Fighting fire with courage

Driver Engineer Michael Poole points out into the distance in the bucket of Tower 1, one of only two towers in the entire Marion County Fire Rescue fleet. The bucket can fit up to four people and raises to a height of 100 feet [Caroline Brauchler/Ocala Gazette].

If you have to put your life in the hands of others, the firefighters at Marion County Fire Rescue Station 21 are worthy of your trust. I can say this without hesitation after spending a full 24-hour shift with the crew at the busiest fire station in Marion County.

The A Shift at Station 21, which began at 7:30 a.m. Monday and ended at 7:30 a.m. Tuesday, was led by two officers who clearly did not need to ask for respect from everyone else in the station. Their authority was evident and hard-earned.

Lt. Victoria Barreras is just as informative and kind as she is formidable and strong. For my shift, I would be riding in Engine 21 with Lt. Brad Goode, who has the kind of expertise and skill only acquired through years of service.

Joining us on the engine were Driver Engineer Michael Poole and Firefighter Paramedic Riley Penagos. The three of them worked in unison as a highly skilled team as they patiently answered my questions, assured my safety and explained the logistics to me—all while bantering and joking with each other.

The “Gazette” requested the opportunity to ride along with the firefighters at Station 21 to see how those who handle more emergency calls than any other firehouse in our rapidly growing county keep answering the call day after day.

The morning started off slow, with a first call just before 8:30 a.m., when we responded to a fire alarm going off in a residential neighborhood, which turned out to be a false alarm—not an emergency.

Calls came in quick succession for the rest of the morning, the majority of which were medical emergencies for elderly residents. These calls are common for Station 21, which at 7884 SW 90th St. is in the heart of the On Top of the World communities.

The station is called “Friendship Station” after the name of their area of jurisdiction, but the crew lived up to the true meaning of the word. They treated each patient with the same concern and care as they did for the frightened, crying 6-year-old they responded to later in the evening.

On the way to a call at an assisted living facility, Penagos noticed a familiar name, someone he had cared for the day before. As he entered the elderly patient’s room, he smiled and said, “Remember me?”

Even while being loaded onto a stretcher, the woman was instantly put at ease and responded with a slight smile, “Of course I do, sweetheart.”

Busiest station in the county

According to the MCFR website, it is the second-largest fire rescue department north of Orlando, with more than 500 employees, a $52.8 million budget and 31 fire stations. The state-certified firefighter/paramedics, firefighter/EMTs, EMTs and paramedics serve nearly 400,000 citizens. They respond to and assist with Marion County’s 1,600 square miles as well as areas within surrounding counties on an as-needed basis. MCFR crews respond to an average of 210 emergency responses each day.

Station 21 is the busiest station in all of Marion County, with more than twice the number of calls than considered safe in a year, totaling  4,457 calls, as reported in April of 2023.

In the 24 hours that I tagged along, the station’s tower, engine and three rescue vehicles ran a total of 24 calls, spanning from 8:20 a.m. until 1:30 a.m.

I counted myself lucky that the calls did not continue through the night, as they typically would. With the majority of the firefighters on shift all sleeping in one room, when the tones go off for a call it wakes everyone up, not just those who need to respond.

The unique pressures of the profession

During my 24 hours spent running calls, getting to know the 12 people on shift, having our meals together and watching them work, I frequently was taken aback not only by the positivity and dedication these first responders showed for their work, but their energy and productivity at every step of their long, grueling shift.

The system they work for is inherently flawed, with sleep deprivation listed as one of the biggest concerns for many firefighters, not only at this station and department but nationwide. The suicide rate among firefighters is steep, with firefighters 38% more likely than the general public to take their own lives. The likelihood of a career firefighter contracting cancer is even higher, at 68%.

Marion County firefighters have access to mental health counseling through their employment benefits, a peer support line to speak with other firefighters, and a chaplain on call 24/7 as support for these first responders in an effort to prevent suicide, mental health issues and addiction.

Despite these risk factors, which could wear down even the strongest of people, the crew at Station 21 sprinted, not walked, to their vehicles when the call came in for a structure fire. As we raced there, with me in the back seat of Engine 21, Poole seemed to defy the laws of physics while driving the engine toward the growing column of smoke.

Compared to the consistent chatter and banter among the three men on most other calls, the ride to the scene of the fire was mostly quiet. It was as if the team didn’t need to speak but instead could read each other’s minds, because a fire like this is exactly what they train for.

We arrived on the scene within minutes, and I watched as an impressive total of 22 MCFR personnel worked to fight the fire that ravaged a detached workshop surrounded by single-family homes. Most of the firefighters on scene were inside the structure, despite the risk of collapse.

“Most roof collapses happen within 20 minutes of the call,” Barreras told me once we returned to the station.

If these firefighters were thinking about this statistic while fighting the fire from inside the garage, I would have never guessed it. Many of them even eagerly rushed into the fire, knowing that this is what they trained for—to intervene in an emergency, save people from potential harm and mitigate damage to property.

Despite their sacrifices, first responders are often taken for granted. Most people expect firefighters to arrive within minutes of calling 911 but have no idea how much preparation, training and skill it takes to make sure the trucks are properly supplied, their gear is on, and a plan of attack is made—all within seconds of the call coming in before leaving the station.

Just getting to the scene is perilous for the crew. Most of the civilian drivers on busy State Road 200 and surrounding roads failed to move out of the way as required by law as the huge fire engine, with emergency lights and siren on, raced toward the scene.

Maintenance and more

The crew’s duties go beyond responding to emergencies. Most of the firefighters at Station 21 called it a firehouse, not a fire station. They spend 24 hours at a time, and sometimes even more than that, with each other on shift.

They do household chores, maintain their gear, wash the vehicles and keep up the firehouse just as diligently, if not more so, than some people do in their own homes. All these duties come on top of two hours of inside or outside training per day, exercising in the firehouse gym and running near-constant calls as the busiest station in the county.

“It gives us a sense of pride in our craft and in our truck,” Penagos said as he and a few others worked to scrub up the engine between calls. “We like the look of it.”

Through the day, Firefighter Paramedic Danny Ebekke was responsible for cooking meals for all 12 people on shift, 13 including me. For breakfast, he cooked up a breakfast of a sausage, egg and cheese dish with tater tots on the side. I asked if he was cooking out of desire or necessity, and he explained to me that they take turns—whoever is sitting in the back seat of Tower 1 is responsible for cooking that day.

He gave me options of different things he could cook for dinner and made a meal of a Cuban sandwich, plantains, rice and black beans at my request. I was both thrilled and touched, and that dinner with the crew made spending an intimidating 24 hours in a firehouse feel just a little bit more like home.

The training never stops

After the Engine 21 crew took me along to refuel the truck, several people sat with me at the long firehouse table to share stories of some of their most memorable calls. To me, even the thought of being in situations where you must race time to tackle a fire, save someone from a drug overdose or extricate someone from a vehicle after a crash struck fear into my heart.

“When the really bad calls come in, do you ever feel afraid?” I asked.

For many of the firefighters who have children at home, they agreed that calls involving children are the worst, especially when there’s nothing anyone could do to save the child.

“I think it’s that unfairness of how that’s not how it’s supposed to be, when children get killed,” Barreras said. “Kids aren’t anyone you ever want to run a call on.”

“There are always going to be some calls that are tough,” Goode said. “It’s the ones that there’s nothing that you can do, it’s just a bad call. Those are the ones that stick with me.”

Regardless of this, the majority opinion was the same: No, they do not feel afraid because they are prepared.

Through the yearslong process of becoming a firefighter, from the probationary period they have when they join the department, the constant preparation and training never stops, they said.

As I laid awake in the little bed I was assigned to sleep in that night, surrounded by the crew who slept with one eye open awaiting potential calls in the station’s bunkroom, my mind raced as I tried to imagine what these brave men and women must feel like after thousands of hours doing such a dangerous, important and awe-inspiring job.

This reminded me of something Penagos quietly remarked on earlier that day, even before I sat next to him in the back of the engine while he geared up in preparation to walk straight into a raging fire:

“You can never train enough for a job that could kill you,” he said.