34
“A Boy Fell Out a Third-Floor Window!”
IN PRE-UPGRADE REGENT PARK, MOST of the buildings were cookie-cutter five-storey apartment houses. On one hot summer day, we got a call for a fire in a third-floor apartment. I was driving Aerial 7.
When we arrived, smoke was rolling out the back of the apartment building. Since I was the driver, I stayed with the truck in case they needed to put up the ladder or called for equipment. I helped Gary Christianson, the pumper driver, hook up the hose to the standpipe system, but the crews inside hadn’t asked for the lines to be charged yet, so we were standing by waiting for orders.
The radio crackled; the crews inside said they had a hot, working fire. Then there was a scream from one of the residents outside with us — something had happened. Someone yelled over to us that a little boy had jumped out the window to escape the fire.
I thought about my two small boys. This was going to be tough to handle. I didn’t want it to be happening; I didn’t want a child to die. Gary and I grabbed the first-aid equipment and charged around to the back of the building. On the ground lay a body … of a dog.
“Oh, it’s only a dog,” Gary said. We both breathed in, relieved to not be dealing with a dead little boy.
Then we heard a woman scream at us from the crowd. “That’s a life! How dare you be so callous! That’s someone’s family member!” She went on to tell us that she was a lawyer and was going to write a letter to the city saying how disgusted she was.
Instead of telling her to go fuck herself, I bit my tongue. I liked my job. My adrenaline was surging too much for me to come up with a calm response like, We were just relieved it wasn’t a little boy lying there, or This job has screwed up my head and emotions so much that the death of a dog just doesn’t cut it anymore. Instead I said nothing.
But I’ll say something now: if you are the lawyer who wrote the nasty letter to the mayor about Gary and me in the summer of 1996, go fuck yourself!
AROUND THIS TIME I WAS hitting my stride as a firefighter. I was comfortable with my crew and confident that we could tackle any emergency that came our way. After a particularly busy night, I knew I had a full day of parenting ahead of me, as Linda would be off to work and I could finally be with my boys.
At about one o’clock in the morning our truck had a quiet period and I thought it would be a good opportunity to grab forty winks.
But after about ten winks we were dispatched to a fire in a building under construction.
It was an office over a store just down the block from the Rupert Hotel, and it was totally in flames. The building was constructed in the late 1800s, and like buildings of that era, was a tinderbox that could turn into a blaze running the entire length of the block.
Our crews knew this and were extra aggressive on the fire attack. The last thing we wanted was to have fire that took out a whole community. A second alarm was rung. I remember blasts of white light sparking when the aerial tower hit the still energized streetcar lines in front of the building. All crews on scene went the extra mile and held the fire to one building.
After a full night of aggressive firefighting I was happy to see the sun coming up. I knew my shift was almost over. I could go home, have a quick nap, then be semi-rested to take the boys to school.
When we got back to the hall, my relief had not yet made it in. Maybe he was coming in from the other side of the city. As I reached to take off my boots, the alarm went off again. The apparatus doors hadn’t closed yet and I stood up to see a column of black smoke rising in the distance. Shit.
We were the first in apparatus on a row of abandoned Victorian townhouses that were designated to be city drop-in centres. Fire was rolling in a room on the second floor.
I was physically and mentally exhausted from busting my ass all night on the second alarm. I’m not sure how effective I would be at this fire but me and another firefighter smashed in the door and took in a hose line.
I made it to the top of the stairs with the aid of the other firefighter from the incoming day shift. He was fresh and eager to attack this fire. I just wanted to curl up and crawl into bed.
It was hot and smoky at the top of the staircase and I couldn’t make my way into the room engulfed in flames. No problem. I was happy to wedge myself just inside the doorframe and hit the flames with my hose stream.
Totally exhausted. No energy left. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be in bed. I turned to the firefighter backing me up to take over. I’m toast. My shift’s done, buddy. I’m sure my relief’s here by now. At that moment a rumble and wave of smoke and fire blew past me. The firefighter backing me up was knocked down the stairs. I was thrown against the doorframe of the room engulfed in fire.
When the smoke cleared, I could see the morning sky where the ceiling used to be.
The roof had collapsed, landing on the floor in front of me, missing me by six inches.
I was so exhausted the severity of the situation didn’t even register. It wasn’t until later in the day that the shakes came and I realized I had just cheated death again.