On the morning of Nov. 5, 2014, the Cardinal Joint Fire District in northern Ohio started its day just like any other day, but it ended with an event they will never forget.
For this month’s Close Calls, we’re going to take a unique approach, telling the story straight from the firefighter/paramedic and district chief involved in the incident.
Firefighter/Paramedic Troy Kolar’s story
It was a normal shift to start. My partner and I were coming back from the main station, and we got dispatched to a car fire at a local business. We responded on Squad 102, and so did another apparatus from the main station. We got there and the car had a fire in the engine compartment. Not a big deal; we pulled the trash line and used some foam on it and the fire was extinguished pretty quickly.
Our next call, at around 11:30 a.m., was to respond out on the Ohio Turnpike for a possible car into the guard rail. Again, a normal call. No red flags, nothing to get overly excited about. I actually advised the second in apparatus to hold at the entrance to the turnpike until we checked to see what we had.
As we approached the scene, we noticed the turnpike had a truck on scene already with its orange lights flashing. I looked in the mirror and saw a small SUV stopping behind us. We pulled in behind the turnpike truck and angled into the lanes like we always did to protect the scene.
My partner had not even set the air brake yet, and I had just removed my seatbelt and began turning to exit the cab. That’s when we heard squealing tires. We have all heard them a 100 times before, but this time was different. I don’t know why or how, but it was.
Then the impact happened. Our truck lunged forward and glass flew up onto the dash area. I was sideways and got slammed into the side of the cab, knocking the wind out of me. I looked over at my partner to make sure he was OK. He was looking at me doing the same. I got on the radio and advised dispatch we were involved in an accident and needed additional units. That was the extent of the air I had in me. I wasn't able to talk anymore for a few minutes after that.
I looked in the mirror and saw the turnpike truck was now behind us and there was a large amount of fire coming from behind him. I was able to force my door open and get out of the truck. My partner had to go through his door window because the door wouldn't open.
Once outside, I ran back to the rear of the truck and realized that the SUV that had stopped behind us was now completely swallowed in flames and mangled. Cars were upside-down beside our fire apparatus. There was a trailer on its side. Cars were literally thrown everywhere. I found out later that was because we were hit by a car hauler.
My partner began treating the driver of the truck that hit us. I pulled a crosslay off the truck and stretched it out with the help of a medic from the private ambulance that responded with us. I tried getting water from the pump to put on the car, but intakes were ripped off and part of the pump panel was covered by the rear section of our truck.
After not being able to charge the line, we grabbed an extinguisher and did anything we could to try to extinguish the fire. I knew someone was inside the car, but nothing was slowing down that fire—nothing except another fire truck, because mine couldn’t.
Our second-in apparatus was fighting to get through the stopped cars and onlookers so it could get to us. My deputy chief couldn’t get his SUV up to the scene so he left it and ran up. As he was getting there, I noticed that a tanker truck had stopped by the car that was burning. The paint on the side of the door looked as if it was bubbling under the heat. I opened his door and asked what he was hauling and if it was flammable. It wasn’t. I then questioned how much fuel was there in his tank. He replied that the tank was almost full. I could feel the heat baking the side of the tractor-trailer. I instructed him to back up to get away from the fire. Around that time, the second engine arrived, and I helped them pull a line and prepare to extinguish the fire.
I could feel things slowing down, and the pain in my side and neck became more apparent. One of the crew from the second truck told me they “got it from here” and to go sit down.
I sat down by the rail and began looking around at the scene. It looked like a war zone. My partner came walking up and sat down next to me. He was also told to stop working. Some paramedics approached us and began doing assessments on us. We were both loaded into an ambulance and taken to a local hospital to get checked. The guy driving the car hauler was flown to another hospital and was later released with minor injuries.
I called my wife at work while being transported to the ER, I told her what happened and that we were being sent in to get checked. My partner called his fiancé and advised her of the same. If we had stopped 2 seconds sooner, I would have been outside of the fire truck and smashed against the turnpike truck. My partner would have been smashed on the other side.
After being checked out, we were both just banged up. Sore but alive. The turnpike was shut down for hours. We were sent home and given some time off. Sadly, the young lady behind us that day perished in the event.
I strongly believe the way we angled our truck that day saved many lives. The turnpike employee and ambulance crew were all in front of us. The angle of the truck pushed things off to the side instead of going straight into everyone else.
Since this event, we have gone over our cab layouts and made sure everything is secure. We are still looking at ways we can do things to prevent these kinds of collisions from happening. With safety being an ongoing challenge, we must stay alert and practice the techniques we have been taught.
Deputy Chief Mark Rarick’s perspective
Nov. 5 2014 started just like any other shift I can remember. It was a warm day for November. My neighbor had fallen off his roof a few days before, and I had made arrangements to cover Firefighter/Paramedic Kolar on the truck so he could go take care of my neighbor’s leaves. Before we made the switch, though, I had to go and purchase a new vacuum for the station. On the way back to our district, I was dispatched to an MVA on the Ohio Turnpike. I was outside of our district, so I was driving non-emergency until the status of the crash was given. What I heard next changed my life forever.
Over the radio I heard Squad 102 report that they had been hit and there was a fire. It was the tone of the voice that is still stuck in my head. I was less than 30 seconds away from the turnpike gate, but it felt like I couldn’t get to the scene fast enough. Our second apparatus, Squad 101, was already on the turnpike heading to the scene. While driving, I could see the black column of smoke in the sky and the traffic was starting to back up. As I arrived on location, it was like a scene out of a movie, but it was happening for real and it involved our firefighters.
As I walked up to the scene, my brain could barely process everything that was going on, and I felt like I wasn’t in control of the scene. On my right was a car fully involved in fire with the driver still inside, to my left was a commercial tanker truck less that 10 feet from the fire, and in front of me was our fire apparatus with heavy rear and driver’s side damage with firefighters Kolar and Blevins staggering around the scene.
Firefighter Blevins was checking on the other driver and Firefighter Kolar had stretched a line to try to extinguish the fire, but the truck was too damaged to pump water. We also had a truck and trailer on its side and the two cars it was hauling that came off the trailer along with two other passenger vehicles involved in the crash.
Our second engine arrived on scene. Firefighter Kolar was still involved in fire operations, and Firefighter Blevins assisted loading a patient into the helicopter. Our chief arrived on scene, and I went to the hospital with the crew. Leaving the scene and driving to the hospital was when everything started to sink in, and I realized that we could have lost two firefighters in this crash.
I have had many feelings associated with this incident:
- Guilty: If I would have been on the call initially, I could have cleared the units because the initial call ended up being a non-injury accident. This might have prevented the accident from happening and the woman would not have lost her life.
- Grateful: I am truly grateful that the crew was not seriously injured or killed. Both crewmembers were seconds away from getting out of the truck when they got hit. A few seconds later, this could have been a different story.
- Selfish: I was relieved that I had not made it to the station to do the crew change and I was not on that truck. I also have thought that if I had gone on the call initially that I might have been the one who was hit because I usually park behind the truck, too.
To see your firefighters still working to help people on the scene, even knowing that they themselves were injured, shows the true heart of a firefighter that many people don’t get to see.
This year marks my 20 years in the fire and EMS service, and this call is one that has stuck with me the longest. I am sure that I will never forget it. Everywhere I go, people ask me about the call and it takes me right back to that scene. It took me a few months to not think about it every day and run through different “what if” scenarios. I used to think that I was not bothered by the calls or situations that happened, but I will fully admit this call bothered me and still does on occasion.
I know it is hard for firefighters to admit when a call bothers them for fear they will be seen as weak or not being able to handle the job, but I want every firefighter to know that if you need help, seek help.
Alissa Kolar’s observations
Until the day of his accident, I never really worried about my husband getting hurt on the job. You might think that’s strange considering he’s a firefighter, but I have a lot of faith in him. He’s not reckless, and he’s extremely knowledgeable, so I never worried about him fighting fires; and I never considered traffic accidents as a danger. I naively believed that people respected first responders on the road and would always steer clear.
Then came Nov. 5, and the call to my classroom: “We were in an accident on the turnpike, and I’m being taken to the hospital.” My students say I kind of went into “zombie mode,” and I truly don’t even remember what I said to them when I hung up the phone and started grabbing my belongings to leave. All I know is I wound up at the hospital with my lesson plan book and my folder of grading—but no purse. Apparently I have weird priorities in times of stress.
I arrived at the hospital to see him on a stretcher in a neck brace—and completely surrounded by other firefighters. The vast majority of the firemen were cracking jokes, as the guys will do, so I immediately felt better, knowing the mood would have been a lot more somber had he been seriously injured. The jokes helped get over the initial shock, but later that day when his boss called him to tell him I filled out his insurance papers with MY name and not his, I realized just how rattled I must have been.
After a long afternoon of tests and X-rays, we finally made it home. As couples will do, we rehashed the whole day: the accident, the jokes, the police reports, the medics who stopped by to thank him for saving their lives by parking his truck the way he did, the whole deal.
Hours later, though, I still couldn't get my head wrapped around the fact that someone hit a FIRE TRUCK. It’s not like it’s little for crying out loud! He told me it happens all the time, that first responders have more injuries and fatalities due to traffic accidents than anything else. Apparently people are too lost in their own world, or are too busy rubbernecking to watch out for the first responders on scene. This is unacceptable.
Next month
In next month’s Close Calls column, we’ll get the fire chief’s perspective on the incident. We’ll also review the incident and best practices in order to minimize the likelihood of similar incidents happening to other fire and EMS personnel.
Billy Goldfeder
BILLY GOLDFEDER, EFO, who is a Firehouse contributing editor, has been a firefighter since 1973 and a chief officer since 1982. He is deputy fire chief of the Loveland-Symmes Fire Department in Ohio, which is an ISO Class 1, CPSE and CAAS-accredited department. Goldfeder has served on numerous NFPA and International Association of Fire Chiefs (IAFC) committees. He is on the board of directors of the IAFC Safety, Health and Survival Section and the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation.
