Looking back on nearly 3 decades in the fire service

Editor’s note: FireRescue would like to thank John Hinton for the advice and insight he’s provided in his Fire Attack column for the last three years. Although John will no longer be contributing to this column, be sure to watch for feature articles from him next year.

This is not "Goodbye," but it is "See you later." Looking back over nearly three decades in the fire service, I see that it has been a long and sometimes crooked road that has led me to this point.  But at each turn and every bump in that road, I have always maintained the attitude that even our bad days are better than the good days experienced by most people outside the fire service. This has been true every day I’ve shown up to work, except on those rare occasions when the work we love takes the life of one of our own, or leaves them seriously injured. Those are the truly bad days; fortunately, they don’t happen too often (although even one is too many). And so it goes: I continue to live the dream, and so do the rest of us.

The author on the training ground in 1985, as captain in charge of recruit training: "We trained until we ran out of fuel."

Saying It Like It Is
In every piece I’ve written over the last few years, I’ve tried to keep in the back of my mind that some of us show up to work without being paid. Naturally, I think we all should be paid—and handsomely—but I can’t forget that some of us do this work purely for the "love of the game." The rest of us are even more fortunate to be drawing a check for it.

I’ve always felt firefighting is a challenging occupation (or passion), and the rules by which we operate on the fireground apply regardless of what brought us to the hazard zone. The hazard zone does not differentiate between those who are paid and those who are not.

In addition to remaining aware of the volunteer nature of firefighting, I have strove to keep in mind what I always felt is a worthy battle cry for our magazine: "Read It Today, Use It Tomorrow." What I have seen as fireground truth, I have tried to acknowledge, honor and treat as truth—and share it with others, so they don’t have to learn it the hard way. If I said it about the fireground, I meant it. I have always believed we should not be subtle about our expectations of hazard-zone operators, nor underestimate the dangers that exist in the hazard zone.

If you were to ask the guys and gals around our campfires here, "What is it you say about this Hinton guy?" they would answer that for the most part I am fairly lighthearted—but not when it comes to the fireground. I never wanted to get hurt, or see someone get hurt, particularly due to the fact that I (or they) were foolish with regard to the hazard zone. I tried to never turn my back on a silly act out of the fear that addressing it might strain a friendship. You don’t have to be soft to be nice. So I suppose it can be said that my religion is safety and my passion is effectiveness. Being dogmatic about anything is risky; however, in those moments of passion I’ve never intentionally tried to embarrass a co-worker (or piss off a reader). At the same time, I believe that it is a disservice to be ambiguous. Like Popeye the Sailor said, "I am what I am, and that’s all that I am." You get the point.

Close to Home 
I read, not very well, but often. I’m always looking for that gem, that nugget of wisdom, that might save a life. In my fire department’s history — a fire department that serves the fifth largest city in America — nine firefighters have died in the line of duty. Those firefighters were fathers, sons, uncles, nephews and brothers. They all had names, and they all had families who loved them:

• J.D. Sullivan was killed when his rig collided with another fire department vehicle. J.D. died on Dec. 9, 1929.
• Ambrose Shea was killed as a result of the same accident. Ambrose died on Dec. 10, 1929.
• Randy Potts had an exterior wall fall on him and died on Aug. 5, 1974.
• Walter Kelson, fishing from the shoreline of a local lake, witnessed a child drowning in the water. Walter dove in to attempt a rescue, but drowned before he could reach the child.
• Chauncey Ray, while at the lake with Walter, saw him struggling and jumped into the lake too. Chauncey’s fate was the same as Walter’s. Thankfully, a boater was able to rescue the child. Sadly, neither Walter nor Chauncey could be saved. Both firefighters died March 12, 1977.
• Dale Lockett lost his life when he fell through a roof on a residential fire on the west side of Phoenix on Aug. 5, 1979. Dale was working on Engine 25.
• Ricky Pearce was killed while trying to cut into a giant closed cylinder with explosive gases trapped inside. He, along with members of his crew, was trying to rescue a worker who had become disabled while attempting to clean the inside of the cylinder. The explosion sent several of our members to the hospital. I had filled in for his captain and worked with Ricky two shifts prior to this event and suddenly he was gone. The date was Nov. 5, 1984. Ricky’s last shift was spent as a member of Ladder 4.
• Tim Hale was run down by a drunk driver while operating on a medical call. I was privileged to have been his recruit training officer. He was a great firefighter. Tim died Feb. 12, 1994.
• Bret Tarver died on March 14, 2001, in a supermarket fire that sent several other members to the hospital as well. His death, because it occurred within a well-established framework of accepted practices, caused the department to take a hard look at how we did business. Bret was a member of Engine 14.

Both Chauncey and Ricky have sons on the job today. Both are doing well and if asked, I am sure they would tell you that it’s up to us to do whatever is necessary to make sure others don’t have to grow up without a dad. Message heard and understood.

Buckle Up & Hang On 
During my career in the fire service, particularly the last five years, I felt like the kid standing at the entrance to a ride with a horizontal red line drawn across the wall and a sign saying, "If the top of your head does not reach this line, you can’t ride." Staying current in the fire service requires so much more effort than it did 30 years ago—and its not child’s play. You can’t just show up to keep up; you must engage.

Not often, but with some regularity, I run into guys both inside and outside my department who have been riding on the "little" rides, not paying attention to how big the really big rides have become, and yet still think they can play with the big kids. In the fire service this can be a life-safety issue. These guys have a tough time getting current and in some cases haven’t built up the stamina required to stay current. It doesn’t take long sitting on the sidelines to be totally out of the game and lose track of what is going on.

These extended vacations from current fire service practice can occur at any level in a department.

Those of us who work in hazard-zone operations are currently debating terms and concepts like air management, layering of resources, rescue alibi, relay rescue, round trip ticket and work cycles, all in an attempt to discover the best way to rescue one of our own. These ideas change constantly within the fire service and represent only a sample of current discussions that may very well save firefighters’ lives. Let’s continue to discuss, debate and discover new and better ways to protect each other. This will continue to be a thrilling ride, but our seatbelts must be fastened.

If you saw the movie "The Matrix," remember when Neo found out the world wasn’t what he thought it was? He was told, "Buckle your seatbelt, Dorothy, ’cause Kansas is going bye-bye." This is true of the fire service as well. Even with all of its history and tradition, today’s fire service "ain’t your daddy’s car," and we can’t drive it like it is. In the past I’ve used this space to say that our work is performed in a constantly changing, high-tech world. That world has become increasingly challenging and dangerous. Even though the work itself is pretty low-tech, we can’t drop our heads and carry on the way we did decades ago. (For that matter, last year’s plan may be outdated.) Changes in construction types and styles are one simple example of why we must continually adjust our strategic and tactical attack plans. The only way to keep up is to strap in and stay engaged.

Strong Opinions vs. Dogma: A Fine Line
The dictionary definition of dogma is "an opinion or view put forth as authoritative without adequate supporting grounds." In the fire service, a real need exists for strong leaders. Those strong leaders often hold strong opinions. On the other hand, it’s wise to view those who are fanatical, or dogmatic, about our business as suspicious. We have all seen guys who won’t let the facts influence their decisions. This is particularly disturbing when that person is in a position of power.

Collectively, we can and should have opinions, and occasionally it is absolutely appropriate that we possess strong opinions regarding our work and safety. However, we must also have the ability to question ourselves, and each other. I have said this before, but we as a group can be a bunch of hardheads. It’s in our best interests that hardheadedness doesn’t lead us to becoming knuckleheads. The only room for hard-core fanaticism on the fireground is with regard to worker safety—I support the guy who wants to see everyone go home in one piece (and breathing). I wish there was a quicker way to slow the steady stream of funerals we attend each year. I see progress, but find myself impatient.

Many to Thank
Before my very first assignment, and even before I left recruit training, my training chief said to me that it’s my job to make sure I leave the department better than I found it. I’m not sure why, but this message really stuck in my mind and I took it as an order. It’s a mission I have yet to complete, but will continue to work on. I continue to work in a place where we are not only allowed but are encouraged to ask questions and find answers. The environment here is like living in a Petri dish.

The staff at FireRescue magazine — Michelle, Shannon, Cindy and Janelle, to name a few — have been awesome and have a shared vision: to put something out there each month that if read, can be used immediately. My focus has been on fireground activities, specifically strategic-level decision making and tactical actions. If you have looked to this space for answers, I am humbled and hope that something was worthy of your read. I have had the time of my life and hope that my passion for this work has shown through. For now, I am going to reset, recharge the battery and continue to try to raise the bar in my own game.

I will never forget the sacrifice of those who came before, particularly those who made the ultimate sacrifice. This work has associated dangers and we must constantly monitor our risks, both in training and on the real deal. My co-workers constantly give me reason to pause and reflect, and I thank them for that. They keep me on my toes. To my Phoenix brothers who died in the line of duty, I hope you are looking on at our ongoing efforts with a smile of approval. To my FireRescue family, as I mentioned at the outset, this is not goodbye, but rather see you later. Like the Phoenix bird for which my small slice of this world was named, I hope to return, and soon.

My sincere thanks to all, and stay safe. And as we say, "See you at the big one."

John Hinton has been with the Phoenix Fire Department for more than 29 years and is currently a deputy chief and shift commander. His duties include training recruits and active firefighters.