On April 12, 2015, the fire service lost an icon, a leader and a passionate public servant. U.S. Deputy Fire Administrator Glenn Gaines had served in nearly every imaginable capacity for a firefighter, including fire marshal, chief training officer, fire chief and, ultimately, deputy fire administrator. In every position, Chief Gaines served with immeasurable passion and humility while exemplifying the professionalism most of us can only hope to achieve. On April 1, Chief Gaines submitted to Firehouse what would unknowingly become his final words of wisdom to our nation's firefighters. It’s with great pride and heartfelt appreciation that we share this message in memory of Chief Glenn Gaines.
—Timothy E. Sendelbach, Editor-in-Chief
When we took the oath to become firefighters, we knew what we were getting into—or did we? Were we prepared for the horror, trauma, carnage, sadness and destruction we witnessed? Were our bodies prepared for the extreme demands we placed on them time and time again? Finally, did we fully comprehend the burden we were about to place on our love ones, for the missed anniversaries, soccer games and birthday parties, or the fear and apprehension they felt when they heard reports of firefighters injured on an incident they knew your company responded to?
For those hardened by many years out on the line, has the horror, destruction and pain lead to diminished emotions and the expected human responses?
I want you to take a mental trip back to the first major fire or volatile incident you responded to as a part of a first-in attack team. Visualize how you felt. Remember that heavy, hollow feeling in your chest. Recall the flight response that instantaneously surfaced in your consciousness.
I have often mentally traveled back to that first night out on the line, 3 a.m., seeing the orange and red glow of fire in the distance as we raced to the scene. Hearing the high-pitched screech of a propane bottle venting next to the home as we arrived, and seeing a portion of the front porch collapsing and the sparking electric lines down in the front yard and draped over the homeowner’s vehicle.
This was my first introduction to critical cognitive thinking, that is, pondering the implications of what I was seeing. To be honest, as a young stallion firefighter, I did not have a clue. I just looked to the gray beards on my team in a feeble attempt to not fail in my maiden test as a firefighter. I helped hump some hose and set two ground ladders. Later I filled some bottles and washed up some of the equipment used—the usual routine.
Over time—through personal study, attending this great institution, responding to hundreds of incidents, constant training and practice, along with listening to my mentors intently—I began to understand the true nature of the relative danger of incident management of combat operations. I fully understood the nature of the risk and the instantaneous jolt of an unexpected shift in incident development and conditions.
Learning and knowing how fires propagated, the effects of weather, building construction and how hazardous materials reacted to certain conditions, I got smarter. I, along with most of you experienced field commanders, developed the ability to complete an instantaneous risk assessment and draft a mental plan to safely manage the incident. I could see further, predicting how conditions might change and the steps needed to mitigate, if not prevent, them from occurring.
Yes, I got smarter. Maybe I was self-confident. I was so smart that I let my guard down. I became so self-confident that I allowed myself to relax a few of the defenses and safeguards. I disregarded the queues that so clearly had guided me toward proactive tactical and strategic decisions and orders to those under my command. I jumped to solutions without ensuring that I had fully analyzed the conditions and implications and where they were apt to evolve during initial operations. I allowed a portion of the senses and concentration necessary to accurately assess what we were about to face to lay dormant.
What we are talking about is over-confidence. I recently read the following quote regarding the subject: “Over-confidence is when you think you are fooling everybody and everything, but, you are not.”
For me, I was fortunate, lucky and maybe blessed when I failed as a leader to do my job. No one was hurt; no one was killed due to my lapses. I placed those under my command in a situation that had the real potential to cause them their lives or face serious injury.
Too many times we allow incident conditions to rule the day. Accordingly, we chase the incident rather than manage it. We send lines onto areas where the fire has already reached, placing firefighters in harm’s way unnecessarily. We simply cannot let our guard down, never. Not at the station, on the training ground, not responding to an incident and not on the incident scene. It is we as the leaders who are called to control, lead, rationally direct and ultimately bring potential threats to a safe culmination.
So what does all this mean?
I ask you on this day, and from this day forward, not to forget the panic, the terror, the shock and alarm you felt on that first alarm, as it was a perfect and accurate analysis of the true nature of the perils of this profession—one that we can become hardened to over time.
It is when we stow these emotions away into a place seldom visited that we venture into a setting where inaccurate, precarious or gaps in judgment occur.
We cannot afford to fail the souls entrusted to us.
It is a treacherous profession we have chosen.
I fully realize the burden is great; however, the potential loss is much too high not to protect them.
I appeal to you not to let your guard down for the sake of your brothers and sisters, for the sake of those close to them and for the citizens entrusted into your care. So carry on with the intensity this profession demands and with your eyes wide open.
