HARRY R. CARTER, Ph.D., MIFireE
I want you to know right up front that this week’s commentary has proven to
be one of the toughest pieces of writing that I have ever chosen to undertake. I
am positive that there are those of you who will be reaching for rope, plucking
chickens and boiling tar. But I feel that it is time for someone to stand up to
the majority of the fire service and tell it like it is, or at least as my
research indicates that it is.
I am going to take you on a journey to an area of the fire service rarely
seen. I am going to shine the harsh light of public commentary on the death of a
brother firefighter. I am going to adopt the approach of my dear personal
friend, Alan Brunacini, and share the facts as God has given me the light to see
them.
There will be no issues in this article about what might have been. A brave
man has died in the line of duty. We cannot know what was in Alberto Tirado’s
mind as he began his final moments of service to the citizens of Passaic. But it
was surely not his own safety that lay uppermost in his mind.
It is my deep and abiding hope that you understand why I have chosen to take
this perilous journalistic journey. It is tough to talk about the death of a
brother firefighter, but since it was just last week that I spoke about
educating the public, I can do no less for the fire service itself. This week I
seek to educate my fellow travelers in the world of fire suppression. As I have
often stated on these pages, those who cannot remember the past are condemned to
repeat it. We will continue to lose firefighters unless we share the lessons
learned from every tragic interaction.
I believe that I have earned the right to speak on the topic of death in the
fire service. I served as the Voice of Command for the Newark, New Jersey Fire
Department at every line of duty funeral (and many non-duty
related) funerals during the period from 1984 until I retired in 1999. Believe
me when I say that there are few things more difficult than saying goodbye to a
friend who has given his life for his community. But I willingly performed this
sad duty on four separate occasions. I am well aware of the finality of death,
because every time we returned from the cemetery, there was one more open seat
at the firehouse table. So I have seen death, and I want to spare others from
this sad duty. That is the reason for this week’s commentary.
Many times over the past several months, I have written regarding the topic
of line of duty deaths in the fire service. The most frequent question I seemed
to ask is quite simple. Why are we dying? In many cases, we, as a fire
service, can only wonder why a particular tragic event occurred. We bemoan the
loss of life, and work to support the families left behind. In general we plow
ourselves into our work, and go on with our lives.
However in a growing number of recent fatal incidents, we have been able to
identify the reasons for the loss of life. Unfortunately, there are also a great
many instances where the fear of legal action welds the mouth of the fire chief
and local politicians firmly into the locked and unreachable mode.
In this week’s visit with you, it is my sad duty to share with you the
reasons that have emerged surrounding the tragic death of a Passaic, New Jersey
firefighter on the evening of Wednesday May 9, 2001. Let me state right up front
that in drafting this missive to you, I do not want you to think for one moment
that I am casting myself in the role of a Monday-Morning Quarterback in this
case. I was not at that fire. I make no claims of brilliant insight into what
occurred. And please do not think that my words minimize the sorrow in my heart
for the loss that occurred. The loss of any one firefighter diminishes the
entire service.
There will be no personal supposition on my part as to the why of this
particular tragedy. All of what I state in the paragraphs to come will be based
upon the facts presented to the New York news media by the Passaic Fire
Department, in the person of Chief Louis Imparato. Many of the things
I will mention come directly from an article in The Star-Ledger (New
Jersey) newspaper and are attributed to Fire Director Anthony J. Mingo.
The Fire Chief in Passaic gave one of the most honest, emotional and
caring, television press conferences that it has ever been my privilege to
observe. He sugarcoated nothing. He stood up in front of God, the world, and all
of us to share what he knew. The same is true of the facts that Director Mingo
shared with The Star-Ledger. It is obvious that these men knew how
desperately critical it was that the fire service be made aware of the facts
that they were bravely sharing with the world.
It is my goal to create a tribute to the gallant departed, by sharing a
lesson with those who remain to pick up where he left off. If we hide the truth,
we risk repeating the agony that struck Passaic, New Jersey.
A number of the facts, as presented by Chief Imparato, and Director Mingo
give me a solid starting point to use in my critical educational mission with
you. This is not a complex equation. There were a small number of simple
mistakes that were made by veteran firefighters. One paid for them with his
life. If we can fix the impact of the mistakes in your mind, it is possible that
lives can be saved. And that is perhaps the greatest goal that lies within my
effort to share knowledge within the fire service.
According to a very well-crafted article in the May 11, 2001 edition of The
Star-Ledger newspaper, written by Elizabeth Moore and Mark Mueller,
Firefighter Tirado entered the blazing inferno with his buddy and sidekick, Don
Silva. Upon reaching the second floor, his partner decided to descend to the
street to get a couple of hand lights for them to use in the boiling cauldron of
the smoke-filled inferno. The article states that Firefighter Silva told Tirado
to " … Stay with the line … I’ll be right back."
At some point after Silva went out to get the lights, Firefighter Tirado
apparently decided that " … time was the enemy…" in this
situation. He took it upon himself to ascend to the third floor and battle the
rolling flames, in order to search for the mother and two children who were
reported to be up in that Hell on earth.
According to the article in The Star-Ledger, Mingo stated "…
that firefighters made a valiant effort to save Tirado, who had radioed for
help, saying his oxygen was running low. But the flames were just too much, …"
None of us knows what we would have done under those circumstances. I can
only suggest what accepted firefighting practices tell us should have happened.
But that is scant comfort at a time like this.
One of the earliest axioms I learned in the U.S. Air Force Fire Service more
than three decades ago taught me to stay with my buddy. It made a deep and
lasting impression on me. Did I ever violate that rule? I would not be so stupid
as to say that I have always obeyed every rule and operated according to the
dictates of common sense.
But there came a time when the realities of life led me to the deep and
abiding belief that firefighting was a calling where the words uttered by the
writer John Donne in 1624 hold great sway. "No man is an island, entire
of itself, every man is a piece of the continent." While Donne was
referring, in his belief of the universal, and interactive nature of mankind, I
took his words in a different direction.
I thought of an obvious analogy. A fire department is a team. Every member of
that team is expected to play their part in the work of the team. How long would
the top running backs in football last without the gallant gentlemen in the
offensive line who lay down those critical blocks and open the holes for them?
By sharing the arduous and dangerous nature of our work, each of us gains the
symbiotic enhancement of everyone else working together for the team. Each of us
becomes more than we really are. Each of us, as a team member, becomes capable
of doing more than any one of us could ever be expected to do as an individual.
And our destiny is intimately woven into the tapestry of our fire department.
You and your buddy are the basic team. And the fire department builds from
there.
Unfortunately we tend to forget this lesson from time to time. And the
results can be deadly. I want each of you to get a firm grip on your soul and
your computer table right now. There is a way to prevent this type of death from
happening again.
We must work to reinforce the use of the firefighting team. We must create
teams that are literally joined at the hip. We must create an environment where
our buddy is the center of our working life. We must come to a point where we
learn to eat, sleep, and dream about teamwork. We must create a deep and abiding
love of teamwork. The best fire units I ever worked with were those who lived
for each other.
Odd as it may seem, there is a line from the movie BACKDRAFT that sums
up my thoughts and feelings at this time. Think back to the scene in the movie
where the factory exploded in a ball of fire and the floor suddenly drops away,
hurling one of the team members downward through the growing chasm. His buddies
grab him and hold him on the brink of disaster. Think about what he said, when
he implored his buddies to let him go and save themselves. Their reply says it
all. "YOU GO … WE GO." That is the deep and abiding essence
of this message.
Think back over the years that I have been writing about the critical issues
in the fire service. There have been a number of cases where I reamed out a fire
chief on the pages of my website for not providing a sufficient number of
radios. That was not the case in Passaic. There have been a number of occasions
where we know that people raced into a burning building without self-contained
breathing apparatus. That was not the case in this instance. And how many times
have we been told that a great many lives can be saved with the use of a charged
hose line? The line was in Firefighter Tirado’s hands as he waited for his
buddy to return. He was ready to rock and roll. But he did not wait. And therein
lies the root of this sad tale. We will never know what might have been.
Would he have died had his buddy and he been together on the top floor? In a
million years, I could never say one way or another. And I am quite sure that
his partner will relive that fire on Market Street forever. Early in my career,
I can remember doing the same thing. Were Firefighter Tirado able to do so, he
might put his arm around his aching buddy’s shoulder and say that it wasn’t
his fault, that it was God’s Will. And that would be the case.
But the standard for firefighter training has long been, stay with your
buddy. I will stop at this point, for teamwork is the lesson I want to brand
into your mind. We will never have the opportunity to know how it might have
been under any other circumstance.
We have to push on into the future. We must all work to make it a safer world
for our firefighters. By sharing the lessons learned in this tragedy, Director
Mingo and Chief Imparato took a step not often seen in our business. They have
cast themselves in the shadow of Alan Brunacini. In the wake of the recent death
of Firefighter Brent Tarver, the Phoenix Fire Department has issued a series of
preliminary findings, with an eye to improving their operations. By telling us
what happened in Passaic, these two gentlemen have equipped us with enough facts
to begin the work of creating a living memorial to Firefighter Alberto Tirado.
From now on when anyone of you out there throughout North America has the
least thought that you might want to break away from your buddy for any reason,
stop and utter the name Alberto Tirado and then utter the word TEAMWORK.
And Alberto will smile down from Heaven and remind you to stay put.
I pray often for the souls of the dear departed who have died in the line of
duty through the years. There is now one more Saint at the right hand of the
Lord. May he, and the souls of all the fire service departed, rest in peace. May
the Lord bring mercy and understanding to those left behind in the wake of this
untimely death. Let us honor his memory by renewing our devotion to teamwork
and training.
The commentary in this column does not necessarily reflect those of Firehouse.Com, Firehouse
Magazine, their employees or parent company Cygnus Business Media.
Harry R. Carter, Ph.D., MIFireE, is an internationally known municipal
fire protection consultant and contributing editor to Firehouse Magazine. He recently retired as a Battalion Commander with the Newark, New Jersey Fire Department.
His commentary appears regularly on Firehouse.Com. For more commentary and information,
visit Carter's web site at www.harrycarter.com
Harry has published several books available for online ordering, including
Firefighting Strategy and Tactics
and Management in the Fire Service
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