Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [52]
26. SAVING THE MAN IN THE HOLE
Conversation in the room died down when Chief Caldwell stood up to announce the ground rules. Everything was to be kept within these four walls, said Caldwell. Nobody was to repeat anything heard in the debriefing, not to a spouse or a crew member or a pastor. It was, he explained, only under such a covenant that people would feel free to speak openly.
For five months people had been looking sideways at Finney, and today wasn’t any different. They evaluated his neck for scars, stared into his eyes for signs of guilt, listened to his speech for indications of trauma, for substantiation of the persistent rumors that he was on the verge of retiring due to nervous breakdown.
During the meeting firefighters were instructed to announce who they were, how many years they had in the department, what rig they were working on the day of the fire, what they did at the fire, what they saw, and how they felt about it. Finney could see stress levels skyrocketing as each man or woman waited to address the group. Firefighters were a select denomination, chosen for physical abilities, brute strength, endurance, the knack of calculating on the fly, physical bravery, mechanical aptitude, a desire for public service. Nobody was selected for an ability to speak in front of a group or for the gift of soul-searching.
There was a preliminary overview of the basic facts given by Chief Caldwell—the time of the fire, number of units dispatched, the order of their arrival. Clearly Caldwell had done his homework. When he didn’t mention that the house had been on their dangerous buildings list, Finney realized he hadn’t heard the standard warning from the dispatchers during the alarm either. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but they should have fought that fire from outside, which was the procedure for handling any building on the list. He raised his hand and asked Caldwell about it, well aware that all eyes in the room were now on him. “Not on the list,” Caldwell replied, curtly.
Finney and G. A. Montgomery exchanged glances, though Finney could not read G. A.’s face. Beside him, Monahan stared straight ahead.
They proceeded around the oval in the rough order in which the rigs had arrived at the fire location. When the members of Engine 27’s crew told their stories, McKittrick stuttered and his officer got a case of dry mouth. Sadler told of their arrival, his orders to Monahan, McKittrick’s notification that there was a victim, advising Finney they were going up the stairs, and discovering later that Finney had gone outside alone and put up a ladder. Sadler’s disapproval was duly noted and Finney knew it would be passed around the city like a bad cold.
Monahan told a simple story of looking for the hydrant and nearly driving into the river in the fog.
Having paid scant attention to the others, G. A. swung his stern gaze onto Finney when it was Finney’s turn to speak.
“We went through the front door behind Twenty-seven’s crew. None of us got in very far. Then McKittrick came and told us there was a victim. I got a ladder off Engine Twenty-seven, went to the roof, and found our victim inside the window. Moore brought a line up and cooled off the room while I got her out. After a while the medics showed up.”
“That’s a little sketchy,” said Lieutenant Balitnikoff, the only facilitator who hadn’t spoken until now. “I’m just trying to get us all on the same page here. What about the part where you left your partner?”
All eyes in the room turned to Finney. “I thought this meeting was supposed to be about our feelings.”
“Just curious as to how you felt when you left him.” The room grew quiet. People weren’t stirring. Weren’t breathing. “Don’t you think you should have learned your lesson at the beginning of the summer? The way I remember it, this is a team effort. We work as a team.” Balitnikoff looked pointedly at Diana Moore. It was clear he was including