My First Gig As A Roving Reporter Was An All NIghter

MY FIRST FIRE - A ONE LANE DIRT ROAD - A RENTAL DATSUN - NOT ALLOWED TO RUN OVER DEPLOYED FIRE HOSES - TRAPPED THAT NIGHT

THE EXCELLENT FEATURE SERIES, THE FIRST OF THREE, IN THIS WEEK'S THE GRAVENHURST BANNER / BRACEBRIDGE EXAMINER, LOOKING AT THE VOLUNTEERS OF OUR MUSKOKA FIRE DEPARTMENTS, BROUGHT UP SOME MEMORIES OF MY OWN RELATIONSHIP WITH OUR REGIONAL FIRE BRIGADES. SOME WERE GOOD RELATIONS…..SOME WEREN'T QUITE SO GOOD. AS A ROOKIE REPORTER, BACK IN THE LATE SPRING OF 1979, AT LEAST I THINK IT WAS, I CHASED MY FIRST BRACEBRIDGE FIRE TRUCK. (I USED TO DO THAT AS A KID ON A BIKE BUT THAT DOESN'T COUNT). I WAS WORKING AS A BRAND NEW…."GREEN AS THEY COME" REPORTER FOR THE GEORGIAN BAY-MUSKOKA LAKES BEACON, OUT OF MACTIER. I LIVED IN BRACEBRIDGE AND COMMUTED TO WORK. AS THE HERALD-GAZETTE WAS THEN A SISTER PUBLICATION, THE REPORTING STAFF OVER-LAPPED WHEN NECESSARY TO MAKE COVERAGE MORE EFFICIENT. SO WHEN I HEARD THE FIRE SIREN THAT NIGHT, FROM MY MANITOBA STREET APARTMENT, I MADE A MAD DASH TO GRAB CAMERA BAG AND A HANDFUL OF PENS, AND FLEW DOWN THOSE STAIRS TO MY NEVER-TO-BE-TRUSTED DATSUN. SON OF A GUN, IT STARTED ON THE FIRST CRANK. IT USUALLY TOOK ABOUT TEN TRIES TO GET SUCCESSFUL IGNITION. MY ADRENALIN WAS PUMPING, HEART POUNDING, AND IT WAS EXCITING STUFF…..FOR A LARGELY SPORTS, COMMUNITY EVENTS REPORTER. IT WOULD BE MY FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH A STRUCTURE FIRE.

I MUST EXPLAIN WHAT BEING A ROOKIE REPORTER MEANS. ADVANCEMENT AND TRUST DEPENDS ON OUTPUT AND THE MORE AMAZING THE STORY OR PHOTOGRAPH, THE MORE LIKELY YOUR BYLINE WILL BE SITUATED, FOR ALL TO SEE, BENEATH A "FRONT PAGER." ENOUGH "FRONT PAGERS" AND YOU'D BE ON THE WAY TO THE DAILIES OF THIS COUNTRY. HAVING VERY FEW CREDITS TO THAT POINT, I WANTED THIS FOR THE HERALD-GAZETTE. I'D ENJOYED SOME BIG FRONT PAGERS FOR THE BEACON, BUT THE HERALD PROBABLY HAD FOUR TO FIVE TIMES THE READERSHIP.

HOW EAGER WAS I? I BROKE SOME TRAFFIC RULES, FOLLOWED AN EMERGENCY VEHICLE LIKE A FLEA ON A DOG'S BEHIND, AND TRIED TO GET MY CAMERA PREPARED WHILE STILL DRIVING. I KNOW, I KNOW, I WAS BEING PARTICULARLY UNSAFE, IN THAT ATTEMPT TO BEAT THE OTHER MEDIA TO THE FIRE SCENE. ALSO, I SHOULD NOTE, I WAS SCARED TO DEATH OF FIRE AND ACCIDENT SCENES BUT THERE'S SOMETHING QUITE STRANGE ABOUT "HEAT OF THE MOMENT" STUFF, AND THE ALLURE OF BEING FIRST AT SOMETHING OTHER THAN THE COFFEE MACHINE EACH MORNING.

THE FIRE SCENE WAS, FROM WHAT I REMEMBER, PRETTY MUCH ON THE DIVIDING LINE BETWEEN BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST. I WAS FOLLOWING THE BRACEBRIDGE RESPONDERS THAT NIGHT. WHAT A NIGHT IT WAS! I WAS THE ONLY REPORTER TO ATTEND. IT WAS A GENUINE "SCOOP," FOR THE ROOKIE. THE EDITOR WOULD BE SO PLEASED.

There was only a single emergency vehicle ahead of mine, and it was one of the small fire trucks. If I had taken a moment or two, as I was legally obliged, I would have seen the four other emergency vehicles with flashing lights, chasing my bumper down that dirt road. At that point, I couldn't have pulled off the road, without putting the Datsun into the ditch, and that wouldn't have helped the firemen trying to get by. It was a very narrow road, with ditches and bush offering little forgiveness either way. We came around one sharp bend in the road, and the glow in the night sky was incredible. Eerie. Frightening. All the questions start pummeling your brain from the inside, trying to get out. Are there going to be casualties? Fatalities? Will the occupants have to be rescued? Should I help the rescue, or just take the photographs? This is an age-old dilemma for the press. I was pretty sure, I would help with the rescue and take pictures later.

When we came into the driveway area of the house, and an open field where we could park, the house was totally involved, and if there had been anyone in that structure, it was already too late to mount a rescue. It was a leg-wobbling vision in the night sky, with the forest as a background. The good news, before I go any further, is that the owner of the house was away at the time, and a dog that had been tied outside, was rescued without injury.

Also worth mentioning here, is that as a Bracebridge kid, and having played all my sports in town, and living in a 12 unit apartment up on Alice Street……and my father working at the local lumber yard, I knew most of the firemen, and they knew me…..mostly from my rapscallion pranks as a youngster. "Hey is that the Currie kid," I heard one of the fireman ask a partner. "Looks like him….what the heck's he doing here." I guess I didn't look like either a home owner or a reporter…..which really made them ponder my place in the emergency situation. Until, of course, I started to take photographs, and one or two firemen noticed I had a press sticker on the dashboard of my rental car.

As the fire event continued, some of the friends of our family, who were also firemen…..gave me some tips on getting some close-ups of the structure without fear of being blown to pieces, or hit by fallen debris. One of the fireman, who lived in our apartment complex, told me to watch for the shrapnel. "What shrapnel Bob?" I asked. "From those over there," he pointed to the sky. He was referring to the small fire balls from the spray cans, from paint to cleaners, setting off from the heart of the fire, like small rockets, raining down flaming metal everywhere. It was like the 24th of May fireworks. What was disconcerting, more than getting hit on the head, was the fact the old Datsun was getting smacked pretty hard by falling items, carried by the wind. I'd parked in a perfect spot, to catch the flaming debris. I spent more time trying to protect the car than taking photographs. Geez, it was like a volcano. The guy must have had a thousand half-full spray cans. So I got one of my important fire-truck-chasing lessons. When I decided to move the car out of harm's way……by golly, I discovered the good humor of the fire brigade ended at "Hello Ted," when I tried to drive over a hose in use. "Hey…..what do you think you're doing. You can't drive over the hoses." Gads. I didn't know. Honestly. "I'm new at this reporting thing guys……just tell me how I'm going to get out of here?" Two of the firemen walking back to the truck, just shook their heads. My friend Bob let me know, "Teddy, you're going to be here for awhile…..there are hoses spread out all over here, and there's no way out of the road." "Oh……dear," I responded. But I had my first real lesson on why it's not a good idea, to beat the first responders to an emergency situation. I sat in that cold car (I had a spoon-full of gas in the tank) for about four hours, watching the brigade douse the house fire. It was trial by error……experience by immersion. Yet I'm glad I was there…..because in four hours you get to see a lot of interesting stuff……situations most media-types would have missed……such as the incredible amount of work involved mopping up an emergency scene, and re-attaching all the hoses onto the fire trucks. I got to see it all…..uncensored. I got to see some very wet, exhausted but relieved fire fighters, who did not, during that emergency at least, have to think about the casualties, an event like this, could have caused.

I won't say they didn't have some fun with "Scoop" (what they called me), every time they walked past the car, and saw my nose pressed-up against the glass. I did it once…..only once…..and they never had to tell me about the hoses again.

I got the front pager in The Herald-Gazette that issue. In fact, it was hurried-up by the editor, because the paper was going to press the next day. How exciting. Over the years as "Scoop Currie," I got quite a few front pagers of which I'm still very proud. And I made a few friends of firemen…..who never let me forget the night we spent together in the Muskoka bush…….and the dimpling of my green Datsun, that was pretty black by sunrise.