Smoke and Windows - Part 1
Sunday October 3, 2021 – Saturday October 9 is Fire Prevention week. We are thankful for the work of the FDNY and all firefighters around the world. Please educate your children and families about fire.
Before reading this blog please take the sample fire safety test below. Place your answers in the comment section below the blog.
1. When a fire starts you have:
a. 10 minutes to leave your house.
b. 5 minutes to leave your house.
c. 1 minute to leave your house.
2. Why do you need to stay low in a fire?
3. If there is a fire in your house at night, you will be able to see clearly? *
a. True
b. False
It was a crisp, fall day a few years ago in a November Queens week. The date was 2017/18. Occasional sunlight filtered through massive blocks of blankets of gray clouds. It was right before the عرس الذئب (pronounced Ar's A'Dib) Wolf’s wedding in North Africa, when sun and rainfall compete with each other. I rushed out the house like a New Yorker so that I could get to work early. I was trying to turn over a new leaf. I wanted to take my time, smell the roses, appreciate the minutes. I wanted to be a tourist in my own town. However, I had to make a stop off at the Bodega on Hollis Avenue to get my personality. I walked in, passed the fruit stands and newspapers.
“Salaam Habibi.” I called out.
“Ya Hala.” The Yemeni manager responded standing akimbo behind the counter.
I walked over to the coffee maker. It was self-service. Spilled sugar sprawled all over the counter, packets were in disarray between dried drops of spilled coffee. I poured out my hot dark brown personality in a blue paper NYC coffee cup, grabbed the milk out of the glass fridge and made it lite and sweet. I placed my four quarters on the table and left with a Shu-kran. (Thank you in Arabic)
I drove down the street, 205th, and, feeling good about my punctual self, I just absorbed the peeling bark of sycamore trees, floating leaves, the houses, the chimneys. I saw a wisp of white smoke rise out of a chimney. I thought of crunchy leaves under footsteps, little children hiding under raked piles, trees blushing in orange and red, and fireplaces. “Wait a minute!” I mused. The design of the homes in this South-East Queens community does not include fireplaces, or at the very least functional ones.
Since the house was only two blocks away, I figured I’d drive that way.
I pulled up in front of the house, clicked on my hazard blinkers, walked up to the house, knocked on the front door and…no one answered. I backed up a few steps and looked up. The house seemed empty. I peeked around the right side of the house and slowly walked over. Wisps of white steam by the basement window drifted upward and outside like the pleasant vapor that sifts out of a laundromat. I walked towards the side of the house to check. My sense of smell was not that good, but it seemed strange for the steam from the washers and dryers to be venting on that side. I reversed course to loop to the other side of the house and observed that the 2nd floor window was open.
At that moment a 10-foot blast of hot air, smoke, and flames roared out the window along with a partial curtain. Confirmed! I banged on the side door yelling: “Anyone home? There’s a fire!” Next I punched in 911 on my phone while still banging on the door.
“What is your emergency?” The operator asked.
My voice shook and I was out of breath: “There’s a…a…a fire!” I felt like I had run a marathon standing in place on a treadmill.
“What is your location?” the operator asked. I walked around to the front of the house and gave the address. I put my phone on speaker as I decided to multitask while warning the other neighbors. I walked up to one of the doors and rang the bell. The door flew open and an imposing man came to the door. He barked: “Whuuuuut?!”
I replied and pointed: “Your neighbor’s house is on fire! I wanted to warn you just in case the fire spreads and jumps to your house so you can protect your family.”
The door slammed in my face. Total shock and disbelief replaced the surging adrenaline through my veins. I was used to getting the occasional door slammed in my face due to the volunteer work I regularly participated in on the weekends, but this was unbelievable.
Undeterred I went to the neighbor on the other side of the burning building and rang that bell. I repeated the message to the pleasant young woman who answered the door as behind me a Spanish man walked by and walked right up to the burning house’s front door. Her face contorted to horror as I heard the smash of glass as the man broke the transom above the front door. She cried: “Oh my God! There’s an old woman that lives there alone!”
I rushed out of her yard as the Spanish man started to push open the burning house’s front door. He struggled as something heavy was wedged and prevented the door from completely swinging open. He was able to open it about 8 inches.
He turned to look at me as I approached the porch: “Can you help me?” He unraveled the clothing that he had balled around his fist. “There’s a body…”