Friday, Jul. 04, 2008

Dream comes true for honorary firefighter

By LANCE WINTER

News-Mirror Writer

I was born in the early ’60s and I can tell you most of the kids I ran with dreamed of growing up to be one of two things: an astronaut or a firefighter.

I was no different. And though life led me down paths that went neither to NASA nor a fire station, last week I lived part of my dream. For one day I stepped into the boots of a Mansfield firefighter.

I walked into Station No. 1, just down the street from the Mansfield News-Mirror office. Those in residence gave me warm greetings.

Feeling a little like a bright-eyed kid, I was eager to see what the day would bring.

Josh Planas, on loan from another shift, introduced me to the engine (firetruck) and showed me the equipment and tools tucked into the massive vehicle.

Ladders, hoses, fans, pike poles, couplings and so much more bristled from every nook and cranny. The onboard computers and communication system looked like something from NASA. Maybe I wasn’t so far from my other dream after all.

An interesting thing I quickly learned is that every Mansfield firefighter serves a dual role as a paramedic. It dawned on me that I’d overlooked some of the work these brave men do daily.

Near mid-day, Jason Horne, Phillip "Lumpy" Baker, Kevin Sandifer and I jumped into the big rig and headed to Wal-Mart to pick up supplies for lunch.

It was awesome! Riding in that truck fulfilled the most vivid boyhood fantasy I can remember.

Driving down the road we each wore a head set so that we could speak to one another. The noise that engine makes drowns out everything. And later, when the siren was on, I was very thankful that my ears were covered.

A subtle transformation took place as we walked into the store. The men accompanying me became ambassadors for the community. One scene in particular is burned into my memory: Baker chatting up a couple of youngsters. The kids loved it.

I asked Baker if being a firefighter was a lifelong dream. He remembered the day it became so.

"I was in third grade and won a poster coloring contest, and the prize was a ride on the firetruck," he said. "Later, at 18, I was encouraged to join the Rendon Volunteer Fire Department and did."

For the past nine years he has been a firefighter/paramedic in Mansfield.

Suddenly – it’s always suddenly – a call came in. A man was in distress at his residence off of Turner Warnell Road.

We pushed the shopping cart to the front of the store and left it there. Leaping into the firetruck’s cab, we took off.

Sirens blaring and lights flashing, the huge engine treated me to an incredible experience. I watched cars pull out of our way. I saw drivers stop at traffic lights as we cautiously glided through intersections.

We met an ambulance at the residence. Fortunately, the gentleman was all right.

But for the second time that day I was impressed with the equipment and materials an emergency vehicle carries – this time, the ambulance.

Upon leaving the scene, I was assigned to grab the med kit. It looks like a big tackle box. I’ve carried my share of tackle boxes, but I was shocked at this one’s weight.

We headed back to the store, where our shopping cart was just as we’d left it. Then we returned to the station where we met with Fire Chief Barry Bondurant. Our conversation was spirited.

It was surreal listening to the firefighters recount their histories. These guys have stories that would amaze anyone.

Some of the stories were funny; some not so funny.

Allowed to sit in the midst of these men in the sanctum of their fire station, I was witness to a genuine band of brothers.

"We have real teamwork here," said Bondurant, who has a 25-year firefighting resume. "I would never ask any one of my firefighters to do anything I haven’t done or wouldn’t do."

After lunch Horne and Sandifer suited me up in what’s considered typical firefighting bunker gear.

I started with the pants and boots, then slipped into a coat, then donned an air tank and helmet. All totaled there was between 50 and 60 pounds of gear wrapping me with what amounted to the difference between life and death for the person who wore it.

The firefighters then pulled the truck into the parking lot, handed me a nozzle that was attached to about 200 feet of hose and told me to take off.

When it was stretched to its limit, I had to run back and put the hose in a zigzag pattern to avoid tangling. I then ran back to the nozzle, knelt down on one knee, turned back to the truck and gave the sign for water.

Wow! Pulling back on the lever was exhilarating. Just a little movement produced a wide spray that wasn’t too tough to handle. But when I pulled it all the way back I had some real force.

"Just don’t let go," I kept whispering to myself.

A moment later I couldn’t get out of the bunker gear fast enough. The water from the hose hadn’t gotten through it, but there wasn’t a dry thread on my body; and I was only in the gear for about 10 minutes.

I began thinking about the fact that my sweat-soaked tussle with bunker gear and a charged hose took place outside on a pretty day. I was not crawling through a smoky house with a floor plan that was a mystery to me and with rooms broiling in temperatures as great as 700 to 800 degrees.

You could say it put things into perspective for me.

It made me appreciate the firefighters’ strength, courage and tenacity even more. It also made me excruciatingly aware of what horrible shape I’m in.

My friends graciously helped me break down the hoses, empty them of water and neatly tuck them back into the truck.

After spending almost six hours with this bunch I can say with the authority of fresh enlightenment that I am thankful for all of them.

And that they have earned our gratitude.