Trial by Fire
What started as a simple decision led to extraordinary experiences and invaluable lessons, forging the unshakeable composure I now rely on in every high-stress situation, especially managing the club.
I served for seven years as a firefighter in my community starting after I turned 18. Losing my father to cancer at 13; I had maintained a lengthy rebellious phase that showed no signs of stopping or leading to a desirable future. The department provided me with the ability to take part in something bigger than myself. Surrounded by many positive male figures, through their guidance, I discovered and developed my core strengths and grounded beliefs. I also learned the true meaning of the word team, and how it takes on a whole new meaning when your actual existence is on the line.
At the end of my time, I carried with me not just these lessons but a wealth of stories spanning the entire emotional spectrum: from the profound joy of deep camaraderie, to the profound emptiness felt from the loss of fallen brothers, to the sheer horror experienced during the September 11th attacks, and the sense of honor while wearing my dress blues during processions.
The most prominent lesson learned at this time of my life has remained with me through every challenging situation I’ve experienced ever since. That story began on the Monday after my 18th birthday, standing in the Engine Room.
I had just received approval for my membership in the department, granting me the opportunity to take part in emergency calls. Filled with anticipation, I arrived, eager to begin this new journey. With my new gear in hand and a designated rack space to store it, the captain clarified my role: with no training yet; I was there solely to observe.
It was clear by his demeanor that this was a very serious responsibility. I did my best to mask my excitement through this exchange. With first impressions being a thing, I didn’t want to appear too eager.
No sooner had he finished speaking when the urgent ringing of bells and the shrill sound of pagers, including the one in my hand, activated. As the tranquility of the station and the novelty of my excitement shattered like glass, his stoicism gave way to a brief, tense expression as he said to himself, “Shit…” He ran out of the radio room and to his station to get geared up. I stood there for a second, feeling a bit lost in the moment, before saying to myself, “Oh, I should probably do that too.” So, I rushed to my station to get dressed.
Adrenaline was surging through my system, making it feel like my heart was trying to hammer its way through my chest and my hands shake like I was going through withdrawal. Getting dressed under those conditions was quite an ordeal. More so when I discovered that none of it was ready to go. One boot was here, the other one somehow found its way under the rack… and where the hell is my other glove? The whole time, I thought to myself, “When I said I was ready... I didn’t realize that ‘ready’ meant ‘right now’.”
While focused on my wardrobe mishaps, the engine room became active. The bay doors flew open, and the powerful diesel engines roared to life with deep guttural growls reverberating through everything in their vicinity. The other firefighters, none of whom I had met yet, dressed and got in position, and within seconds they were speeding down the road, as their sirens wailed persistently.
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Clad in my newly issued turnout gear, I made my way to the front of the bay, still getting used to its weight. It felt like being wrapped in a ton of heavy blankets, yet, despite the summer heat, it wasn’t as hot as you might expect. The boots with the thick weighted pants made every step feel like I was trudging through deep snow.
I stood alone in an empty bay where one of the fire engines occupied moments ago. A wave of excitement washed over me; a feeling akin to Pinocchio being turned into a real boy. In awe as I inspected what I was wearing. I said to myself, “Holy shit, I am an actual firefighter…” But before I could savor the moment, a firm hand belonging to one of the senior veterans clamped down on my shoulder, yanking me towards the Patrol Van.
He said, “Let’s go, Probie!” The rasp of his voice, combined with being thrusted into the passenger seat, completely snapped me out of my reverie. Then he radioed us into service and we were on our way.
The call was for a fully engulfed car fire. For a seasoned firefighter, this would be routine; for me, it was anything but. We advanced past the massive backup of cars stuck in the traffic and entered the scene. The flames towered off of the truck, which sent thick black smoke aloft. Even standing on the opposite side of a two-lane road, I could feel my exposed hairs being singed from the heat. This made me appreciate the gear I was wearing and added to my novel experience.
Imitating one of those administrators back in school that would sit in the back of the classroom, I was determined to master the art of observation. I stood out of the way from anyone doing anything important while I scanned the scene, attempting to make sense of who was doing what. The Chief standing near motionless amid the flurry of activity, was like the conductor in this orchestra of chaos. As he issued orders on his radio in one hand, and clutching his clipboard in the other, he shouted in my direction with a commanding tone.
He shouted, “Hey PROBIE!”
It took me a second to realize, “Oh shit, he’s talking to me!” I looked in his direction as he pointed at the old Ford pickup truck being swallowed by the flames. He shouted, “Go over there!”
I responded, “Yes sir!” Meanwhile, I was having a panic attack as I thought to myself, “But… I am just supposed to observe. He wants me to go where??? I am new here. Does he realize I have no clue what I am doing?”
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Approaching the flames was a surreal feeling, unlike anything familiar, such as a campfire. Standing as far away as I was, the intense heat radiating off of it was barely tolerable by exposed skin. Here I was, about to get up close and personal with it.
My anxiety escalated with each step closer. It wasn’t fear at play. I wasn’t in danger or afraid of getting hurt. The combination of recognizing the seriousness of the situation and the lack of any knowledge or experience was very unsettling for me. The result seemed to manifest in a sensation like I was being watched over by an authority figure with a disapproving glare and a chastising tone. “Are you really supposed to be here?”
Everyone had a job to do, and they all seemed to know what that was. They didn’t pair me with a partner or provide specific instructions on what to do. It was just me as I stood mere feet from this old truck, whose owner was moving out of the city to a new home, watching every possession he had being cleansed from existence. It could have been a meme, had they existed back then.
I felt stupid and unprepared. In desperation to alleviate these feelings, I attempted to search in all directions for someone in need of assistance, or at least a role I could mimic to be helpful. To those around me, I appeared as an anxious hummingbird, darting around in different directions, trying to find my place. This observation would result in me earning the nickname, Dizzy, which is still used by them today.
Just as I turned to move in a new direction… SMACK!
It was like a scene straight out of the old Batman series, where Adam West slapped me across the face, where you see the sound effect graphic pop up with the word SMACK on it. Only, it wasn’t Adam West in his Bat Suit… it was Johnny Straponne, a third-generation, seasoned firefighter, in turnout gear.
For the record, those helmets, called New Yorker helmets, aren’t light... Of course, I made sure to secure mine firmly on my head. This gave me the momentary appearance of a bobble head figurine as my head wobbled back into place.
As I regained my composure, he looked at me with a shit-eating grin and asked, “You ok now?”
The chaos of the event in front of me suddenly came back into focus. I was now in control and composed again. I responded, “Yes sir, I am…”
Still grinning as he looked me over, he said, “Good… now, hold the hose.”
The pressure, weight, and stiffness of the hose can be difficult for one person to handle alone; in terms of safety, it’s better with two. So once I was in the nozzle position and Johnny was my backup, we went to work to put out the inferno and then checked for hot spots. I followed his instructions and absorbed his valuable advice. Within a short time, we extinguished the flames of my first call and began breaking down the equipment to return home.
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Back at the firehouse, after I finished all of my new “Probie Duties”, Johnny pulled me aside and offered a simple yet profound accolade in his Bronx borough accent. He said, “Ya did good kid… ya did real good for ya first time.”
It was an intense experience to be thrusted into a situation under the circumstances. In that moment, the immense pressure put on myself to perform was unrealistic. However, that slap from Johnny, swift and startling, released all of that pressure and expectation, which allowed me to refocus and overcome the problem in front of me.
Since then, I’ve faced numerous high-pressure situations, both in my personal life and career, especially while managing the club. Whenever the shit hits the fan, it feels like Johnny is right there in front of me with that infuriating grin. I feel the phantom slap, my head whipping back as if I’m still wearing my helmet. Then, I find myself composed, ready to take the appropriate action until the fire is out.
Curious about what goes on in my head during those moments?
Honestly, I imagine punching that motherfucker right in his shit-eating grin!
Thank You for Reading My Story!
Hope you enjoyed it. As I’m new to this, your feedback does more than motivate me to continue to provide stories; it inspires the confidence to push past the anxiety that comes with sharing one’s creative expression. So, if you connected with it or have an experience of your own, I invite you to leave a comment—I sincerely want to hear about it.
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Thank you once again for sharing your time with me.
With Deep Appreciation,
Robbie