BY ALAN BRUNACINI
Last MONTH I started a description of attending fires as a brand new firefighter. I did not have any frame of reference at that time to know where a human being could or should go in relation to what looked (to me) like a raging, out-of-control, planet-ending fire. So, I took my place on the hoseline behind my senior colleagues, hung on for dear life, and went along on a rapid ride to wherever my crew took me. At first, I was convinced that I had joined a thrill show in an insane asylum. It seemed they instantly raced to what looked like the most impossible place and then fought in that spot until the fire was out. Sometimes, they fought and fought and fought.
Generally, we fought until we overpowered the fire, but occasionally the fire would literally blow us out of the building. Sometimes such a thermal eviction was so conclusive that it would keep us outside. Other times, it would only aggravate my psychopathic crew, and they would quickly produce a bigger line or enlist the help of another team of attack whackos, and we would go back inside. As I recall, the second-time attacks broke about even between extinguishment and another explosive ride out.
After my prayers and promises to reject sin and deliver medicine to sick babies in third-world places caused me to survive yet another one of these suicide missions, I would engage my captain. He would patiently explain why we did what we did. As we went to more fires, I started to understand that my captain and the crew members were extremely courageous and very capable. Looking back, I realize they always protected and took care of their youngest and dumbest crew member.
As I became more familiar with our basic attack routine and less concerned about my longevity, I started to expand my view of other parts of the fireground operation. One of the things I began to notice was that a battalion chief (BC) was part of the regular assignment to a structure fire response. Being a curious young lad, I asked my captain, “What do BCs do?” He calmly rolled his eyes and answered, “It depends on which way we turn when we leave the station.” That is all he said. Even though he was a quiet guy who generally did not waste words, I thought I had been shortchanged by his answer. His brevity caused me to pay attention (even more) to what difference the direction we turned made. I had no idea of the lifelong project my simple question and his short (and really perfect) answer would produce for me. In fact, almost 50 years later, there are some situations that still cause me to ask, “What do BCs do?”
As I continued to ponder my captain’s terse response, I figured out that our fire station was in between two battalions. If we turned left, we responded into Battalion 2. If we hung a right, we were going to Battalion 1. Simply, we got the BC that went with that “turn.” I didn’t think there would be a big future for a baby firefighter if I were to announce that I was conducting a command officer study, so I quietly watched the BCs to try to learn what they did at a fire. My observations quickly identified a major difference in the personal profile and performance of BC1 and BC2.
The Battalion 1 chief was an older, very intelligent officer with a lot of experience. He had a military personality and style. He was very assertive and used an authoritarian approach when he dealt with the troops. During routine times, he did not seem very approachable and did not encourage or receive much input or participation. During routine times, he was the picture of control (of himself and everything else). In fact, during those regular times he seemed to be almost overcontrolledhe conducted himself in a way that seemed to me to consciously attempt to create a command presence. He had a spit shine appearance and practiced “command by inspection” (people, places, and things).
His battalion covered an older downtown area with lots of very mature industrial and commercial buildings that generated frequent serious fires. I began to notice that he had a split personality. Like many schizophrenics, his personalities were very different (I guess if they were the same, he wouldn’t have been a schizo). I started to watch how each side of him emerged based on the situation.
The Battalion 2 chief was quite different. He was younger but had been on the job quite awhile (he had gone through the promotional process quickly). He also was very smart; in fact, he taught college chemistry on his off-duty days. He, like my captain, was very low key and did not say much; so when he said something, everyone put on their big ears. He was very logical and had a very refined sense of humor. He would make quiet little cryptic comments on anything he identified as being ironic, absurd, or pretentious. A lot of times, unless you listened carefully, you would miss his semisarcastic pearls. He was trained as a scientist, so he naturally had a questioning mind and approach. He was a lot more informal and laid back than most of the more senior command officers. I got the feeling that the older chiefs regarded him as a (very early) young hippie. That, combined with his inclination to question management methods, made him a bit of an organizational delinquent with the big bosses.
Retired Chief ALAN BRUNACINI is a fire service author and speaker. He and his sons own the fire service Web site bshifter.com.
