Volunteer Fire Fighters

What I remember most about my college experience at Franklin Pierce College is not the classes, friendships, professors, or graduation. It is the campus Volunteer Fire Fighters Club. What could possibly be the reason for this? I'm glad you asked. Two vivid memories stick out among the many.

When I was a sophomore I got screwed and was forced into the Freshman dorms. Not only are they co-ed, small (12' x 10' for 2 people), old, dirty, and dilapidated, but they also had the added bonus of housing the campus fire truck in the basement. At any given time of day or night, a fire truck engine could be heard roaring to life and a siren start to wail directly beneath the dorm. It was utterly deafening. The sound would reverberate though the hallways and creep into our tiny rooms and echo so loudly that we all but had to evacuate until the fire truck pulled out of the basement garage.

If it all possible, the fire truck was in even worse shape than the dormitory that housed it. Circa 1930—it had original parts. Boxy, clunky, and faded red, a replacement step ladder strapped to the top, old hoses, rusty brass and nickle handle bars for riding on the side, and gold lettering that used to read FIRE DEPARTMENT before mostly succumbing to old age—now all that remains is FIR MENT. I used to marvel at this antiquity when in the basement doing my laundry right next to this behemoth. Dodging its falling down parts and sharp bits sticking out—like some twisted coral reef. It even has a distinct smell. Something akin to mustard and diesel fuel. If there was ever a fire emergency you didn't even need the siren of the fire truck to announce its immenent arrival, you could simply smell the noxious exhaust fumes pouring out of its economy sized tailpipe or see the black cloud that followed it.

Franklin Pierce is a small school, housing roughly 1,500 students total. How could there possibly be enough fires to merit a Volunteer Fire Department on campus? Simple. Most of the fire emergencies were caused by the Fire Department.

The first time I had the pleasure of witnessing the utter ineptitude of the Fire Club, was in the dead of Winter in 2002. New Hampshire winters are brutal. One January morning as my roommate and I were sound asleep we were awakened by the building's fire alarm. At first we thought it was the fire truck's siren, but this shrill was coming from the hallway accompanied by flashing lights. In our pajamas we went out into the hallway to see all the groggy, confused Freshmen stumbling out of their rooms. Unsure if it was a prank, we lingered in the hallway in a daze until over a bull-horn we heard one of the student Fire Fighters yell THIS IS NOT A DRILL. EXIT THE BUILDING IMMEDIATELY. THERE IS A FIRE IN THE BASEMENT. REMAIN CALM.

We all quickly ran down the 4 flights of stairs and out into the courtyard a safe distance from the building. A dark Winter's night with only some dim street lights on, we could just make out thick, dark smoke pouring out of the basement windows from the laundry room.

Several more Fire Fighters arrived on the scene and were conferring on their next steps. RA's were taking roll call for their floors to make sure no students were missing. Everyone was starting to panic about all the stuff they had left in their dorm rooms to burn. I had nothing of value and I was freezing to the bone, so I started walking way from the courtyard and towards the next building, hoping to take warm solace in the lobby.

Halfway to the next building I looked back as I heard one of the firefighters start calling out orders to attach a hose to the fire hydrant in front of the dorm. Under the circumstances I was impressed with how quickly and calmly they were working. I could see a hose being set up and the loud clank of a wrench being used on a rusty hydrant. This is actually kinda cool. I thought. I've never seen a big fire being put out in person. I continued into the lobby of the neighboring building. Warmth flooded over me and I had a fantastic view of the unfolding scene. Off to the side, I could see the smokey building, the fire fighters directly infront of it finishing up the hose attachment, and the sea of Freshmen a safe 20 yards behind them watching intently.

The scene that unfolded will stay with me long into senility. A Fire Fighter holding the nozzle of the hose shouted OPEN IT UP and they let loose the hydrant valve. A tidal wave of unabated water flooded out of the open fire hydrant—directly into the crowd of shivering students. The blast was so strong that it knocked several unsuspecting kids right off their feet. Most were screaming and running away in their soaked pajamas, underwear, and slippers. No water was flowing out of the fire hose. I couldn't help laughing as I watched my building going up in smoke, a sea of half-naked students being sprayed with icy water, and a band of Fire Fighters now starting to argue over what to do next.

Eventually the actual city Fire Department was called in to rescue the scene. It was discovered that there was no fire at all. Somebody had left the old fire truck in the basement running all night and the fumes finally erupted out of a cracked window. The building had to be treated for carbon monoxide disposal and many of the students for hypothermia. It still brings a smile to my face thinking about it.

The other major fire emergency that comes to mind was in my junior year, while living in a much nicer building where all the apartments had 2 bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, and 2 bathrooms for 4 students. I lived with other gay boys and metrosexuals so our apartments was kept pretty clean. Across the hall however were some slovenly girls. Whenever their door was opened I could see the beer cans, ashtrays, and trash littering their living room floor as well as their mountain of dishes piled in the sink.

One day the smoke alarm in their kitchen started to go off. I went out into the hallway between our apartments and knocked on their door. A disheveled girl answered and apologized for the alarm—that there was no need to worry, she was just cooking something on the stove top and it was getting smokey. I said it was no problem at all and returned to my apartment.

A couple minutes later I returned and knocked on her door after the alarm was still sounding. She opened it to reveal a small fire erupting from a frying pan on the stove top.

"I don't know whats happening. I was just making stir fry and the pan's on fire!" She shouted over the alarm.

As if hearing her distress call, a volunteer Fire Fighter charged through the hallway looking for the source of the alarm which he had been notified of. He brushed past us into the kitchen, took one look at the situation and began immediate action. First he turned the gas stove top off. Then he removed the flaming, slowly-melting pan from the burner and put it into the sink area. The sink was so totally full of dishes that there was no room for it to actually fit under the faucet. Instead he reach around the dirty dish pile, turned the water on, and grabbed the extendable faucet hose intending to spray down the flames.

At this point I interjected with "I don't think you're supposed to use water on a grease fire!" But I don't think I was heard over the sounding alarm.

He sprayed the pan and the flames exploded upward to ignite the particle board cabinetry above the sink. Quickly it began spreading into a formiddable blaze.

"SHIT!" He screamed and ordered us to evacuate while he called for help on his walkie talkie.

The building was evacuated and we all watched from outside as the girls' apartment went up like tinder. I'm sure all of the booze lying around the kitchen and living room didn't help matters any. Again, the city Fire Department was called in to the rescue. Aside from a blackened kitchen and living room, the apartment was otherwise untouched and nobody was harmed.

The fire extinguisher located in their living room was also unharmed. Thank goodness.