While we normally use specific case studies in this column, I am going to divert from that approach this month to focus on several wake-up calls that I feel warrant further discussion. The focus is all about command, control and discipline on the fireground and the responsibility of command, division officers, company officers and firefighters.
Let’s start with a simple statement: The fireground is not your personal playground. While you may be thinking “well, duh,” the fact is that there have been several line-of-duty deaths (LODDs) recently that, upon investigation, essentially found firefighters pretty much doing whatever they wanted to do on the fireground.
Of course, in some places (actually many places), that's the way it used to be. Companies arrived on the fireground and did whatever it took to get the people rescued and get the fire out. Don't get me wrong, it was the best many of us knew—back then. Fires were put out and countless lives were saved, but the concept of strong command, control, discipline, etc., was still foreign to many.
Some fire departments did get it. For example, one of the largest departments out there has always had “riding lists,” and the company officers were trained to be—and clearly were (and still are)—responsible for their personnel. Some small departments also incorporated simple systems like this. But for the most part, when we got there, we grabbed tools, lines and did our very best—the best we knew at that time.
Let’s fast-forward to 2014, 2015 and 2016. One would think that the concept of no-nonsense fireground discipline is under control, but sadly, that is hardly the case, as we can clearly see in some recent examples.
Finding a down firefighter—by accident
In one relatively recent fire, an unconscious firefighter was found in the water-filled basement when he was stepped over by other firefighters. He eventually died. Who knew he was down there?
No one. No one knew.
They couldn't know, not when so many on that fireground were doing what they wanted to do. Where was accountability? Where was his partner? Where was the officer? Where was the discipline to operate as a crew? Where was the training?
It came in as a dwelling fire, and mutual-aid departments responded, as it was a working fire. Sadly, when some mutual-aid companies arrived (who, by the way, were on several different fireground channels, with many using their own channels and some having their own dispatch operations), companies were given assignments by command, but some companies decided to just do what they felt was best, what they wanted to do, regardless of command’s plan. While some should have staged, they “got in there” to do what they came to do—fight fire, on their own terms. Some arriving chiefs did the same thing and focused on whatever they wanted to do. It became their personal playground.
Stage for an assignment? Forget that, we wanna get in there and fight fire. Assigned RIT? Screw that, we wanna fight fire. Any of this sound familiar?
When they were inside, some firefighters found a hole in the floor, but that was never relayed to anyone else. And a little while later, crews found a firefighter down in the basement. He died in the line of duty.
Heroic life as a firefighter? Absolutely. Heroic LODD? Not by some definitions. Fighting fire on your terms? It should be a crime. And it may be.
What we may want to do may not always be what's best for those whose building is on fire. It may not be what's best for the victims in the fire. It may not be what’s best for your so-called brother and sister firefighters operating inside. It certainly wasn't what was best for the firefighter in the above scenario.
Firmly stated, unless you are ACTUALLY in command, you do not have the authority to make your own command decisions and, therefore, following orders should be a reasonable expectation.
The more we do things wrong …
… the more they seem right. Say it again: The more we do things wrong, the more they seem right.
Among the many fires that back up that statement is the horrific losses of nine firefighters in Charleston, SC, on June 18, 2007. The Charleston Fire Department’s leadership led the fire department a certain way for years, and by most internal accounts, it worked—or at least it felt like it worked. And then one day …. The rest is history—history that the CFD has certainly learned from and history that has offered so many opportunities for us all to learn from and change as needed.
We can do things a certain way without considering better ways, and so often, as long as nothing goes wrong, we are very comfortable doing things the way we always have. Living in our own world and not looking outside our world can cause us to become clueless about better ways to operate.
A better way? Better for who? The people having the fire and the firefighters operating. Nothing else matters, which means just because we personally want (or don't want) to do something doesn't necessarily mean we should, we can or we may. That's why we have policies, why we train on these policies, and why we have company officers to carry out the policies and chiefs to determine and lead the policies—kinda like a coach and a team.
(Note: As a general rule, if you HAVE policies and procedures, your members should be fully trained on those policies, and you should operate based upon your training. Sadly, that is sometimes not the case, as many departments have policies but don't operate based on them.)
One of my favorite stories occurred many years ago when I was riding with Chief John Salka, a longtime friend, a fellow Firehouse columnist and FDNY battalion commander. I was riding with John, and we were responding to a multi-family dwelling fire where a specific company decided to do what they wanted to do versus what policy required, what John ordered and absolutely expected. The moment John found out that they were operating “on their own,” he immediately ordered that company out of the building and put them on the sidelines. Time out. Clearly John was in command, which means HE is responsible for the outcome of the incident, the firefighters on that scene and the civilians. Any company and their officer who decided they were going to do whatever they wanted to do on that fireground was not going to be permitted to do so. That's how it works when a company, crew or firefighter strays. No nonsense. No BS. No hurt feelings. Either you do as policy dictates, as training has taught and operate strictly as expected with strict discipline or you go home.
Perfect storm of problems
In another recent case, a fire department responded to a dwelling fire. When the companies arrived, again, some did what they wanted to do. It was tradition, the department’s leadership at the time accepted it—and it had worked well in the past.
But at this fire, the department experienced a host of factors that created a perfect storm for an LODD:
- Lack of crew integrity
- Failure of company officers to account for their personnel
- Failure to provide company officer training
- Failure to provide chief officer command-level training
- Delayed forcible entry
- Failure to ventilate properly
- Failure to throw ground ladders
- Failed radio systems
- Failed understanding of hose stream management, flow path and thermal layering
- Failure to follow operational directives
And there was more—much more—that contributed to the death of a young firefighter who led a heroic life as a firefighter. But his death was not heroic. As a matter of fact, the family of the firefighter who lost his life has filed a lawsuit accusing the chief of department, the incident commander (IC) and a company officer with manslaughter. Manslaughter—something you never, EVER want to be accused of.
Command is serious business
I remember years ago watching young firefighters in volunteer companies race to ride the front seat. After all, the radio, the siren and the horns were the priority. In career departments, firefighters would want to “ride up” when the lieutenant or captain had the day off, sometimes for the same reasons. I did both as many of you did and still do.
Be it the front seat or arriving in a car, the SUV or whatever, having command means you own that scene and you are responsible for everyone, everything and anything that can happen. It’s no BS. It’s serious, serious stuff. I'm not sure I can emphasize that any more than so many fire service writers have over the years—and as more recent case studies have divulged.
But what qualifies someone to ride the front seat? The first transformation happens (hopefully) when firefighters go from firefighter to company officer—and you have to deal with the “Buddy to Boss” stuff, as retired Chief Chase Sargent reminds us. It's a big deal.
Being an officer is not easy in career or volunteer departments. Actually, in particular, volunteer departments have the greater challenge because there is usually no first-line supervisor training, and you often end up being the boss over your own buddies, friends, pals and relatives—all members of your volunteer department. But don't kid yourself, on the career side there are far too many departments that fail to train their personnel to ride the front seat and to make the initial on-scene decisions that can often determine the positive or negative outcome of a fire.
The next transformation (hopefully), is when a company officer goes from the front seat of the rig to the front seat of the command buggy, the chief’s car, SUV or whatever your command officers ride in. You get elected. You get appointed. Whatever. Suddenly, you own that scene. It’s a HUGE deal. You are the bottom line of every aspect and action at that incident. You ARE command, control, accountability and communication. Your day has come and, hopefully, those before you have provided solid and verifiable training that is actually applicable to the job you now own and the massive responsibility you now bear.
What training was provided to you or did you take to prepare/qualify yourself to respond and operate as a command officer or THE IC?
When things go right—and hopefully they do purposely, not “just because”—it's a good day, and that is what happens most days. However, when things go wrong on the fire or fire training ground, it can be life-altering. Life-altering to civilians. Life-altering to your firefighters. Life-altering to you, which includes your family and friends. So many chiefs and firefighters who I’ve worked with following LODDs essentially divide their lives into the before and after the death of their firefighter. These experiences are life-altering.
Learning from horrific history
Firefighters have unnecessarily suffered from the horrible consequences of suffocation and burns. They suffered up until the very end. While some firefighters died heroically, attempting to save a life, many did not. As we have said in this column many times before, if we are going to honor those who have given their lives in the line of duty, one of the best ways is to learn how they lost their lives and, whenever possible, to not repeat those actions.
Take time to read the many LODD and NIOSH reports. If these reports do anything, they remind us that like every firefighter who gets constant training, training as a command officer never stops. Actually, it has to START. What training do your officers receive to ride the front seat, to arrive first, size up the scene and make immediate decisions?
What are the continuing education and training courses made available to your officers? Everyday is training day, reading, reviewing, studying, using simulators, engaging in hands-on live drills or whatever. It is the responsibility of the department’s “coaching staff” to take care of its “players”; this job is a never-ending training day, and it's a massive responsibility … and the truth of the matter is this, it’s not for everyone.
Some departments prepare their members to ride the front seat well before they have to do so. Some departments train company officers to ride the command vehicle/buggy well before they have to do so. What does your department do?
The recent history also reminds us of our total no-BS responsibility to take care of our people in what can certainly be tough conditions. That is our 24/7/365 commitment and responsibility. While our people operate in tough conditions—and just like we expect them to perform as expected while operating interior—they must be able to count on us on the outside, in command roles, to do what we must do to take care of them.
These reports remind us that people are asking questions, families want answers, investigations are conducted, and attorneys are lined up to help them determine the truth about how and why their loved ones died. They are asking you: Your officers. Your chiefs. Your commissioners. Your elected officials.
In sum
Command is nothing new in the fire service. However, the defined responsibility, the tasks, complexity and expectations have evolved over the years into what we know today to be an extremely intense role that requires intense training, skills and discipline like never before.
This month’s column is dedicated to my lifelong friend and brother, Fire Chief Russ Randolph, 55. From his chasing our fire apparatus with his bicycle as a kid to his years as a career firefighter and last days as a volunteer fire chief, Russ was 100 percent firefighter 24/7/365 and as beloved as any firefighter, officer and chief whom I have ever known. When the tones went off, he was the one to yell "We got one!" with old school dedication and love for the job. He was definitely one of those people who was a firefighter, not just a fire department employee. Sweet dreams, old buddy. You have made such a positive difference and will be terribly missed but never, ever forgotten – Billy G
