BATTALION 10. RESPOND TO RESIDENTIAL,
10 TH STREET AND JEFFERSON AVENUE"
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
All that was on her mind was her daughter, Tess,
waiting for her to pick her up from band practice, her defiant, sullen teenage
daughter. She was running late, Tess would be upset. She saw the lights, heard
the siren, saw the flash of red truck at the top of the hill, heading towards
the intersection she was about to cross. Damn, she thought, that's all I need,
to get stuck waiting behind the light for fire trucks to go through. She was
sure she could beat the truck ... the light was yellow ... she stepped it down.
The light was red before she got there, but she couldn't really slow down now.
She heard the squeal of the brakes ... the air horn ... the siren ... two
images flashed through her mind: the image of Tess, waiting at school for her
... and the image of being crushed by the fire truck. She screamed. The
truck slid sideways, the same direction as the car, they slid side by side but
not quite touching, as if magnetized, a crazy dance. The sun was blocke! d as
her entire window was filled with the red of the truck that was inches away.
The truck lifted off of two wheels as it threatened to tip sideways ... slid
away from the car...sideswiped a different car... crashed into a light pole,
which broke away and fell over the length of the truck. The siren died. The
silence was deafening.
The firemen leaped off the truck and ran to the cars, one man, cursing,
ran the length of the truck to see who was hurt. Heard one of his crew
screaming "Tom! Tom! Oh God... Tom!" The woman, not believing she was
still alive, got out of her car, saw them lowering a fireman from the back of
truck to the ground ... had he been struck by the light pole? She didn't want
to know. Two firemen stood before her, faces a conflicting mixture of anger and
concern. "Are you hurt, ma'am?" She started to explain, she looked at
the ground to avoid their accusing eyes, she was late to get her daughter ...
the fireman said, almost to himself, "Oh...fuck..." She snapped her
head up, he had no right to say that to her ... but she saw it wasn't directed
at her...she followed his gaze over the tree tops ... black smoke was curling
into the sky. "Fuck...This is a bad one."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
At the scene of the fire ... at the same time
that Jack received the radio call: the truck enroute was in an accident, help
is coming from neighboring towns... a woman ran up to him with the words he
hated hearing: "My baby is inside". All things happening at once, a
thousand thoughts go through his mind, in seconds he sorts them out,
prioritizes: Calm her down ... get the facts ... get the crew inside ... radio
the information up the line. She's nine years old, my daughter, she's deaf,
probably in the upstairs bedroom, you've got to get her please please don't let
my baby die. Pass the info on ... update as we go ... time is almost gone...
this is a bad one. (His own girl, Susie, is only 7... Can't think of that right
now.) His radio is slippery in his sweating palm... "nine years old, a
girl, she's deaf, upstairs bedroom ... repeat...." The hysterical mother
is led away by a neighbor. He hears her frantic cries You've GOT to get her
out...Please please please don'! t let my baby die.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the accident scene, the woman is being asked the same questions
by another police officer. She is annoyed. She knows it is her fault ... she
knows a firefighter on the truck was injured somehow, she doesn't know how bad,
she doesn't want to know ... she knows the truck crashed to avoid crushing her
in her car...but she seals these thoughts away in the back of her mind, she
can't deal with that right now. She needs to get to Tess, get word to her,
something. The officer is very young, he couldn't possibly have children, he
wouldn't understand. "I need to get to my daughter, I will come back, or
go to the police station, what ever you need me to do, but I need to go get my
daughter, the school will be closed and she's waiting outside ... you don't
understand."
The policeman pauses to watch the paramedics put the injured
firefighter in the back, she turns to watch as well ... he is probably in his
40's, she sees deep black hair flecked with gray, a large man, solid build, he
isn't moving, his face is bloodied, she doesn't want to see, she turns back to
the officer as she says again "...my daughter ... you don't
understand..." she is surprised to see him looking directly in her eyes.
Without moving his eyes he tips his head towards the ambulance, where they are
just closing the doors... he calmly, quietly says to her: "That's Tom...he
has a daughter too".
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
A thousand thoughts go through Frank's mind as
he crawls along the floor ... all of them related to how to save the girl. How
much time is there left?... Sometimes they hide in closets ... which room? ...
where are you little girl? She's deaf ... so he can't talk to reassure her, she
may be afraid of him, he knows in his mask and gear he has a Darth Vader-like
appearance ... his own daughter teases him about it. He can't see at all now,
the smoke is too thick ... he feels his way along the floor, a blind man's
journey. How much time is left? Quickly but thoroughly feeling for a
child...searching for the closet... where are you little girl? He finds a
bed...feels on top of it and under it ... no little girl. He touches the metal
bed frame and pulls quickly away, the hot melted paint is like burning glue on
his glove. His ears begin to tingle, feel like tiny needles pricking him, he
knows he is rapidly running out of time ... if he is...she is. He finds the
closet, fe! els along inside, nothing here... where are you little girl? Come
out, come to me, come to Frankie... he feels a kinship here, he doesn't want to
lose this little girl. He feels under a chair... The heat creeps around his
facemask and reddens the skin at his neck and ears. The curtains across the
room from him burst in a glorious orange flame that reaches the ceiling. The
warning bell on his airpack begins to chime. No time, no more time...where are
you little girl?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
A thousand thoughts go through Jack's mind. He
knows the time is rapidly approaching where he will have to call the crew out
... abandon rescue ... structure too hot ... unstable ... abandon rescue...get
the crew out. He thinks of the mother, she'll not understand. We would gladly
die to save your daughter, but to die along with her doesn't save her. Out of
the corner of his eye he glimpses 2 people running to a car. He thinks of his
own daughter, Susie, safe at home, not in this burning home. What would he
think, as a father, to hear that someone called off the rescue of his little
girl? His little girl, his Susie-Q, the light of his life. He wonders if he'd
ever forgive the man who made that call. He knows they must abandon rescue, get
the crew out. The time is now. He doesn't hesitate, he makes the call. He sees
it is the mother in the car ... but not alone. He steps out in front of it as
it pulls away from the curb. With one arm she is holding a child tight to h! er
chest. She stops, opens the door as she is talking "... I can't reach my
husband by phone... he's at a site..." she looks at the child, "she
was with a neighbor... she's out... she's safe..." He asks her, never
taking his eyes from the frightened, crying girl "This is your daughter?
They are in the house looking for your daughter..." The mother's eyes
widen "Oh My God... I saw her and I just... I didn't think to say... I
tried to call my husband and then...I didn't think... " A thousand
thoughts go through his mind, he feels a weight has lifted for having called
the rescue off...the girl is safe, after all. He tries not to be angry at the
woman for not telling them right away, only minutes have passed, but minutes
are precious. We would gladly die to save your daughter...what are we dying for
now? Get the information...pass it up the line. He radios "The girl is safe,
she's not in the house, the girl has been found, is everybody out?" No
reply. "Repeat...Is everybody out?" ! Just then he hears and sees the
flashover, the fireball, the whoosh at the same time he hears the radio crackle
"Frankie's still inside..." He asks the questions anyway, he already
knows the answers. "Does he have air?" But he knows even if he does,
it's not enough. "Last position?" But he knows it doesn't matter. The
house is fully involved. It amazes Jack that the fire still burns two stories
high, when it seems there is nothing left to burn. Frankie...Frankie...
The scene to him seems like a slide show, freeze-framed images,
one at a time, yet all at once. The fireball blowing out of the windows
upstairs ... the roof folding inward...the mother's eyes are wide and scared...
the child is crying, a mewing sound ... he sees a paramedic drop to his knees
and fold his hands, bow his head, a fireman drops down beside him, praying
unashamed... Frankie....Frankie... the radio calls out the orders ... advance
the hose line ... the whooshing sound as the air takes on that packed feeling
... he feels like he can't breath ... realizes he's holding his breath ...
Frankie ... Frankie... The sounds of the fire is not what is ringing in his
ears, or the sound of the radio's current stream of commands, it's the sound of
what the radio has already said that he hears over and over ... that he knows
he'll always hear..."Frankie's still inside."
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tom can hear the familiar sound of a siren, loud, knowing it is
coming from the vehicle he's on. He takes a minute to think, he remembers ...
residential fire ... he is on the truck, enroute...but something isn't right.
He opens his eyes and sees a white metal roof close above him. Sees faces looking
down at him, in white shirts. He knows them, but he doesn't know why they're
here, or why he's here. Something isn't right. Another fireman leans over,
"Tom... Tom can you hear me?" He nods, slightly, tries to, he can't
really nod, he is restrained in a neck brace. He knows now where he is, he
remembers the accident. A flash of pain travels down his neck...and stops. He
can feel nothing below his neck. He looks at the fellow firefighter beside him,
he was beside him in the truck as well. He's a good friend. "You're gonna
be OK, buddy" he hears him say. But he doesn't believe him.He has been in
the back of this ambulance before, but never as a patient, never lying down,
looking ! up. It is different from this vantage point, people look distorted,
the roof above him looks too close, claustrophobic. He moves his lips and the
fireman leans closer to hear him, "What Tom?" He tries to reach for
him, can't move. He says as clearly and slowly as he can, "Take care of
Christy...don't let her forget me...Tell Julie that I love her..." His
friend is already shaking his head, "No, no man, you'll be OK, you'll take
care of her"
Christy is his 16 year old daughter, Julie is his wife. She just
told him this morning that she is expecting another baby. They tried for so long
to have a second child. They had just assumed it wasn't meant to be. He was
shocked, and unbelievably happy. He was telling everyone at the station, he
remembers that's what he was doing when the alarm sounded: "ENGINE 51,
LADDER 22, BATTALION 10. RESPOND TO RESIDENTIAL, 10 TH STREET AND JEFFERSON
AVENUE" But he knows ... he won't be there whenthe baby comes.
He wishes he could reach out to the fireman
beside him, grab his arm to get his attention, he can't seem to will his arms
to move. He can only hold him with his eyes. More forcefully he says again
"Take care of Christy... and the baby...don't let them forget me...tell
Julie that I love her." His friend looks at the paramedics, they lock
eyes...they don't need to speak... they know ... he knows... Tom knows. He
tells Tom, "I will, I promise you, I will."
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Frankie sees the flash over his head and watches the fire race
across the ceiling like a living creature, impossibly fast, at the same
time he is telling himself "watch the floor." Tounges of flame lick
down at him from above. The bell on his air pack is still ringing, a pitifully
quiet sound among the white noise of the fire. He keeps his wits about him,
quickly heads to the door... almost there.... almost safe...need to find the
stairs... Where are you little girl? The floor gives way beneath him. He throws
his arms out to the sides, and is caught from falling through. His legs dangle
uselessly beneath him. If he lets go, he falls through the floor, if he hangs on,
he burns. He is oddly calm. He knows his brothers will come for him, at the
same instant, he knows they won't get there in time. He hopes no one is killed
in trying to save him. I'm so sorry, little girl. The floor is burning too now,
the walls, the room is white hot. This must be what Hell is like.
His last thoughts are of his wife Marie, as he always knew they
would be, and his daughter, Amy. He lives with Amy now, since her divorce, and
his granddaughter, Molly, who has his eyes. He watched his wife Marie slowly
ravaged by cancer lose her fight 4 years ago. He remembers her pain, and he
prays now for God not to save his life, he knows that isn't possible, but to
spare him from unspecified, unlimited pain. He pictures Amy, his daughter, the
curve of her chin, the way her hair falls in front of her eyes like a curtain
when she tips her head down, the way she laughs a high tinkling laugh, like a
wind chime, even now as a grown woman, she has that same laugh as she had as a
little girl. He remembers her now standing by the stove scrambling eggs, it
seems an odd image to be the last he thinks of, but it must be what she was
doing when he saw her last. Was it just this morning? Or the morning before? Or
a million mornings ago?
The heat is unbearable, his skin begins to
blister, his mask is useless now, his arms ache, he should just let go ... he
hopes the little girl didn't suffer like this. His lungs are screaming for air,
like a crushing weight against his chest, he thinks he cannot bear it one more
second ... and then he sees her. Through the wavy, vapory air seen just above
flames... Marie. She isn't gaunt and sick as he saw her last, she is whole and
beautiful, and reaching for him.... my Marie.... he hears her voice, beckoning
to him, she smiles at him, his arms let go of the last shred of life he was
holding on to ... as he falls into the hungry flames he whispers aloud I'm
coming... my Marie... and he is with her before his body hits the floor.
* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
Across town, Amy is just sitting down with a cup of coffee and a
newspaper. This is her quiet time, her time to herself just after she gets home
from work and just before Molly gets home from school. On the radio and the
constant background sounds of the scanner, she knows there is a bad housefire
somewhere. It isn't her father's area, she thinks it's a neighboring town. She
vaguely hopes no one is hurt in it. She thinks of him, her father Frank, in his
uniform, so proud. Since he moved in "to look after her," it seems
she looks after him just as much. The roles seemed to reverse at first, and
then they evened out. She and he are friends, she can say in all honesty her
father is her best friend. And it is good for Molly, having him around all the
time. And good for him, she keeps him young. She has his eyes. He could have
retired by now, but she knew he will never give up firefighting as long as he
draws breath. It is part of him.
She isn't aware of exactly when it hits her ... the radio
report... firefighter fallen through the floor... the voices on the scanner...
the ringing of her phone ... believed to be dead... the crunch on the gravel of
a car in the driveway ... she knew it was him. The coffee cup skitters across
the table and shatters to the floor as she slumps forward. She keeps her head
down on the table, her cheek against the cool oak, eyes tightly closed
...No...Daddy ...No ... the doorbell is ringing ... she doesn't answer it. If
she doesn't answer, they can't tell her, if they can't tell her, then it can't
be real.
She only moves because she thinks of Molly, who
will soon be skipping off the school bus, seeing this official car in the
driveway, the uniformed men at the door. She raises her head and sees her
school photo, smiling Molly, tiny dimples, unruly curls ... her father's eyes.
Daddy Daddy Daddy please don't leave me .
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
Jack doesn't have to say anything to his wife
when he finally gets home. She knew. She reached up and touched his cheek, she
needed to touch him to confirm that he was here, alive. He shook her off. She
understood. He needed to be alone. He went upstairs. She had already been
to see Amy. She had already felt that stab of guilt, that relief that it wasn't
my man. It's hard to support those left behind without a small part of you
thinking, I'm glad it's you, not me... not glad...of course you aren't
glad ... but ... you can't explain. But you don't have to, they all
understand. She knows there is nothing she can say or do for Jack. There will
be a service for Frankie. She'll make sure Jack's dress uniform is clean and
pressed, she'll shine the brass buttons, she'll bleach and starch the white
gloves, polish the black shoes. She'll lay it all out for him so he won't have
to think, he can go on autopilot. It's all she can think of to help him.
She tip toes up the stairs, thinking Jack must be drained and
exhausted, hoping he is asleep. She opens the bedroom door quietly, but he's
not there. She hears very quiet, muted whispering from Susie's room. As she
gets closer she can tell by the tone that it's a song, a rhythm. She peeks in
Susie's room, the bed is empty. Jack has lifted his sleeping daughter and is
holding her on his lap, rocking in the rocking chair. His cheek laid against
the top of her head. He kisses her hair. He sings very quietly, a song she has
heard before but can't place: "If I knew that today was my last day on
Earth The things that don't matter could wait, I'd play with my children and
read them a story and tell them I love them before it's too late" Jacks
eyes are closed, a single tear rolls down his cheek. She closes the door.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Three days later a town gathers to mourn. a flag draped casket
travels on the back of a fire engine. Frankie's gear beside it. He answered his
last alarm. Bag pipes play their mournful sound. Along the streets people stand
in silent tribute as the fire engine makes its way to the cemetery. Among them
are a woman with haunted eyes, who holds the hand of her sullen, teen age
daughter, Tess. And a woman who weeps openly while clinging tightly to her
young, deaf daughter.
At the cemetery, Jack addressed the crowd, stiff and formal in his
dress uniform: "He was my friend... he was my brother. He loved this job.
He believed in it. Not just some of the time, when it suited him. All of the
time. This is what he was. He loved to read, to go for walks with his dogs, to
spend time with his family, and to fight fires. He put his heart and his life
into everything he loved. He had a wife, Marie, he loved with all his heart,
she joined Our Lord 4 years ago, and the only happy thought today is that they
have been reunited now. He had a daughter too...."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
As Jack spoke these words, and they laid Frankie
to his final rest ... in a hospital across town, with his beloved Julie on one
side and Christy on the other, Tom drew his final breath. The fireman who made
the promise stood at the foot of the bed, head bowed. Hearing the words again:
"Take care of Christy... and the baby... don't let them forget me... tell
Julie that I love her." "I will, I promise you, I will."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
And somewhere, across town,
in a firestation with a skeleton crew due to the memorial service, an alarm
sounds: "ENGINE 51, LADDER 22, BATTALION 10. RESPOND TO RESIDENTIAL, ELM
STREET AND FRANKLIN AVENUE" .....
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
e
p i l o g u e
These events are based in fact, but obviously I don't know the
actual thoughts that people think as they are in these situations, in that, I
am only speculating. One fact that is true, I am the fireman who made that
promise to Tom in the back of that ambulance, and I have kept it these past 4
years. Christy has grown to a lovely young woman. I often wonder what she would
be like if Tom had been here to guide her. In what ways would she be different.
They say children are resilient, but I'm not sure I believe that. They make
accommodations, they adapt, but they don't fully accept.
This is for Tom. You have a 4 year old son who is named for you.
He knows as much of you as a child his age can comprehend. And while I will
always be here for Christy, as promised, I have turned over the primary taking
care of her to someone else. You see, Christy was married today. I walked her
down the aisle for you. I talked to her young groom. I told him your story, and
what you expect of him. He said he understands. Christy married a fireman. I
think you'd like him.
And no, Tom, they have never forgotten you. They
never will.
~Kalvere~
Dedicated to Tom, to Frankie, to all of those who answered their
last alarm.
We have protective gear for many situations ...
to protect us from smoke, fire, cold water rescue, confined spaces, chemicals,
high altitudes... What we don't have is gear that will protect us when your
vehicle enters the path of our trucks. Accidents are among the second leading
cause of line of duty deaths for firemen, and among the leading cause for
police. For Tom's sake, and for yours, let the emergency crews get by. The fire
we're headed to may be yours.
PLEASE NOTE: Names and places and certain facts have been altered
to protect the privacy of the firefighter's families. Portions of the above are
copyrighted. The "Kal the Rebel" tag above features a Worchester,
Mass. firefighter. Please do not reproduce in printed form without author's
permission. Kalvere, the author, is from Minnesota and would welcome any
comments at the following email address: [email protected]
Peace out and God be with you all,
Kalvere