On June 19 of this year (Father’s Day) we received an order for five engines to drive to Georgia to fight fire in the Okefenokee Swamp. The dads among us kissed our wives and kids goodbye, and we all headed to the southeast. There were 17 people, 5 engines, and 1 support truck. We made it from Helena to Rapid City the first night. Our plan was to spend the next night in Kansas City. First, we had to make it through Iowa; the Hawkeye State, the state in which I was born and raised. You can imagine my excitement at the prospect of showing off my home state to our crew of Montanans. Things were going great; corn, rolling hills, rivers, corn. Then we hit the little town of Shelby. Its ok, I didn’t know there was a Shelby either. Our radios began to go crazy with emergency broadcast service tornado warnings and other sorts of doom and gloom. It made sense; the sky was becoming darker by the minute. We stopped for gas and noticed what I like to call a “roach motel”. There was also a Dairy Queen and a local restaurant nearby.
The leader of our group ran over to make arrangements with the motel. They had something like six rooms available, so that was going to make for an interesting night of bonding for some of us. We drove over to the motel just as the front was approaching. Those of you who have experienced severe thunderstorms in the Midwest know that they are spectacular. There were flashes of lightning, the wind was ripping, and you could see the edge of the storm very distinctly, roiling about 500 feet above us. Some of us were doing fine, snapping pictures and shooting video. Others were making quick mental calculations as to how they could fit three people in one bathtub and survive on the second story of an old motel.
While some individuals were getting footage, the old lady running the joint says, “What are you guys doing out there?” One of our crew, who shall remain nameless, said, “Well, what are we supposed to do?” “Well I wouldn’t be standing out in the yard like a dumb ass.” An old lady called a strapping, professional Montana firefighter a dumb ass. As we were snickering at this exchange, her statement was somehow translated to: “Take shelter NOW! The tornado is here. You are going to die!” So we did what anyone would do. We ran. Fast.
Ever seen a group of dumb-assed firefighters trying to look cool and nonchalant while running from a tornado? Well, I have. You could even say I lived it. Not my proudest day on the job. As we neared shelter we began to realize that she did in fact say “dumb ass”, and not, “run for your lives”.
We went back to looking cool and nonchalant.
Next time we will continue the journey south toward Georgia, and talk about the importance of having safe-words.
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