Going Down
(Taken from Notes From the Fireground by Thomas Dunne)
If someone woke you up at 2 a.m. and asked you to draw a picture of a firehouse you would most likely kick them out of your bedroom and immediately reach for either your cell phone or your weapon, depending on your political bent or NRA membership. But if for some reason you chose to grab your pencils and start drawing, you would probably gather artistic inspiration from a number of sources. Childhood images from storybooks, cartoons, and television shows undoubtedly linger somewhere in the inner recesses of your brain. Subconscious memories of the firehouse on your street that you walked past hundreds of times but never really looked at may kick in. Snippets of movies you watched as an adult might influence your artwork, perhaps elements from that scene in Pleasantville where a group of clueless firefighters are patiently awaiting their next call to rescue a cat stuck in a tree.
Regardless of the source of your graphic inspiration, your drawing is guaranteed to include certain core elements. There would be a number of burly guys staged somewhere in the work, many of them sporting healthy mustaches. Their choice of garb might vary but there would no doubt be an ample sprinkling of red suspenders holding up their pants. The Dalmatian would naturally make his appearance somewhere in the scene. And last but not least, the sliding pole would be situated in the precise spot that would give a proper sense of perspective to the entire drawing.
The firehouse sliding pole seems as American as apple pie. (And apparently as British as tea and clotted cream. Remember that unflattering view of Renee Zellweger sliding a pole in Bridget Jones Diary?) It’s hard to picture a firehouse without one. The thought of a firefighter sliding down a pole is an image that combines excitement, fun, fascination, and danger all at the same time. However, most people’s familiarity with poles is limited to what they retained from watching ancient episodes of the Batman television series. Let’s face it, you are never going to see a pole in your home or place of business. The real estate lawyer working on the tenth floor of your office is not about to instantly slide down to the tax shelter department on the ninth floor to arrive in time for an important meeting. (Though it must be said that Anderson Cooper lives in an old renovated firehouse in New York City that still has one of the original poles. I have an image of him rapidly sliding down to scoop a story for CNN.)
Questions about sliding down a metal pole always came up when I told people I was a firefighter. They often seemed interested or amused by an act that I had performed so many times that I seldom really thought about it. It was just a small part of my job that I kind of took for granted. However, if I do pause to examine it, the act and the art of pole sliding was a rather cool experience. I got to slide my first pole when I was about 11 years old. I remember looking down the pole hole opening on the second floor of my father’s firehouse and seeing his reassuring face standing at the bottom some 20 feet below me. I cautiously reached out and wrapped my arms and legs around the slick, polished brass. And I can still sense the boyish enthusiasm I felt as I slowly descended from what seemed like an enormous height.
The officer on duty would probably not have been thrilled to know that a kid was sliding one of the poles in his firehouse. If I had been hurt he would have faced an enormous amount of paperwork along with the awkward challenge of explaining why an 11-year-old had even been engaged in such an activity. But sliding down that pole provided a sense of excitement that easily rivaled any of the mediocre athletic or academic accomplishments I had attained up to that point in my life. Little did I know that more than 50 years later I would still be sliding down poles and still enjoying it.
In reality the pole is less a cultural icon and more a practical tool. Seconds counted in my profession. Time was of the essence for medical calls. Flame spread at a geometric rate in building fires. If a firefighter’s response time was shortened by just a few seconds it could literally mean the difference between someone living or dying. The pole is a tool that has been around for a long time. Like many practical developments it sprang from the creative skills of a single individual, someone who was able to view the obvious, see the need for change, and innovate a unique solution. In 1878 David Kenyon’s moment had arrived. He was a captain working in a three-story Chicago firehouse. Back then the feed for the horses was regularly delivered by a wagon that had a long wooden pole placed on top of the hay to keep it from falling off. When the wagon arrived at the firehouse both the hay and the wooden pole were stored on the top floor of the building. After David observed a firefighter using the pole to rapidly slide down when a fire alarm came in, he decided to build a permanent installation and he had a hole cut in the floor. The sliding pole had been officially invented and a tradition had started. Within two years the first brass pole was installed by the Boston Fire Department followed by other departments throughout the country. It was a natural fit since most fire stations were two or three stories high and David’s simple concept quickly replaced the spiral staircases and sliding chutes that were previously used. I don’t know if he filed for a patent or if he made any money from his invention but I think it’s kind of sad that the device wasn’t named for him. If life were fair we would have been sliding down the “Kenyon” rather than the pole for the past 140 years.
However you want to label it, a pole is a device that requires some training to properly master. The act of sliding is a step-by-step process that, over time, becomes just one fluid motion requiring no conscious thought, rather like riding a bicycle. Step one is to pull back the hinged, horizontal pole guard in place to keep anyone from accidentally falling down the hole in the floor. Next, you grab the pole with both hands and wrap your legs around it, keeping the outside of your left ankle flush against the pole. The pole guard snaps back into position behind you and creates a definitive sound informing you that there is no turning back, you are now committed to the slide. As you cling to the pole you adjust your rate of descent by the pressure of your hand grip. The speed can range from a slow, casual descent suitable for a visit to the kitchen to a swift plunge geared for an emergency response when you know you are the first due unit for a fire. The act of landing is the final and most crucial aspect of the slide. Here lies the greatest potential for injury, sprained ankles, most commonly. The feet of an experienced pole artist will contact the floor pads located at the bottom of the pole with just enough momentum to gently touch down followed by a graceful step away from the pole to avoid being hit by the next slider. A true sliding guru is capable of coming to a complete stop at any position on the pole if, let’s say, he happened to want a perspective of what life looked like midway between two floors. On the other hand, the pole novitiate fresh from a shower might be guilty of making an error like sliding with wet hands, which will produce a screeching sound that can be as irritating to the hands as it is to the ears. After hundreds of slides one reaches a comfort level that makes it all seem natural. I don’t think anyone has ever actually slid while asleep but I often recall being abruptly awoken from a deep sleep in the bunk room and suddenly mounting the fire truck on the floor below with absolutely no memory of having been on the pole at all.
The type of pole you encountered varied as you traveled to different firehouses. My favorite, and the most common, was the traditional pole made of polished brass. It combined classic decor with a slick surface that allowed for a great hand grip and a readily controlled descent. The pole also wobbled a bit as you went down which added to the overall experience. Some of the more modern firehouses had stainless steel poles. These just didn’t look as good and had a significantly different feel. The wider diameter of the pole combined with the harsher steel surface gave them a sort of industrial feel. There’s something to be said about the spirit of a material. Brass seemed to have a soul while stainless steel was kind of sterile. Also, there was no give and no wobble at all when you slid down a steel pole unlike the brass ones which moved and “interacted” with your body as you descended. It was as though the brass welcomed your embrace while the steel just briefly tolerated your presence.
At one point there were a few poles around that had a mechanically activated metal shield positioned beneath the pole hole opening. The shield would snap open like a clamshell just before you slid down and just as quickly slam shut behind you once you passed through. It was designed to contain the diesel fumes produced by the trucks on the first floor. Sliding down those poles was kind of strange and conjured up vague images of the birth process as you were delivered from floor to floor through a yielding orifice. Fortunately, this type of pole was short-lived. Eventually adequate ventilation systems were installed that provided for cleaner air throughout the firehouse and granted a respite from the awkward experience of using such devices. After all, sliding should be a practical and enjoyable process and not the source of psychological analysis.
The ultimate pole experience was to be found in three-story firehouses. In those buildings you could instantly transport yourself from the gymnasium and locker room environment of the top floor through the dark, comforting world of the second-floor bunk room to the heavy truck garage on the first floor, all in a matter of seconds that bypassed the time-consuming use of two long stairways. I had a preference too for the older firehouses because it seemed like they had higher ceilings. For a brief time I worked in an engine company on the Lower East Side that had the longest sliding poles in the city. Twenty-eight feet may not be a world record but it sure felt like it when you were going down.
In retrospect, regardless of the type of pole, the act of sliding can be construed to have had a significance that ran much deeper than the mere act of rapid movement between floors. Much like Captain James Kirk being electronically transported from the Starship Enterprise it was a sort of symbolic physical and psychic leap of faith into the next, yet-to-be-experienced moments of your existence that awaited you on the floor below. And those moments could range from savoring a delicious meal in the comfort of a raucous firehouse kitchen to crawling blindly through a smoke-filled room, desperately trying to find your way out of a burning building.
Unfortunately, there are those who want to bring the era of the sliding pole to an end. For some time there has been an ongoing debate regarding the safety and future practicality of fire house poles. Pole opponents cite factors such as sliding injuries as a reason for eliminating them along with the potential for spreading diesel exhaust to the firefighters’ living quarters. In addition, they highlight budgetary concerns arising from insurance expenses combined with enormous installation costs. As an example, two poles were installed not long ago in Seattle at a cost of $150,000 each.
On the other hand, pole supporters can point to the dramatically improved ventilation systems that are now standard in most firehouses. When I first entered the FDNY there were no air circulation devices and it was just kind of accepted that the diesel fumes would eventually work their way out of the building on their own. Most of the television screens on the floor above were so covered with soot you could write your name on them. That is not the case now since the truck exhaust is hooked up to a hose and sucked out of the firehouse on every response.
Proponents of the pole can also cite the time-saving aspect of sliding down as opposed to using the stairs. I’ve seen various studies that indicate a range of five to 25 seconds in reduced response time. And with tight, expensive real estate markets in most urban areas the multi-story firehouse is likely to remain commonplace. But the fiercest pole defenders draw their support simply from the long-standing tradition of the sliding pole. Firefighters are some of the most conservative people you will encounter and they do not easily surrender their core values and customs.
It remains to be seen what the ultimate fate of the sliding pole will be. But it is at least possible that it might eventually go the way of the ice truck or the manual typewriter. If they are to disappear altogether you might want to make some room on your bucket list to slide down at least one time. It may not have the excitement or pizazz of skydiving or wind surfing but does have a definite physical appeal. Perhaps you can befriend a firefighter and coerce him into letting you try it. Or better yet, see if you can finagle yourself onto the guest list for Anderson Cooper’s next party. As for me, it’s a part of my job that I still kind of miss. And if I someday happen to come into some big money I will have to at least entertain the thought of installing one in my home.