Robert Katz of Ventura assists with the breathing apparatus in Operation: Deck the N00b, a timed team exercise. Photo Credit: Bill Herrera, Fillmore Fire Department.

The Cab
In the cab of the fire engine, I sit high above the ground facing backwards, surrounded by a pristine black interior. The cleanliness is striking: this vehicle is summoned to the streets twice or thrice a day, yet four years on, it looks brand-new, not a mote of ash in sight. The closest things to clutter are the weathered turnout gear nestled on the floor, standing ready for action.

What really tickles me is the rectangular chrome handle on the outside of the cab door, the ease with which it opens, and the satisfying “click” of the door securely closing*—nothing at all like the loud slamming of a truck door. This engine feels like an exquisite model car, only it’s a fully operational machine.
Across from me is a clean black seat with a breathing apparatus neatly slung over the shoulders. It’s so the firefighters can readily slip them on, Mercado explains. It also makes the seats look like rocket chairs.

More Maneuvers
After an episode involving a demonstration of the loudspeaker, we find ourselves at a littered grass lot where three crows march about aimlessly. I’m handed a water bottle extracted from one of Engine 91’s many compartments, and the crew sets out to execute an appropriately called dry run of a structure fire simulation: orange cones mark the perimeter of the hypothetical high-rise building. Tinker gives directions, asking questions to check for comprehension and explaining details. As I listen, my vocabulary expands to include “dc,” or disconnect, as in nozzles from hoses. I also learn that a Gated Y is a red metal Y-shaped valve with handles to cut off water in either of the diverted flows—a mid-hose faucet of sorts.

Scanning the couple hundred feet of snaking speed lays set up on the grass, Herrera tells me that dehydration kicks in after seven minutes in turnouts, so efficiency is key. A firefighter works for 20 minutes before he replaces his air bottle to work for another 20, after which, circumstances allowing, he breaks for “rehab” to take off his gear and cool down for 20 minutes of rest before returning to action. A bottle holds about 30 minutes of air, but its effectiveness varies; someone out of shape can deplete it in 15 minutes.

The work shifts also depend on the available manpower. Ideally, while one crew sets up the system for fire attack, a reinforcement crew will arrive to give the first crew a chance to rest. A regular structure fire can employ four or five engines: the fire attack crew that goes in, a support crew to take care of non-fire details such as turning off gas and electricity, backup, and a Rapid Intervention Crew on standby to rescue firefighters if necessary—regulation stipulates that for every two firemen inside a structure fire, there must be another two outside to rescue them.

More Equipment
The drill wraps up, and I ask what the firemen are doing on top of the fire engine. Herrera says they’re putting away the lines in the hose bed. He further concedes that in the wilderness, sometimes firemen actually do sleep on the hose bed.

I’m then shown a compartment of medical supplies, including a nondescript box containing “really nice Band-Aids and all that.” The long engineer’s cabinet toward the front holds couplings and maybe a wrench, but it’s got nothing on the compartment storing a slew of medieval-looking devices. Of note: a mattress hook, used to pierce burning mattresses to drag outside; a Halligan bar: part claw, part wedge, part pick, wholly scary, used for forcible entry; a master key lock, used to destroy locks; and a pike pole, used to pull down ceilings in attic fires—and could probably double as a harpoon in a pinch. There’s also a wiry car lockout kit. Tinker jokes it’s their carjacking kit, but I can’t imagine them needing a vehicle cooler than a fire engine.**

I notice that at the upper edge of the engine there’s something like giant drinking straws. Herrera tells me that that’s pretty much what they are; the hard suction tubes draft water from sources such as rivers or swimming pools. For illustration, he describes a scenario in which I burn dinner—something I simply don’t do. “That’s what they all say,” he laughs.

The Men
The engine now in order, I get a chance to get to know the firefighters beyond their surnames printed in boldface on the back of their helmets. Settling into the gutter ledge where the rubber trash line is stored, I ask how they got involved.

Katz had been an LAFD Fire Explorer for three years in high school after which he responded to wildfires with LAFD Crew 3 while he attended a fire academy. He’s volunteered at the Fillmore Fire Department for two years now. Mobley was a cadet in high school, attended Azusa Pacific as an accounting major, found it wasn’t for him, then took fire classes at Oxnard and discovered he loved it. Tinker’s plans to be a physical therapist were changed in a motorcycle accident; inspired by the people who helped him, he decided to become a firefighter and attending Verdugo Fire Academy. He’s volunteered with the FFD for three years.

Katz and Mobley are relatively local, but the other two drove out from LA County to volunteer. Why? Tinker explains that it’s to be ready when the County starts testing—the volunteers want to hone their skills and better themselves: “We want to be here.” Herrera adds that the selection process to be hired as a firefighter is fiercely competitive. Depending on the size of the agency, from as many as thousands of applicants only a few, 2-40, are accepted to the fire academies that are a part of the hiring process. And even there, a candidate might not make it. Against such odds, it matters to stand out from the crowd. Training and experience make candidates more marketable. Personality counts, too, I’m told, and apparently these firemen casually keep tabs on the best-looking firefighter in the department—who knew?

It takes an exceptional degree of fortitude to succeed in a firefighting career. Even after completing six to eight months of EMS training, graduating from a fire academy, attaining various certifications, honing ever-expanding skill sets, pursuing further study, and volunteering, a firefighter may wait several years to find an opening. Tinker says they do their best and keep abreast of the recruitment process, but there’s no guarantee. Herrera underscores the arduousness of the occupation but vouches for his veteran volunteers. He praises their performance, maintaining that the level of responsibility vested reflects the trust and respect accorded to them.
Outside volunteering, Katz has enjoys line dancing and is finishing paramedic school; Mobley attends CSULA, studying international business and fire science administration. Mercado has a wife and two kids to care for; he attests to helping with chores around the house in what spare time he has. All of them work regular jobs on ambulances.

The training they receive in Fillmore is valuable, Katz asserts: “We can’t train too many times; by the time we return, we’ve forgotten some things.” “Training’s about the love of the job,” adds Tinker; “If you don’t like training, passion’s out the door.” Mobley emphasizes the responsibility in helping people; training is a way to continue learning the career, and he looks forward to returning. Herrera says the department makes a point to provide the information the volunteers seek, be it fire training media or practice in hose lays or forcible entry techniques; in return it hopes word will spread to recruit more volunteers.

What poses the greatest challenge for them? Mercado immediately responds, “The physical demands. They kick your butt no matter what.” The wear and tear add up over time; “You feel like you can never be too fit.” The candor of this admission catches me off guard. For Katz, it’s the medical side—not technical procedures, but “keeping emotions back.” Losing people, whether the victims they’re aiding or one of their own in the line of duty, is a constant threat in this profession. Describing his colleagues as family, Katz notes that each death is a sobering reminder that “it could be us.”

Herrera adds that a 911 call summons firefighters to deal with an issue, possibly the worst incident in someone’s life. “I’ve seen things I don’t want my kids to see,” he says. “Being a firefighter isn’t for everyone; some people don’t have the personality—like these guys—to deal with that stuff.”

From problem solving we go to solving equations: it’s not only brawn that makes the firefighter. Math is all over the place, from converting measurements in paramedic routines to calculating friction loss in managing multiple discharges to assembling pulleys to handling vehicle rollovers, the list goes on. There’s even a whiteboard on the fire engine that engineers can use to write out formulas when needed. Mercado points out that it’s part of the written test; “If you can’t do math, you can’t even get started.”

Favorite experiences so far? Katz jumps to cite receiving his badge and shield. Tinker explains that at the Fillmore Fire Department’s Christmas party, firefighters passing probation receive a department badge and a red shield to wear on their helmets. Receiving these symbols of trust before their family, friends, and training cadre is an important rite of passage. “You get to call yourself a Fillmore City Firefighter,” Tinker says with not a little pride. Katz is also quick to state that the highlight of an important year is just the beginning. At that point, Herrera notes, a firefighter places his life on the line. It’s a commitment, a privilege one receives for making the grade.

Back to the Engine
I’m back in my seat in the cab; by my right shoulder four black walkie-talkies rest in their cradles, blinking green lights as they charge. Plugged into the headset again, I can faintly overhear important-sounding messages transmitted in electronic voices. So what’s left for today, I ask. Tinker’s voice fills my headphones: “Practice knots.” Like in Scouts? “…Yeah.” There’s also dinner. (The living quarters has a small kitchen stocked with, among other items, massive jars of crunchy peanut butter.****) And then there’s the task of responding to calls at any hour of the night. The volunteers share sleeping quarters in the upper level of the barn, near the fire pole.

Every shift has a different crew of volunteers. Using dance as an analogy, Herrera articulates the importance of teamwork and the confidence and proficiency that comes with sustained practice—at the word “dance,” the refrain of “Fire Burning” comes back to mind.

And So
Engine 91 rolls away, lights flashing. There’s something undeniably alluring about fire engines. From its epic water fight and dance party enhancement potential to its attractive shininess, that brilliant cardinal hue represents a paradoxical balance of danger and safety.

My excursion lends me better insight to the firefighters who risk their lives for others. The profession seems to attract the sort of men there should be more of: ones who train to manage emergencies with calm, can devise attack plans in the heat of, well, raging fires, and bravely rescue people in nightmarish situations—and are also courteous enough to assist maladroit writers in descending from heights, attentive enough to remember where she misplaces her pen, and easy-going enough to let her ask lots and lots of questions. And now I’ve new reasons to call the fire department: for math help, or to put out kitchen fires—which I’d only create for the express purpose of recruiting good company.

Beyond their kindness, I can’t help but admire the passion each of these men have for their work. Says Katz of his impressions when he job shadowed as a high school junior: “[Firefighting] stood for everything I am and want in a career: teamwork, continuous training, education, and community service. The fire service also teaches you how to take pride in…all things. From the beginning of my career path to now, the fire service has matured me.”
The volunteer firefighters I had the pleasure of meeting exhibit an admirable dedication to their training; their character shines through their uniforms and is evident in their conduct. If this group is representative of the rest, Fillmore’s got firefighters to be proud of.

The writer thanks Captain Bob Thompson and probationary firefighters Scott Von Rader and Daniel Palmer for additional assistance.

footnotes:
*For a fine scene involving a carriage door, refer to the part in The Scarlet Pimpernel (1982)** where Sir Andrew helps Suzanne and her family escape.
**The greatest movie of all time, ever.
***I did see a shiny red ‘66 Mustang near the barn; the fleet is complete.
****I heartily approve.