Thursday, July 4, 2002

Admiration and Adrenaline

For two St. Petersburg firefighters, the Fourth of July takes on a special meaning.

BROADWATER/MAXIMO--A crackle comes over the radio, filling the room at Fire Station No. 11.

Donnel Cook, 27, a probationary firefighter, abandons his post by the sink of dishes. He rushes from the kitchen to where questions are being asked, excitement in his face.

"Did they say 11?"

"They said 1."

The eight men on duty settle in again. No alarm has sounded. Cook goes back to the dishes.

The firefighters of St. Petersburg Fire Department station No. 11 work in three teams that work for 24 hours every third day. After roll call at 8 a.m., the team begins its shift by taking inventory of all equipment and ensuring everything works properly. Donnel Cook, who has been with the department for six months, helps check the station's engine.

It is Independence Day. Less than 10 months before, more than 300 firefighters in New York City died. The events of Sept. 11 redefined the nation and displaced the routine of rescue workers. But the attacks failed to repress the commitment two men have for their job. One unseasoned, one veteran.

James Walton, a tall, solid man, and Cook, sturdy with a buzz cut, stand in front of a red fire truck. It’s early morning at Fire Station No. 11. Walton holds a clipboard in hand. On it are pages of lists and, with 16 years of firefighting experience, (all but one at this station) he guides Cook through the inventory process.

The inventory includes items absent from the list a year ago. Four Level C decontamination suits. A roll of tape to seal off ankle and wrist openings. A chemical detector. It’s all in case of a biological attack. Walton calls it an "alarm system," increased safeguards after the events of Sept. 11.

Bert Schleissing joined the fire department three years ago after retiring from the Navy. Keeping the station clean is important because more than 20 firefighters, paramedics and officers share the space and equipment.

On past July Fourths, firefighters thought about fireworks. Now, says Lt. Steven Watkins, they think about anything that looks suspicious.

Cook gets a far-away look in his eyes when he talks about Sept. 11. It is awe and admiration for the rescue workers who put their lives on the line that day, to those who were part of something so huge.

He’s worked for the St. Petersburg Fire Department since Jan. 7, but it is only Cook’s second shift here. The probationary period requires two-month stints at each firehouse in the city.

Cook didn’t want to work at Home Depot in the tile department his whole life. It was rigorous work, unrewarding work. After two and a half years of urging from a co-worker, Cook decided to go to school to become a firefighter. When he first began, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right choice.

Now, he’s sure he did. "You have to be an adrenaline junkie for this job," Cook says. There is no one thing he loves best about the job--the camaraderie one develops after spending 24-hour shifts together; something new every day. "And you get to ride in a fire truck. What little boy didn’t want to do that? It’s a pretty cool gig."

Cook wonders aloud whether he will always feel this way about the job. Walton still does, even after 16 years. The enthusiasm, the rush of adrenaline, is stronger than ever for him. There’s a sense of satisfaction every day. Their purpose is to help--always. "People embrace us."

Lt. Mike Buppert's equipment waits for an alarm while he cooks lunch for the eight men on duty. The cheeseburgers and vegetable soup were left at the table, however, as Lt. Steven Watkins, James Walton and Bert Schleissing respond to a marine rescue call near Egmont Key.

It’s almost noon on the Fourth. So far, one call has taken two men from the station. But nearly everyone is home, and the firefighters expect a busy day. The "good ol’ American meal," as Lt. Watkins calls it, is on the table. The firefighters at No. 11 have loaded their plates for lunch. Cheeseburgers from the grill. Vegetable soup. All the condiments: ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, pickles, relish.

An alarm sounds, blasting through the room, instantly bringing the firefighters to their feet. In seconds, Walton and two others have disappeared, their plates barely touched. Cook follows them out, energized. A minute later he comes back in. They didn’t need him for this one.

Maybe next time.

James Walton, right, explains the use and care of medical supplies and fire fighting tools to Donnel Cook. Cook is working his second shift at Fire Station No. 11; he will spend two months at each station in the city to complete his first-year training.