Fire

Despite the odds, fire has had major impacts on my life.

The first year we were living in Lamoni my father asked the farmer that owned the land if he could use some of it for a big garden. That is, there was a triangle of land between the fields that was next to our house that the farmer wasn't using because it was too small to make it worthwhile to bring the big farming equipment onto it. The farmer agreed.

First, since the land had never been tilled, my father decided to burn off the existing tall grass. So he cut the grass around the triangle to form a fire break, then set it on fire to burn off the weeds.

Off course, as soon as he lit the fire, the wind picked up, and the fire started burning out of control. This was particularly dangerous because of the cornfields around the triangle.

One characteristic of corn that makes it so ideal for Iowa is that it doesn't need to be harvested in the fall. That is, if the fall is particularly wet then the corn can be harvested in the spring. With Iowa's very unpredictable weather, that is a real advantage.

The previous fall had been wet, so although it was spring, the corn was still in the fields. This meant the the corn stalks were very dry, as well. So when the fire my father lit started to burn out of control, there was a real danger that it would burn in the fields for days.

To add to the difficulty, we had not had a phone installed yet, so my mother had to hop in the car and drive to the neighbors to call the fire department. They didn't know where we were as yet, since we were new, so they asked who our neighbors were. The only neighbor my mother knew was Ken Smith, who we were renting from. As it turns out, there were two Ken Smiths in town, and, or course, the fire department went to the wrong one. We were on our own.

My father hauled in some water, I think from the creek that was there, and we, that is, I and my brothers, were given gunny sack, which we dipped in water to fight the flames. My father also had a sack.

I might mention that I was the oldest at thirteen, and my younger brothers were eleven and seven. I think my sister kept the bucket full of water.

I should point out that my father had been a volunteer fireman for at least six years by then.

The fire actually jumped the breaks that my father had made, and was starting to burn the dry cornfield. After we had been fighting it for a while, and I could see the flames going up two or three times my height, have to admit that I closed my eyes, and said a short and rather desperate prayer. When I opened my eyes again, the fire was out. No sparks, no cleanup, it was out.

About five or ten minutes later, the fire truck finally arrived, and the firemen helped us pick up the slightly scorched corn, but the truck did not even approach the fire.

It is somewhat interesting to think about what happened. Did the wind change directions? Did my father manage to get the leading edge out, and all I saw was a final gasp? I don't know, all I know is that it was out.

There was also one morning at that house where we were awakened early. The house had a stove to heat it, and the stove had blown up during the night, so we evacuated immediately. My father, however, as a former fireman, took the time to throw a bucket of water on the flames before he left.

In fact, the bucket put out he fire. There may have been some sparks still burning, but these were easily extinguished.

I was touched by fire twice more, or maybe I should say more.

The first time was in 1967. I was working during the summer at a pea cannery in Oregon. One night my friends and I went to a drive in theater to see a movie. On the way home we came across a fire that was burning in a building. A warehouse had caught fire, and the fire department was putting it out. They actually pouring water on the building for two days.

The reason I remember this is because one of my friends remarked that he had been one of the children to burn down the college barn back home. In his defense, he was only three years old at the time.

He and a friend, he told me, had been playing with matches. That is, they would light a match, throw it on the ground, then stomp it out. They did this several times. The problem, of course, is that they only failed to get the fire out once, but once was enough.

We were joking with him at the time, but he suggested it might be wise not to mention his firebug days, especially at the scene of a fire.

Now that I think about it, I remember a big fire in Minneapolis, when I was very young, probably five or six. That is, some department store burned down, I think. I remember primarily the fire trucks, with all the fire hoses all over the place. I was watching from a distance, I believe, but I don't remember where. This was a long time ago.

In 1972 or 3, I lost almost everything I owned in a fire. That is, I was living in Lamoni, where I had grown up, but my parents by this time had moved to a small town called Stella, Nebraska. My mother had graduated with a teaching certificate, and that's where they ended up. (It is interesting to note that when my mother graduated from college, my parents income tripled in one year. Of course, it was well after I'd left home.)

I was moving much of my belongings to my parent's house because my situation in Lamoni was not at all stable. Therefore, my father drove over with a truck to pick up some of my stuff. We loaded all of it onto his truck, and started to drive the hundred miles or so to Nebraska. I followed in my car.

About half way there a fire broke out in the back of the truck. I remember that I sped up to stop my parents, who were unaware of the fire. Fortunately, we stopped in a small town that had a volunteer fire department. They were not very good, but my father directed their efforts, and the fire was out before the truck was destroyed.

But I lost almost everything. My record collection had been warped so bad that they could not be played. My telescope that I had built in high school was totally destroyed, something I miss to this day. My textbooks from college were either destroyed, or suffering from smoke damage. Many of my books still have a black exterior.

Most of my every day things, such as my clothes, etc, were not destroyed because they had been left in Lamoni, or were in my car. But many of my mementos from grade school and high school were lost.

This hurt very much, and I can understand the feeling someone who has suffered through this type of event might feel - totally cut off from the past.

The next time my life was touched by fire was in 1977 or 78. I was living in Ames, Iowa, with a roommate was in and out of mental hospitals on a regular basis. I really don't know exactly what was wrong, but I think it had to do with stress related to his teaching, He was a tenured faculty member in the Math department at Iowa State, and something had driven him over the edge.

Once, for example, I was told he was found walking along the roadside nude. In January.

But I had agreed to be his roommate because he needed someone, and I needed a room.

Our room was over the Cave In bar in Ames. This bar was named because when it was being built, and the basement being dug, the side wall had caved in, and the fire department next door slid into the hole. Therefore the builders were required to build a new fire department building to replace the one destroyed, and the fire department looked the same style as the bar.

One morning early, I smelled smoke, so I got up, and the hall was filled with smoke. I woke up my roommate, who spread the alarm to the other apartments, while I called 911. Actually, that did me no good at all. I told them there was a fire, and where it was at. They insisted on me answering all sorts of questions about who I was, how old I was, etc. I really don't think the fire department would have been called at all, except that one of the residents ran next door to bang on the door of the fire department.

They had incentive to get the fire out. It the building burned it would likely take the fire department with it, not a particularly strong recommendation for the department. It could happen: in Lamoni the buildings across from the fire department were scorched because one had burned down.

Once we were outside, and could investigate, we discovered that the fire started in the manager's apartment. It appears he had managed to sample too much of the produce from downstairs, and then wanted to finish it off with a cigarette. He actually got out wearing only his underwear. I suppose the firemen had had to wake him up. The firefighters gutted his apartment. That is, they threw everything out the window, so the fire would be outside instead of inside.

In our apartment, I was not the last one out. My roommate was, and he was very thoughtful, and locked the door. Never lock a door if there is a fire. The firefighters didn't know if there was anyone in the apartment, and the door was locked, so they broke the door down, and we had a door that wouldn't really lock forever after.

There was also the ice palace. That is, one winter evening, a frat in Ames caught fire. What makes it somewhat ironic, is that the frats in Ames were all going to appear before the fire department the next day to argue that the fraternities didn't need to follow the Ames fire codes.

I remember the firefighters poured water on the fire all night. I was told someone had started a fire in the fireplace without closing the door that was used to clean the ashes, and some sparks caught something on fire. From there the fire got into the walls, and the firefighters just couldn't get it out.

I didn't really watch the fire, but a few days later I walked past the fraternity that had burned. It was totally destroyed. Also, since the firefighters had pour fire on it so long at a temperature of probably ten below zero Fahrenheit, everything was covered with ice. The ground, in fact, had ice about three or four feet thick. Actually, it looked kind of like the ice palace in the movie Dr. Zhivago.

Then in 1981, I was staying at the graduate dorm at Iowa State. This dorm had kitchens set up so the foreign students could cook their meals. It appears one student left a burner on high, and it caught something on fire, so the dorm was evacuated, and the fire department called. By this time I'd been to so many fires I knew what to expect, so I actually helped them. That is, fire hoses filled with water can be very difficult to handle, so I lent a helping hand pulling the hoses where needed. None of the firefighters complained, but the head resident of the dorm did.

I got in trouble because I helped them put the fire out.

This time I didn't have any damage at all since my room was on the ground floor. My understanding is that some of the people on the top floors suffered smoke damage, but the fire was put out before any real damage occurred.

The biggest problem was not the fire, but the over-reaction on the part of the head resident. Whereas before the kitchens had been open for anyone to use, suddenly there were rules about just who could and who could not use the kitchens. There were sign up sheets, etc. There had to be two people in the kitchen at all times, etc.

Actually, none of that effected me directly, but it did indirectly. That is, a lot of my friends did use the kitchen to prepare meals from exotic places from Japan to Cyprus. My major impression was the over-reaction. That is, the problem could have been solved by installing sprinklers in four rooms, or less, and, perhaps putting up a sign.

Oh, well, it may be just as well that I left the dorm the following year to get married.

There is one other "fire" worth mentioning. It might not be called a fire, but rather an explosion. The explosion blew any fire out.

It is also good to demonstrate to high school students what to do in case of fire.

I was in high school at the time. To be exact, I was in the study hall, which was on the top floor of the Lamoni High School. If there is a fire drill, the students are supposed to go to the door closest them (there are two) and proceed to exit the building out the front and back doors.

This was a day like any other, until suddenly there was an explosion - not a small pop, but a real explosion.

At first, I froze. A few seconds after the explosion, the fire alarm went off, and somehow I didn't think it was just a drill this time. This was further supported by the fact that one of the teachers appeared at the back door, and motioned everyone to go out the front, which was different than any fire drill we'd had.

There was no panic. The students left the building in good order, and went outside. I was one of the last people out, since I was at the desk in the study hall, which was on the back side of the room, so I could see people leaving in an orderly fashion even if they were the last out.

What had happened is that the furnace had exploded. Not the boiler (fortunately) but the burner. As I said, any fire was blown out, so there was no fire, but the walls were blown out, too. That is, the Lamoni High School was constructed with the furnace outside the actual building. It was attached, but separate. The walls were three feet thick, and the explosion had moved blown the top of the wall out two feet. The building had not collapsed because of the one foot of extra wall.

The only person injured was the custodian. He had been trying to light the furnace when the explosion had occurred, and had probably caused it. He had been blown through a door, and had received burns to his face. I remember he couldn't shave for several months afterwards because of the burns. Actual, he was lucky.

My father, who was also a custodian at the time, said he was incompetent. That is, before he had worked at the school he had worked at a church. My father had taken over at the church after he left, and noted that, for example, the pressure relief valves on the hot water heater had worn out, and instead of replacing them, he had just wired them shut. If there had been any buildup of pressure, the entire church would have blown sky high. My father, of course, paid the couple of dollars required to replace the valves.

After the school was evacuated, and it was determined that there was no fire, we were sent back into the school, but only into the gym, which was almost an entirely separate structure. There we waited, exchanging stories until 1:00, when we were allowed to go home.

Some of the students said that the teacher who was teaching directly over the furnace was actually blown into the air. That teacher was a fat old lady, and I still think it would have been interesting to have seen that. There was actual damage to that room - when we resumed classes, the washboards had all been replaced with one by twos.

In any event, after the explosion, school had to be shut down for a couple of weeks while the furnace was repaired, or at least repaired to the extent that it could be used. There may have been more repairs required later when school was not in session, and it wasn't so cold, but I didn't follow that.