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The truth about firefighters

The days of brawny firemen who knew only how to handle a hose are over. Now educated men and women attend mostly to a 24/7 stream of medical calls, from benign to gruesome.

By EMILY NIPPS
Published October 14, 2005

Times Staff Writer

NORTH TAMPA - The firefighters of Station 13 have seen some serious fires.

There was the Tampa General Hospital fire several years ago and the four-alarm blaze in Ybor City in 2000. There are car fires, condo fires and Dumpster fires almost every day. There are grass fires that smolder out before they arrive, and there are fires of the worst possible kind, the kind that involve children.

A good portion of a firefighter's job, however, doesn't involve fire. In some cases, it doesn't even involve a real emergency. Every firefighter at Station 13, which is near Busch Gardens and is the second busiest Tampa Fire Rescue station, has been through this scenario:

A call comes in at 3 a.m. The bleary-eyed crew rushes to get out the door within the required 90-second limit, scrambles onto a truck carrying more than $300,000 in equipment and speeds to the scene to find . . . a stubbed toe.

"We get called for toothaches, someone just not feeling right," Station 13 firefighter Keith Mennie said. "It's ridiculous, some of the calls we get."

In January, a dispatch call came through for a "traumatic injury." When the firetruck got to the scene, a guy had a foot stuck in a jingle bell. He couldn't bend over to get it out himself and his girlfriend had a thing about feet. She wouldn't touch it.

"Traumatic, very traumatic injury," Jeff Smith said.

Another time, the station was called to an incident involving "severe and prolonged bleeding." The crew arrived at the caller's address to find a woman with a suitcase waiting to be taken to the hospital, or anywhere far away from her quarreling boyfriend. She had been menstruating for 10 days, she said.

One woman wanted her water turned off because a pipe was leaking. An 85-pound Japanese man who had just survived a car accident took swings at the fire crew. Another guy recently walked into the station wanting to know if someone would write him a note so he could take a day off from work.

The calls roll in, sometimes as many as 26 in a 24-hour period. Some are dire emergencies. Some are as small as blisters or paper cuts, and the crew still makes it there within a few minutes, speeding through traffic in a wailing truck.

"If they call 911, we go," said 19-year veteran Lawson Carter.

"We just don't know until we get there," said Roger Shipp, snapping on blue medical gloves as "shift B" sped toward a Wednesday afternoon emergency.

The emergency turned out to be a disoriented elderly woman, wandering near a busy intersection on Nebraska Avenue before an off-duty Florida Highway Patrol officer found her. She was neatly folding and refolding a piece of paper towel and all she could say was, "Dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit."

The crew members put her in an ambulance and sent her off to the hospital. Then they got back in the truck, drove to the station and waited for their next call.

Times have changed. People are better educated. Building codes are stricter. Lighters have safety locks. Baby clothes and toys are nonflammable.

For that small chance of a fire call, though, they'd better have the latest equipment and the most savvy firefighters they can find. Fire is just as destructive today as it was a zillion years ago.

"You always need fire departments," said Station 13 veteran Tim Johnson. "They're like the Army. When you need them, you need them."

At 44, Johnson considers himself one of the "dinosaurs" of the trade. He has worked for Tampa Fire Rescue for 23 years and plans to retire by the time he's 48. In the meantime, he's marveling at what he calls a "whole different breed" entering the profession.

"When I came on, it was all rough guys at the station," Johnson said. "They were men's men. That's all changed. I'm not saying for the bad. It's just evolved."

Today's firefighters must go through extensive medical training before setting foot on a firetruck. They must be able to treat everything from heart attacks to allergic reactions and third-degree burns. They take college classes and study flash cards on anatomy and pharmacology.

Back in the day, Johnson said, the qualifications were a little different. If your daddy was a fireman, you became a fireman. Most likely, your uncles and brothers were firemen, too. Firemen were brave neighbors, laborers who worked hard at their day jobs and fought fires on the side. Firemen were men, and men only, who put out fires.

At least one thing hasn't changed. Firefighters often have other jobs, which they do during the two days they have off between their 24-hour shifts. One Station 13 worker runs a hot air balloon business. Another sells homes. One is a master mechanic at Ford Motors, and another builds cabinets.

"You get all of us together and we can probably build a house," Shipp said.

By nature, firefighters love to work. They also love people. They have to love people, even when they're barely awake at 5 a.m., climbing on the truck for the 24th time in 24 hours.

Well, maybe love is too strong of a word.

"You hate everyone at that point," Oglesby said. "You hate everyone on that truck."

Station 13's district goes as far east as Temple Terrace, as far west as 15th Street, as far south as the Hillsborough River and as far north as Fowler. That's big enough to cover Busch Gardens, the University of South Florida and the surrounding University area.

It's an interesting area, for sure. Station 13 firefighters have seen everything from hippo bites to alcohol poisoning and space heater fires. They've treated stab wounds and drug overdoses and homeless men lying in ditches after they were hit by cars and left for dead.

They were called to Busch Gardens when a lion bit off a woman's arm in 2002. Those who were around in 1989 also saw a man who had been crushed by an elephant.

Some of the station's stories are sad, some odd, some funny. Some of the cases of medical neglect are so lurid and horrible, they make even the toughest firefighter's stomach turn.

They see the best and worst of humanity, up close and firsthand. And no firefighter is getting rich doing it. Working 48 hours a week (two 24-hour shifts), a starting firefighter will make about $30,000 a year and will top out around $45,000, said Tampa Fire Rescue spokesman Capt. Bill Wade. Drivers make in the mid $50,000s; lieutenants and captains might reach the $70,000s.

Whether it's a house in flames or a paper cut, the routine is the same. First there's a set of two long, loud beeps over the station's intercom. The fluorescent lighting gets a touch brighter and a robotic female voice announces the incoming call.

A fax comes through from the dispatch office, giving a few cryptic details such as "CHEST PAINS/40 YOF/CHNG COLOR" (chest pains, 40 years of age, change of color). No matter what the message says, firefighters have 60 seconds to be out the door during the day, 90 to 120 seconds at night.

Once the firefighters are on the truck, they must make it to any location in their district within four minutes. That means flying down streets in an 80-ton fire engine, whether it's 4 a.m. or rush hour. The truck's driver must maneuver at almost 70 miles per hour, weaving around cars that seem to meander in the middle of the road instead of getting out of the way.

"This could be gross," Shipp warned as the truck approached the hotel. He, Oglesby and Carter hopped out, lugging duffel bags of medical equipment. A clerk at the front desk directed them to the room, where they found a 32-year-old petite blond crying on the bed.

The woman had consumed what looked like two or three shots of vodka from a bottle lying on a table. She had high blood pressure, she told the three men, and was prone to anxiety attacks. She was upset because she was fighting with her sister's ex-boyfriend.

Oglesby calmly asked the woman some questions: Do you have any weapons on you? ("No.") Are you on any medication? ("Yes, but I ran out.") Have you taken anything other than the alcohol? ("No.")

Finally Oglesby asked, "Why did you call 911?"

"Because," the woman said between sobs, "I didn't know who else to call."

- Emily Nipps can be reached at 813 269-5313 or nipps@sptimes.com

[Last modified October 13, 2005, 08:36:25]