Inside an inferno Inside an inferno (February 27, 2004)

Our reporter endures high heat during controlled burn

By Julie O'Shea

The temperature inside the teal green house on Oak Street was hovering between 800 and 1,200 degrees Fahrenheit. The blaze, set in the living room only seconds earlier, had quickly spread, running up the far wall and fanning out across the ceiling.

Crouched in the hallway by the front door, a small gasp lodged in my throat, I anxiously grabbed hold of the jacket hem of the firefighter squatting next to me and closed my eyes as a fresh cloud of superheated air hit my oxygen mask.

The battalion chief who had escorted our "VIP" group into the house, where the Mountain View Fire Department was practicing controlled burn exercises on Feb. 19, said he'd pull us all out the second anybody asked to leave.

I, however, was determined that I wouldn't be the one to ask.

Half an hour earlier, I had been suiting up for the tour alongside Mike Kasperzak, who'd bragged that he was the only Mountain View City Council member brave enough to enter a controlled burn. This was to be his second foray. Shoving on the oversized fire boots I'd been issued, I vowed that if Kasperzak could do this, then so could I.

But now, as I sat in silent prayer, I wasn't so sure.

Biting down on my lower lip, I watched as a swarm of firefighters worked to contain the inferno; the only thing louder than their shouted commands was the pound of my heart, threatening to leap out of my chest if the flames got any closer.

"This is not a pretend fire. It's not a Hollywood fire. This is real." The words of fire department spokesperson Lynn Brown, told to me only minutes before I entered the burning house, rang in my ear as I took in the scene unfolding just feet in front of me. It certainly looked like something out of Ron Howard's "Backdraft" but for the searing heat pushing up against my thick fire-retardant jacket and pants, reminding me that this was no movie set.

The tops of our helmets were probably a crisp 500 degrees, battalion chief Demetrious Shaffer yelled to us above the commotion.

Instinctively, my gloved hand touched the brim of my helmet as I listened to Shaffer explain how the fire's black smoke would soon envelope us into complete darkness.

No sooner had he spoken when the fire seemed to regurgitate a blinding fog of black soot and ash that rushed toward us like an out-of-control freight train.

My heart now in my throat, I turned toward Shaffer and said it was time to crawl out.

I had seen enough.

Immediately, the front door was yanked open, and I, on my hands and knees, scurried toward the light.

Greeted by the 40 or so firefighters who had come out for the training exercise, I was asked what I thought of the experience. Staggering to my feet and working to keep the fire pants from falling down around my waist, I pulled the oxygen mask away from my face and took in the cool February breeze.

"This is why," I said, pausing to steady my footing, "I am a journalist and not a firefighter."

The training exercise, the second for the fire department since last fall, gives officials a chance to tackle a realistic emergency situation under controlled conditions. Five members from the fire academy were on hand last week to participate in the event.

The owners of the 1940s-style house at the end of Oak Street had been planning to demolish the old building when the city stepped forward and asked if police and fire officials could use the structure for training purposes. In exchange, the city agreed to cover the cost of its demolition.

By 5 p.m. last Thursday, fire officials had it burnt to the ground.

E-mail Julie O'Shea at joshea@mv-voice.com

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