With Helmets Melting, They Fought Inferno

They crawled on their bellies, hugging the floor in heat so intense that it melted their helmets.

On their backs, they lugged 100 pounds of bulky equipment and oxygen tanks up one stairwell after another. They made their way through smoke that turned the usually neon-bright corridors of the Los Angeles County Health Services Department building pitch-black. And as they opened doors, flames lashed out, consuming the fresh blasts of oxygen from the outside.

For the front-line firefighters whose mission was to knock down the worst high-rise blaze in downtown Los Angeles since the First Interstate Bank Building fire in 1988, the fire proved to be a formidable foe. They battled heat waves of up to 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit, noxious fumes and choking smoke. All this was made worse as they negotiated through a rabbit warren of cubicles and partitions.

“You couldn’t see the firefighters, you couldn’t see the walls, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face,” said one spent and sooty-faced battler of the blaze.

By all accounts, it was a heroic effort by dozens of firefighters, who managed to extinguish the fire in less than an hour, preventing far more serious and widespread damage. The hour was punctuated with moments of terror.

“We had to really calm down and think our way out or lose our lives,” said firefighter Oscar Scott.

Scott was part of a four-man crew that was the first to reach the fire-ravaged seventh floor. Armed with a two-inch hose that blasted 200 gallons of water a minute, two men worked side by side, controlling the powerful hose, while the others punched out flaming ceiling tiles overhead.

“We kept yelling back to each other, patting each other to make sure no one was lost,” said firefighter David Valadez.

As they advanced about 20 feet, they said, they encountered waves of flames.

“This orange glow started to overwhelm us,” said firefighter Joe Mendoza. “It was above us, behind us, it was starting to run along the floor.”

But in the maze of wall dividers, the retreating crew backed into a cubicle as glowing red debris fell on their backs. Valadez’s hands began to painfully steam inside his gloves.

“I starting yelling for water, my hands were starting to burn,” he said.

For Scott, the moment was the most perilous of his three-year career. Backed against a wall, he and the team found their way out by grasping the hose as their guiding lifeline.

At the stairwell door, a crew was waiting to relieve them, just as they were taught in countless drills, including one last month.

The fire was fought by the book. Such swift cooperation was one reason why the high-rise blaze--considered the most treacherous kind of fire--was contained so quickly, without lives being lost or serious injuries, said Fire Chief Donald O. Manning.

The fire was first reported at 10:06 a.m. Within seconds, nearby companies dispatched crews, who headed toward two entrances of the Figueroa Street building. Dodging chunks of glass and metal raining down on them, they burst inside and headed for the stairs.

By 10:30, hooks and ladders were coming by the dozens from throughout the city. But in a high-rise fire, the stream from the most powerful hoses cannot reach the target. This one would have to be fought from inside.

The firefighters bounded from their trucks, strapped on their cumbersome gear packs and followed the lead of the crews that had disappeared into the building minutes before.

“It was pitch-black so we found everything by feel,” said firefighter Ruben Navarro, who was among the first crews in. “We just looked for the glow, and went toward it.”

By the dozen, they entered with oxygen tanks and masks, radio transmitters, axes and chain saws to cut down doors and open up avenues of escape and attack. Some brought generator-powered fans to keep the smoke moving and to restore the air pressure that had been sucked in by the heat.

And they were all carrying portable packs of fire hoses up to the fire zone so they could tap nearby water supplies.

Some headed for the floor above the blaze and waited for flames to break through. When they did, the firefighters fought them back repeatedly with barrages of water from hoses hooked to water mains inside the building.

“You entrench yourself,” said Fire Capt. Steve Ruda, “and you wait for the fire to come.”

By challenging the flames in this way, they prevented the fire from gaining a foothold on another floor, blocking its progression upward.

Other crews, meanwhile, helped in the logistics, turning the fifth floor into a staging area where weary firefighters could take a breather while fresher troops headed upstairs.

Still more firefighters were dispatched on search-and-rescue missions, combing the building for victims or those too paralyzed by fear to escape. Slogging through the water-soaked stairwells and dank, smoky corridors, they knocked on every door, looked under every desk and scoured every nook and cranny where someone might take refuge.

“You look for people hidden, people burned, people who had heart attacks,” said one search-and-rescue worker, Gregg Olsen from Engine Co. 44 near Mt. Washington.

But most headed for the seventh floor.

“It was a zoo,” said one fire captain, hours after the fire was contained, as crews were dousing smoldering hot spots.

In all, there were dozens of firefighters in the heart of the fire, so many that they began bumping into each other.

“We couldn’t see the firefighters in front of us,” said Bill Carter, 23, from Station 30 in Echo Park. “But we knew they were there just by feeling them.”

Firefighters are taught to feel their way out of the fire by following the hose they brought in. But on the ground lay the hazards of dropped oxygen tanks, pickaxes and “spaghetti”--the confusing tangle of hose lines.

When it was all over, one fire captain lay draped across a desk in the staging area, too tired to move or to speak. His face blackened by soot, he heaved and gasped for air as a paramedic stuck an oxygen mask on his face.

Only two firefighters suffered injuries--one from smoke inhalation and the other with a hurt wrist from falling debris. All in all, everything went off without a hitch.

“This is our specialty,” said a weary Capt. Chris Burton, commander of one downtown firefighting unit, “and our guys performed to a T.”

Health Services Building Fire

A fire raced through the seventh-floor of Los Angeles County’s health services building Saturday morning. Here is a look at how firefighters battled the blaze:

A) Firefighters use ladders to access doors on side of building. Others entered through front entrance, dodging falling glass aand other debris. One firefighter was slightly injured by the falling debris.

B) Crews with oxygen, portable-hose packs and other equipment travel up winding stairs to fifth floor and set up staging area.

C) Firefighters take turns traveling up stairs to seventh floor. Hoses tapped into builidng water systems are used to snake around through corridors on seventh floor to fight fire. Some hoses were stretched as much as 150 feet.

D) Crews also were dispatched to the 8th floor to prevent spread of the fire to higher floors. Fire was contained to 7th floor but there was significant smoke and heat damage to 8th floor.

E) Other crews dispatched to the 6th floor tried to keep water damage to a minimum by throwing sawdust on the water and covering computers with plastic sheeting.

Meanwhile, search and rescue teams combed the building looking for victims of fire or people needing assistance.

FIRE FACTS

* Fire reported at 10:06; contained within an hour.

* At least 250 firefighters responded to the blaze from at least 34 fire companies from around city responded to the blaze.

* Two firefighters were injured but there were no fatalities.

* Major fire damage was contained to 7th floor. Damage estimated at $1 million or more.

* There is no sprinkler system in the building.

* The gutted 7th floor houses emergency medical services administrative headquarters for the county health department and other management facilities.