Be a Hometown Hero: Volunteer Firefighters

Article Tools

Image Gallery

Print

E-mail

Comments

RSS

What about the newborn locked inside a sports utility vehicle in a snowstorm? The only keys are in the ignition. The engine is running. Baby is face down on the floor in the front, crying. Mother is hysterical. No problem. Grab a spring-loaded center punch. Out comes a rear window and then the baby. (Did I mention it was a brand-new SUV?)

*Electrician — "Here's your problem: The copper and aluminum wires are twisted together and have melted through where they enter the house. That's why the main circuit breaker is blown and your lights are out. Better ask your electrician where he got his license." Copper and aluminum expand and contract at different rates, so if you mix them on service lines, the aluminum wire needs to he at least one size heavier than the copper. For safety, all copper is the best way to go.

Once, a woman drove off the road, hit a guy wire and brought down a utility pole. The car spun and landed in a V-shaped ditch, which held the doors shut. Good thing, too. The top part of the pole dropped through her rear window, suspending a 12,000-volt line just above her car. Chief Robert Reiss told her on the loudspeaker not to move until the electric company killed the power. She kept her cool, did what she was told, and we got her out OK.

*Food Service — In the home or on the road, volunteers save the day, most of the time. "Yes, ma'am. I smell wood smoke, too. But your house is not on fire. Check out the wooden spoon in the dishwasher. It's laying on the heating element in the bottom. Burned right in half, too."

The back half of a tour bus is engulfed in flames. Passengers watch in grim silence as firefighters battle the blaze on the shoulder of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. They are a curious bunch, clad only in shorts, aloha shirts and Hawaiian leis. A few applaud as the fire is brought under control. Everyone groans when they see small coolers melted to the floor amid charred minibales of what looks like hay. Then the cargo bays are opened. Huge, sloshing coolers are hauled out, intact. The crowd explodes in wild applause, song and dance. Soon the Parrot Heads are back on another bus to Margaritaville and the Jimmy Buffett concert — minus their grass skirts.

The three-alarm restaurant fire is nearly out when flames leap from one wall. You open the nozzle full-blast, sweeping the hose hack and forth across the wall. Suddenly, there is a horrible crashing of glass. The flames are gone. So are 99 bottles of booze on the wall.

There is no fire in the house. But you didn't miss it by much. "That bag of groceries you tossed on the counter was holding down the lever on the toaster."

Courage Under Fire

Sound like fun? Sure is. But before you even can get close to a hose line you have to pass the 88-hour Essentials of Firefighting course, at least in the Emmaus Fire Department. Throughout the country, more and more fire companies are getting funny tint way. Gone are the days when you could fall off of the bar stool as the alarm sounded and climb on the nearest pumper.

RSS | Comments | E-mail | Print