| Editor’s note: In the following article, former volunteer firefighter Angie Azur recalls her time as a junior firefighter – and the terror of that very first training session. |
By Angie Azur
The maze zigzagged through the bingo hall like toppled dominoes. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Good, I thought, we won’t test in the dark.
After signing my name and age on the drill sheet, I stood in line. “Good morning probie.” The fire chief tossed a bulky yellow uniform and gloves at me. The smoky smell burned my nose.
At the end of the row, the chief stopped. “What are you waiting for? Put ‘em on! Fast! Fast! Fast!” He clapped his hands. The rest of the adult volunteers joined him. They hooted, hollered and laughed as we fumbled with the oversized jumpsuits.
Clasping my last hook and pulling on the thick mitts, I stood straight, ready for the next command. The deputy and assistant chiefs lined up oxygen tanks and masks on the tables.
“Well grab a tank!” The Chief motioned. “Lets go juniors!”
I took a deep breath. Grabbing a heavy tank by the handle, I placed it on the ground. The two back straps faced me. I stared at the contraption. The metal cylinder weighed approximately 40 lbs and the suit another 30. I knew this from book training.
“Okay, sling ‘em on and tighten ‘em up,” the chief commanded. I heaved my tank upward and shoved my left arm through one of the straps. Swinging it behind my back, I caught the second strap with my right hand and pushed it on. Hopping forward a little I centered the tank. A snug fit. I connected the harness around my waist and chest tightening them hard.
“Good job boys and girls.” The chief paced in front of us, inspecting our tanks. I relaxed.
“Now your masks,” he said. “Put ‘em on and turn on your air. SLOWLY!”
 On hands and knees, I slinked through twists, turns, and corners, some going nowhere.  | ||
I slid the mask over my face. The curved, scratched plastic distorted all images. Reaching back with my right hand I twisted the small metal wheel just enough to hear the cool air hiss in my ears. Relieved, I smiled.
“You won’t be smiling after this, probie.” The assistant chief pulled out a large roll of duct tape. I took a step backwards. “What’s that for?” I asked. My voice sounded muffled behind the thick plastic. “Your mask.” She stripped a long piece from the roll. “In a real fire you can’t see.”
My heart started to beat faster. Sweat tickled my skin, but I could not scratch. Then reality set in. They were going to cover our eyes, we wouldn’t be able to see, but they would see everything. My stomach ached and I started to breath fast and shallow.
“Remember. Conserve your oxygen. Keep your breathing deep and even,” the assistant said. I tried to slow mine, but as the tape blocked the last of the light, my chest rose and fell even harder. All my thoughts focused on the blackness. I swallowed. I felt strangled.
I started to hyperventilate. Faster and faster my breaths poured into the dark mask. My face became wet with moisture from my lungs.
The chief said something else, but I couldn’t concentrate. I dipped forward, thinking I might pass out. Calm down! My inner voice took over. Breath slower, deeper, relax. Think of a safe place. My bed, I thought. Pretending to be asleep in my room, I shut my eyes. My heart calmed. My breathing slowed. My face dried.
“Move probie,” someone yelled, shoving me forward. I entered the maze. A few feet in, my helmet bounced off something hard. I inspected it with the fire retardant gloves. My fingers pressed, trying to feel through the thick material. Realizing I must crawl I lowered to all fours. On hands and knees, I slinked through twists, turns, and corners, some going nowhere. I backtracked. Trickery by the volunteers, but in a real fire, it could be a dead end hallway or closet.
Breathing rhythmically and deep I slithered through to the other side until finally, reaching out in front of me I felt only air. A strong hand slapped my back. I pulled off my mask.
The chief stood over me. “Very good, probie.” He tapped the stopwatch. “Fastest time yet.” I nodded. One step closer to becoming a firefighter. I did it!
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Angie Azur is a young adult novelist, picture book writer and actress. She comes from a family of firefighters and her grandfather was the Big Beaver, Pa., Volunteer Fire Department chief. At 15, she became a junior firefighter and then the first female firefighter at the Koppel, Pa., Volunteer Fire Department. She stayed with the department until her second year of college, when she had to concentrate more fully on her classes, and now lives in California.