This week, my phone rang after midnight. Thatīs never a good sign. It took me a minute to process the information as I didnīt recognize the voice. It was the Red Cross duty manager calling to say there was a fire and to come to Headquarters (HQ) stat.
Itīs funny, in those moments of crisis calls, and there have been a fair number in my life, initially, I find myself slowing down. I have come to realize that it is my way of recalibrating before I speed up. I methodically throw on clothes, grab whatīs needed and leave. Once I am out the door, I find myself running to my car and determining the fastest route to HQ.
I am a happy volunteer; I serve on the Disaster Action Team of my local Red Cross chapter. That means I carry a beeper 1-2 weeks out of every month. If some local disaster happens in my town from 5 p.m. to 9 a.m. during the week and anytime over the weekend, I, along with other team members, get called into service.
As I drive to HQ, the streets are quiet and empty. Homes and businesses are darkened. Most everyone is tucked into bed, fast asleep. The immediate world is shut down like low lights on a boat; only what is absolutely necessary is illuminated.
And so it is with a disaster.
Out of the hushed sleep of a residential neighborhood, the pitch black of night is punctured by light. There are clusters of lights; the glare is disorienting. And they are expanses of darkness. There are emergency flares creating boundaries and outlining the perimeter; there are flash lights to show the way and mark the terrain.
And they are the knots of flashing, pulsating lights -- always a signature of trouble. You can frequently identify the vehicle by its color. There are the blue and red of the police, the red and white of the rescue squad, and the yellow and white of the utility company.
The fire trucks are lit up like big, red boats effortlessly plowing through the waves of darkness.
And, if you can get close enough, there are flashes of flames burning hard and bright against the night sky. There are red-hot embers, flying sparks and floating burnt debris. And smoke, white, grey and black.
And amidst these bold visuals, there are sounds that echo eerily in the stillness of neighborhood, sounds that bounce off of once-sleeping houses and dissipate into waves in the night air. The staccato insistence of walkie-talkies, motors idling and vehicles in and out -- mechanical noises -- override most everything.
Over the last eight months, I have been called to two fires -- one in the cold dark of winter, one in the moist heat of a humid summer night.
As part of the Red Cross disaster team, we come to the scene with water, coffee and snacks for everyone at the disaster victims and first responders alike. We also come prepared to offer on-thescene support and immediate resources for the victims of the fire.
Our protocol is to make contact with the Fire Chief, who, when the time is right, gives us access to the families involved. Amidst the seeming chaos, the recovery efforts unfold like the wheels of a clock. Everyone is experienced and familiar with the process and procedures. And to sound like the middle-aged person I am surprised to see so many of the first responders look so young.
The winter fire left two families homeless. The families were in shock, huddled together trying to make sense of what had happened. The teenagers had been smart enough to grab their cell phones which they used to call relatives. The teens asked their relatives to bring shoes. It never would have dawned on me, but, of course, if you are racing out of a house filled with smoke and fire, stopping to put on your shoes would not be high on your priority list.
Itīs all the little things that make up our daily lives that begin to seep into the minds of these stunned families. Has anybody seen the cat? What about my blood pressure medication? How do I replace my driverīs license? Do I go to school today and today meant in a few hours? Oh, I left my car keys inside in the house; what do we do? We have no clothes. We have no money. We have nothing.
This is where the Red Cross shines. Immediate, temporary shelter and money for meals is provided along with emotional support. The families are advised once they get some rest to come into HQ and a duty worker will help them connect with community resources and facilitate re-anchoring their lives.
The summer fire landed two firefighters in the hospital due to the heat. Other firefighters were telling me this was really no big deal; the two who were injured would be fine. But I was curious and wanted to know more, so one firefighter explained it to me this way: Imagine you are standing in a roaring fireplace for 5 or 10 minutes; you get quickly dehydrated being in that much heat, and then you become very lightheaded and nauseous.
I also had a brief discussion with a local town representative. Here, he was in the middle of the night at this fire; apparently, he had been at the winter fire scene as well. When asked why he would come to these emergencies, he allowed that when it was budget time, and he needed to vote for fund allocation, being at the scene was a "great education" for him to understand what resources were really needed in the town. In a day and age where few elected officials get my attention, much less my respect, this fellow did.
The summer fire was at a new construction site of a home; like the winter fire, everything was lost. The home owners were staying with neighbors, and they witnessed all of their planning and dreaming go up in flames. Happily, they did not need the physical resources that the Red Cross had to offer, and, yet it was important for us to be there in the event our services were needed.
There are several things that strike me about all of this.
Did I mention how very kind every one was that I met? Here, it is 0-dark-hundred, and people are appreciative, polite and even-tempered.
And here are these first responders, doing what they do. It is not until I am placed in the middle of a neighborhood disaster do I realize how we all fit together, hand in glove. I am somewhat chagrined to admit how much I have taken for granted the service infrastructure of my town.
And, hey, itīs not just my town; itīs everybodyīs town. Think of the wild fires in California, the flooding in the Midwest, the hurricanes battering the shoreline states to name a few. These fire fighters, police and rescue squad are doing this on a regular, every day basis.
I find myself filled with gratitude, awe, pride and wonder. Amidst the tragedies, there is the connective tissue of community. There is one hand helping another. Itīs a terrific feeling. I am so glad to be a happy volunteer.
I leave you with an image from the other night. I see the backs of three young firefighters walking on the roadway, having finished their work. One is carrying an ax. Their heads are dropped in soft conversation; there is light banter among them. There is an evident sense of camaraderie. And as they walk away, shoulder to shoulder, and disappear into the darkness, I hear the clump, clump, clump of their work boots. For these young men, it looked like all in a nightīs work.
2008 by Adele Ryan McDowell
Itīs funny, in those moments of crisis calls, and there have been a fair number in my life, initially, I find myself slowing down. I have come to realize that it is my way of recalibrating before I speed up. I methodically throw on clothes, grab whatīs needed and leave. Once I am out the door, I find myself running to my car and determining the fastest route to HQ.
I am a happy volunteer; I serve on the Disaster Action Team of my local Red Cross chapter. That means I carry a beeper 1-2 weeks out of every month. If some local disaster happens in my town from 5 p.m. to 9 a.m. during the week and anytime over the weekend, I, along with other team members, get called into service.
As I drive to HQ, the streets are quiet and empty. Homes and businesses are darkened. Most everyone is tucked into bed, fast asleep. The immediate world is shut down like low lights on a boat; only what is absolutely necessary is illuminated.
And so it is with a disaster.
Out of the hushed sleep of a residential neighborhood, the pitch black of night is punctured by light. There are clusters of lights; the glare is disorienting. And they are expanses of darkness. There are emergency flares creating boundaries and outlining the perimeter; there are flash lights to show the way and mark the terrain.
And they are the knots of flashing, pulsating lights -- always a signature of trouble. You can frequently identify the vehicle by its color. There are the blue and red of the police, the red and white of the rescue squad, and the yellow and white of the utility company.
The fire trucks are lit up like big, red boats effortlessly plowing through the waves of darkness.
And, if you can get close enough, there are flashes of flames burning hard and bright against the night sky. There are red-hot embers, flying sparks and floating burnt debris. And smoke, white, grey and black.
And amidst these bold visuals, there are sounds that echo eerily in the stillness of neighborhood, sounds that bounce off of once-sleeping houses and dissipate into waves in the night air. The staccato insistence of walkie-talkies, motors idling and vehicles in and out -- mechanical noises -- override most everything.
Over the last eight months, I have been called to two fires -- one in the cold dark of winter, one in the moist heat of a humid summer night.
As part of the Red Cross disaster team, we come to the scene with water, coffee and snacks for everyone at the disaster victims and first responders alike. We also come prepared to offer on-thescene support and immediate resources for the victims of the fire.
Our protocol is to make contact with the Fire Chief, who, when the time is right, gives us access to the families involved. Amidst the seeming chaos, the recovery efforts unfold like the wheels of a clock. Everyone is experienced and familiar with the process and procedures. And to sound like the middle-aged person I am surprised to see so many of the first responders look so young.
The winter fire left two families homeless. The families were in shock, huddled together trying to make sense of what had happened. The teenagers had been smart enough to grab their cell phones which they used to call relatives. The teens asked their relatives to bring shoes. It never would have dawned on me, but, of course, if you are racing out of a house filled with smoke and fire, stopping to put on your shoes would not be high on your priority list.
Itīs all the little things that make up our daily lives that begin to seep into the minds of these stunned families. Has anybody seen the cat? What about my blood pressure medication? How do I replace my driverīs license? Do I go to school today and today meant in a few hours? Oh, I left my car keys inside in the house; what do we do? We have no clothes. We have no money. We have nothing.
This is where the Red Cross shines. Immediate, temporary shelter and money for meals is provided along with emotional support. The families are advised once they get some rest to come into HQ and a duty worker will help them connect with community resources and facilitate re-anchoring their lives.
The summer fire landed two firefighters in the hospital due to the heat. Other firefighters were telling me this was really no big deal; the two who were injured would be fine. But I was curious and wanted to know more, so one firefighter explained it to me this way: Imagine you are standing in a roaring fireplace for 5 or 10 minutes; you get quickly dehydrated being in that much heat, and then you become very lightheaded and nauseous.
I also had a brief discussion with a local town representative. Here, he was in the middle of the night at this fire; apparently, he had been at the winter fire scene as well. When asked why he would come to these emergencies, he allowed that when it was budget time, and he needed to vote for fund allocation, being at the scene was a "great education" for him to understand what resources were really needed in the town. In a day and age where few elected officials get my attention, much less my respect, this fellow did.
The summer fire was at a new construction site of a home; like the winter fire, everything was lost. The home owners were staying with neighbors, and they witnessed all of their planning and dreaming go up in flames. Happily, they did not need the physical resources that the Red Cross had to offer, and, yet it was important for us to be there in the event our services were needed.
There are several things that strike me about all of this.
Did I mention how very kind every one was that I met? Here, it is 0-dark-hundred, and people are appreciative, polite and even-tempered.
And here are these first responders, doing what they do. It is not until I am placed in the middle of a neighborhood disaster do I realize how we all fit together, hand in glove. I am somewhat chagrined to admit how much I have taken for granted the service infrastructure of my town.
And, hey, itīs not just my town; itīs everybodyīs town. Think of the wild fires in California, the flooding in the Midwest, the hurricanes battering the shoreline states to name a few. These fire fighters, police and rescue squad are doing this on a regular, every day basis.
I find myself filled with gratitude, awe, pride and wonder. Amidst the tragedies, there is the connective tissue of community. There is one hand helping another. Itīs a terrific feeling. I am so glad to be a happy volunteer.
I leave you with an image from the other night. I see the backs of three young firefighters walking on the roadway, having finished their work. One is carrying an ax. Their heads are dropped in soft conversation; there is light banter among them. There is an evident sense of camaraderie. And as they walk away, shoulder to shoulder, and disappear into the darkness, I hear the clump, clump, clump of their work boots. For these young men, it looked like all in a nightīs work.
2008 by Adele Ryan McDowell
