By Bianca Prieto
Rocky Mountain News (Denver)
Copyright 2006 Denver Publishing Company
The raging fire was burning from the second floor of a north Denver home, filling a hallway and cluttered rooms with blinding smoke.
Denver Fire Lt. Rich Montoya hoped to bring the heart of the blaze under control and took charge, up the two short flights of stairs.
Just 15 shifts shy of retirement, he was on the front lines of the May 14 fire, as he had been on many others in his career. But this one would prove to be the 30-year veteran’s last.
In the matter of 5 minutes, 6 seconds, Montoya became separated from his crew and collapsed, overcome by smoke.
The department’s official report, released Monday, shows that investigators were unable to determine exactly what went wrong in the fire that killed Montoya.
But the document details a series of potentially life-threatening conditions. Among them: confusion about where firefighters were, concerns about a limited air supply and a crucial wrong turn that trapped Montoya’s crew in a small bedroom packed with furniture and other belongings.
“You can’t see anything and really can’t tell,” fire spokesman Phil Champagne said Monday. “The heat was so bad they just wanted to get out of there.”
Smoke and confusion
The accidental fire at 4306 Thompson Court was set by resident Cindy Maestas, 37, when she left rubbing-alcohol-soaked cotton balls near a burning candle in her room.
When firefighters arrived, Maestas’ 16-year-old asthmatic daughter was trapped inside. Another crew managed to pull her to safety.
The 11-page report, released nearly five months after the fire, details an intense 20 minutes.
Less than 12 minutes after the frantic 911 call, Montoya paused at the top of the stairs and handed the nozzle to the man behind him.
It was “common practice” for Montoya to do that, Champagne said, in an attempt to train younger firefighters.
The sharp turns of the hallway ahead of them had been swallowed by heavy smoke. The firefighters took their first right and started down what they thought was a corridor leading to the back of the house, where the fire had started.
But Montoya and his crew quickly realized that they had made a wrong turn into a small bedroom.
A firefighter reached up and pulled down part of the ceiling, prompting a rush of more heat. Montoya told another firefighter to point the hose toward the attic to cool it down.
As the crew worked, Montoya apparently slipped away from the hose, unbeknownst to his partner at the front of the line.
Montoya’s partner began stretching the hose along the right side of the room. When he reached the far wall, he bumped into another firefighter moving in the opposite direction.
The firefighter believed that he had reached the member of another crew. After the blaze was over, he realized that person must have been Montoya, who was likely trying to feel out the boundaries of the room.
“Usually when you leave the line, you communicate it,” Champagne said. “The hose is like your tether blanket. You can usually get out where you came in if you follow it.”
Montoya was never able to get back.
Facing increasing heat and dangerous conditions, a firefighter relayed the “back out” message to Montoya, who responded affirmatively.
When the firefighter at the front of the hose turned to leave the room, he realized that Montoya was no longer behind him, but he thought that he had already escaped.
He suddenly felt his mask vibrating, an alert that his air supply was running low. He then found that the hose had become buried under debris from the fallen ceiling and a twin-sized mattress.
The firefighter struggled to loosen the hose but “was shaken by the combination of circumstances and began to toss the debris that was blocking his exit off to his right” - the same side of the room where he had last felt Montoya.
He heaved the mattress in that same general direction before deciding to leave the hose behind.
As he made his way down the crowded stairs, other firefighters heading up heard the faint sound of Montoya’s distress signal.
They found the lieutenant in the bedroom less than three minutes later, on the floor, covered by the twin mattress.
“There is no conclusive evidence to show that the firefighter threw the mattress on top of him (Montoya), but Rich was found in that room,” Champagne said.
The report did not specify whether Montoya’s air mask was on, but tests later showed that he had a carbon monoxide level of 23 percent after he had undergone oxygen therapy at the hospital.
“The mask had to be off in order to acquire that kind of carbon monoxide level,” Champagne said.
Shimmying along the carpet on their bellies, firefighters pulled Montoya from the bedroom. They dragged him by his shoulder straps down a flight of stairs, becoming entangled with another firefighter who fell behind him. That firefighter injured his back.
Document lauds firefighters
Once outside, the firefighters realized that Montoya’s breathing and heart had stopped. Paramedics were able to restore his pulse on the way to the hospital.
For a week, Montoya remained in intensive care at Denver Health Medical Center. He had no burns, the report said, but paramedics found soot in his mouth. His family turned off life-support seven days later.
The coroner later determined that Montoya died of smoke inhalation, although all of his equipment and uniform were in working order.
The final report lauds the fire department with a full page of positive assessments on their work during the blaze.
That list was followed by a much shorter page of recommendations, including the use of advanced life-support ambulances at every confirmed fire, more training on self-rescue techniques, better communication equipment and “team discipline of knowing where your partner is at all times.”