Friday, January 23 2004
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Friday, January 23 2004 |
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Prayers for firefighters and victims By DAVID EPPS I awakened suddenly as the urgent ringing of telephone rudely interrupted my peaceful slumber at about 5:30 a.m. on that cold, dreary day. As a law enforcement chaplain, I am often called to the scene of tragedies and this was one of those calls. I quickly dressed and stepped out into the drizzling rain which had fallen throughout the night. The temperature was a bone-chilling 33 degrees, just one degree above snowfall. I started the nearly frozen automobile, wrapped my heavy coat around me, pulled on my gloves, stuck a seldom-worn hat on my head and drove into the blackness of the night that had, so far, refused to yield to the coming dawn. By the time I arrived at the fire, which had engulfed several apartments, the car was warm. Reluctantly, I parked the black Malibu near the police and fire vehicles and stepped out again into the frigid rain. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air and the flashing blue and red light of over a dozen vehicle provided the eerie illumination. A frantic man was wondering out loud what he was going to do while a police officer promised another that she would call in the Red Cross. I soon discovered that Peachtree City firefighters had been battling the blaze for some three hours without relief. While most of the fire was out, a number of firefighters battled hot spots in the now-dangerous and unstable structure. Just under half a dozen apartments were destroyed and not all the residents would escape with their lives. Two soot-covered firefighters sat shivering in the cab of a fire truck looking completely exhausted. Others were wearily hauling out furniture of the less damaged dwellings, hoping to save as many of the victim’s possessions as possible. Several spent firefighters, clothed in T-shirts, sat on the street, slumped in exhaustion, their heavy fire-retardant coats peeled off as the steam rose from their weary backs, which were still being pelted with rain in near-freezing temperatures. Other firefighters made their way through the second story of the still burning apartment looking for survivors or, failing that, for more victims. One, overcome by the heavy smoke, hung his body out the window and vomited. A row of name tags rested on the tailgate of a pickup truck. I asked what these were and a man said that anyone who went into the building had to leave his nametag behind so that they would know who was inside the burning building. One nametag was melted beyond recognition, a reminder of how hot the flames were and how close one man had been to the inferno, even before he went inside. I was told that a victim had been found. As I was led into the apartment, I could see the sadness on the faces of those who had been battling so hard to save every life. I took off my sodden wool hat, stood over the victim, quietly prayed, and administered “last rites,” or prayers of commitment to God. Both firefighters and police personnel stood quietly and respectfully. One police officer brushed away a tear. Several softly said, “Amen,” at the end of the prayers as I made the sign of the cross. Then the battle for domination over the fire and the search for others continued. I stood in awe at these men and women who so willingly rushed into danger where others ran away from it. Cold, battered, exhausted, and wet, these firefighters fought fearlessly to contain and douse the flames and these same men and women walked courageously into blacked and smoke-filled buildings to search for total strangers who might still be trapped inside. It’s not the size of the building but the size of the heart that propels men and women into the flames. It takes no less courage to enter a burning apartment building in Peachtree City than to does to enter two burning towers of glass and steel in New York City. Each entry offers the possibility of a hellish catastrophe. Finally, a couple of hours later, I walked back to the car. The rain had finally stopped and the sun had risen behind a heavy cover of clouds and smoke. I prayed again. This time, I prayed for the family of the one who had not survived the night and I prayed for those who had been displaced from their homes. Mostly, though, I prayed for the brave and selfless men and women of the fire service who, on any given day or night, might be called out to rush into the unknown and deadly dangers that lie inside burning buildings. [David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church, which meets at 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. Sundays on Ga. Highway 34 between Peachtree City and Newnan. He may be contacted at FatherDavidEpps@aol.com or at www.CTKCEC.org.] |