An epiphany is a moment of sudden intuitive understanding or a flash of insight-a sudden perception of the essential nature of a thing. In my firefighting career, a series of epiphanies have served as significant landmarks in my fireground education and understanding. Below are three key moments.

COMMAND DECISIONS AREN'T JUST FOR COMMANDERS.
My fires epiphany came after a fire in an auto parts store. I was the nozzleman, and my back up was a junior firefighter who was willing to follow the officer and me anywhere. We stretched a 21/2-inch line, which was our SOP for commercial fires. Black smoke boiled out of the already broken storefront window on the first floor of the six-story multiple dwelling. I knew the store's aisle layout, since I had been in it several times as a customer. I was thus able to quickly advance deep into the store. At first, we did not notice much heat, but the smoke told us heavy fire was raging somewhere within. We advanced quickly, unaware that our officer and our control man had been injured as we advanced the line and, a s a result, were not with us in the store.

The heat intensified as we moved down the center aisle toward the rear of the store. It became difficult to advance the line. I remember thinking that we were in a bad place and was hoping that the officer would back us out. At that time in my career, I would not even entertain the thought of backing out without orders.
My helmet was dislodged and fell from my head as we struggled to advance the line. (This was well before chinstraps.) AS I played the hose stream in front of and above me, hot water cascaded onto my head and down my back. I felt I was being burned and passed the nozzle to my backup, announcing that I was leaving and why. He took the line and held his position like a trouper, while I quickly followed the hoseline back out to the street.
The scene outside was pandemonium. The chief was yelling to get our engine company out of the building. Flames rolled across the ceiling of the store, out of the top of the window, and up the side of the building. This fire was worse than I had thought.

In the street, EMS personnel were treating the lieutenant and the control man. Stunned, I realized that I had left my backup man alone in the building. My lieutenant gave me his helmet, and I immediately returned into the building to join my backup man. By this time however, another engine company had already stretched a second line into the building, found him, and was in the process of bringing him out. They found him steadfastly still operating his line. His wrists were burned and because he had lifted an edge of his mask to call for help, he had inhaled a gulp of superheated air. This disoriented him; he was found standing, operating the line over his head trying to cool himself down. His ears, wrists, and neck had been burned. (This was before gauntlet gloves and hoods.)

When I saw him in the street, the skin on his wrists was peeling off, and his neck and ears were red and plastered. He was rushed to the hospital, where he was treated and observed for a few days. The doctors thought his throat might swell during the night and prevent him from breathing, so he was given a precautionary tracheotomy. Fortunately, there was no permanent lung damage; after a few days in the hospital, he was able to return home.
Up until this point in my career, I was trained to attack the fire and not to back the line out until told to do so. The above incident taught me that I , even as a lowly firefighter, must be ready to make command decisions and that my decisions could have a life-and-death impact on myself and others. In retrospect, given the conditions we faced in that store when I lost my helmet, I should have called out to my officer and, receiving no response, I should have backed the line out with my backup man. Instead, I assumed the rest of the team was inside with me. I thought that the control man would move up into the backup position and that my officer was right there with us. I did not know that we were alone or that I was leaving my backup alone, but I should have found out before I left.

Furthermore, if I did not receive a response from my officer, I should have considered the possibility that he was in trouble and possibly needed help. Neither I nor my backup man had been assigned a radio, so calling for help was not an option. The loss of my helmet, which permitted the hot water to pour down on me, luckily resulted in only first-degree burns. No doubt, I would have received more serious burns if I had remained. My error was not taking command and initiating a retreat. From this point on in my career, I realized that, even though I had to obey orders, it was OK, even necessary to think for myself and sometimes for others.

RISK LITTLE TO SAVE A LITTLE

My second epiphany occurred when as a new lieutenant, I was working in a busy aggressive engine company, that had the reputation of getting the job done and not backing down, no matter what the obstacles. We were in a vacant six-story, H-type multiple dwelling. There had been multiple previous fires in the building, and time and weather had taken their toll on the structure's stability. This was the norm for many of the structures in my company's district and we routinely and successfully fought fires in these dilapidated buildings. The fire was on the second floor. It had already spread to several apartments on the floors above. Numerous holes in the ceiling, floors and walls had allowed rapid fire spread.

Operating on the fire from the second-floor public hallway with our 1 3/4 - inch hose, we weren't making much progress. I looked around at my surroundings, suddenly really seeing them for the first time. The scene was surrealistic. There was more fire than smoke. Looking up the stairs, the eerie glow of the fire was visible on several of the floors above us. The railing that should have been around the stairwell was long gone. There were no doors on the various apartments. Through the flames, I could see holes in the floors of each apartment and could look up through holes in the ceilings to the apartments on the third floor. The public hall floor on which we were standing sloped toward the stairwell so severely that it was difficult to keep our balance. It was at this point that I had my second epiphany. I was the lieutenant and responsible for the safety of all of my firefighters. The building was vacant, in disrepair, and abandoned by its owner. We did not belong in this building.

At this time in my career, there was little talk of risk/benefit analysis. When there was a fire, you went in and put it out, unless the chief pulled you out of the building. If the chief pulled you out, you came out reluctantly, kicking and screaming. This time, I decided that I would not wait for the chief to arrive and tell us to leave the building; instead, I myself ordered everyone out of the building, much to their dismay. Both my engine firefighters as well as the truck firefighters wanted to attack this fire. It was, after all, not brave to back out. They wanted to beat this fire as they had beaten so many others.

ALL FIREGROUND DECISIONS ARE LIFE-AND-DEATH DECISIONS

My third epiphany occurred when, as a newly promoted chief officer, I responded to a fire in a two-story brick, flat-roof, two-family house. This building had a parapet around its perimeter. Heavy fire was blowing out of the windows on the top floor front, and the first engine and truck were having a hard time getting in the front door. To cover a reported exposure problem in the rear, I directed an engine company to take an 1 ¾ inch hoseline down the three-foot-wide exposure 2 alley to the rear. They were about to enter the alley on their way to the rear when I heard a garbled radio transmission that mentioned a minor collapse of brickwork in the rear. I stopped the engine company at that point and looked down the alley to see what was going on in the rear, but nothing unusual was visible. As I looked down the alley, there was a sudden collapse. The entire height of the exposure 2 wall from the top of the parapet to the ceiling of the top floor crashed into the narrow side alley. The fallen brick filled the alley, in some places up to three feet high. Had anyone been in the alley at the time of the collapse, they would have been killed. The engine officer, realizing how close he and his crew had come to death, looked at me and commented how glad he was that I had stopped him.

My third epiphany made it perfectly clear to me that my every command on the fireground must be considered a life-and -death decision. When I ordered the engine company to the rear, I did not consider it to be a life-threatening decision. They were outside of the building-What could go wrong? It was only because I received and acted on the radio message from the firefighter in the rear that they are alive today. I learned that every bit of fireground information is important and that I had better gather as much information as possible on the fire and the building. Nothing can be taken for granted. Reading this, you might ask why I need and epiphany to teach me valuable lessons. I should have already known each of the above lessons. In each case, I was relatively new to the job that I was performing and not yet fully aware of the ramifications of my actions. I believe that, like many newly promoted officers, I did not initially realize the awesome responsibility I had undertaken. Many, if not most, firefighters and officers, when promoted, need time to grow into their new jobs, whatever the level. A new lieutenant often is still thinking like a firefighter, and a newly promoted chief has not yet trained himself to see the big picture.

Command is a mindset, a way of thinking. For all but a fortunate few, information gathering, considering options, and life-and-death decision making are acquired skills. Training can help and is an absolute necessity; but, unfortunately, training in command skills is often inadequate. Are your officers trained to make decisions under stressful conditions, or are they just promoted and expected to perform effectively in the new rank? Do you encourage your firefighters to make decisions on the fireground, or do you teach them to just follow orders? All firefighters should be trained to think for themselves. They must be trained to make decisions on their own and when necessary, to act on them. This is crucial at all ranks.

Experience gives firefighters a frame of reference for decision making; the greater our experience, the better we can compare the present fire with past ones to arrive at the correct conclusions and a safe course of action. This comparison is done intuitively and quickly on the fireground. An experienced fire officer has amassed a large number of solutions to problems that he has faced at past fires. He can pull these solutions from his bag of tricks quickly; and often, what has worked for him in the past will work for him again.

Although it is necessary to obey orders, that need should not stifle an individual's ability and need to make independent evaluations and decisions. Decision making by firefighters and officers will enhance the operation and make it safer. If we teach them the why of firefighting and not just the what, they will be better able to convey meaningful information to the chief and to react correctly to unexpected occurrences, making the overall operation safer. Also, a thinking firefighter of officer will be better able to make decisions when the chief is not there to hold his hand.

Along with the ability to make their own decisions, all firefighters must be able to quickly and accurately transfer vital information to the incident commander and other firefighters on the scene. Firefighters and officers must be aware of the overall strategy in place on the fireground and how any decision they make or actions they take will affect others operating on the scene and the outcome of the fire.

***

With 3 years in the fire service, I feel that there is still much more to learn. Each of us must actively seek information and answers through study and conversation with our peers. Few fires go perfectly. Mistakes occur at all levels-thankfully, in most cases, with out catastrophic results. Regardless of your rank or time on the job, examine what you have done at each fire, identify your mistakes, and see that you do not repeat them at the next fire. Consider every decision you make on the fireground a life-and-death decision, and work to develop your decision-making, information gathering, and communication skills. Ideally, this process should start on your first day and continue until your last day as a firefighter.