A history of fire departments in high-speed competition

In the mid-1800s, independent fire companies in New York City raced each other to be the first to reach a fire and put it out, garnering the spoils of glory and adoration—as well as financial reward—for their valiant efforts.

On an August weekend in Bellport, teams of volunteer firemen raced each other down elaborate, specially designed tracks in high-tech dragsters, towing ladders and hoses behind at up to 70 mph, for little more glory than bragging rights among their peers from around the state.

How competition between fire crews evolved from one to the other over the last century and a half is the subject of “Chariots of Firefighters,” a new history by East Hampton photojournalist Michael Heller.

Mr. Heller, a staff photographer at The Sag Harbor Express, chronicles, in this giant first volume, the advent and evolution of so-called firematic competitions in New York State—the only state where the sport has evolved to such an extent—from semi-altruistic haste to a sporting obsession entirely separated from any of the actual duties of modern firefighting.

The book’s nearly 300 textbook-sized pages are filled with exhaustive historical documentation that Mr. Heller gleaned over two years of research that took him around the state and back three times. It includes images ranging from the early days of photography to the high-speed frames shot by Mr. Heller at modern competitions, capturing helmeted men flung midair during frantic split-second drills.

Even those images, though, cannot begin to capture the pace and precision of the modern competition: men who bound up ladder rungs faster than many people could sprint on a flat surface; teams, laden with equipment, that leap from the back of a vehicle that is braking from upward of 50 mph to a split-second dead stop before speeding off again; hoses unfurled at speeds capable of flinging men like rag dolls if they get in the way. (A link to videos of the modern competitions can be found with a digital version of this story on 27east.com.)

Perhaps oddly, the precision and skill with which these men perform facsimiles of the actual drills that fire teams of old once used to put out real fires does not bring the participants anything like the glory it did their predecessors.

Firematic competitions were born of actual firefighting efforts. In 19th century New York City, a fire in a townhouse, tenement or brownstone could easily spread to neighboring buildings, or entire blocks, even entire neighborhoods. Putting the fires out as quickly as possible was important, to say the least. Fire teams at the time were largely volun

teers, initially conscripted by unselfish concern for their neighbors and communities. But spoils came in the form of reward, celebrity and, occasionally, graft.

“Back in those days, being a fireman was like being a rock star,” Mr. Heller said recently. “If your company put out a fire, you were the heroes. So there got to be a lot of competition between companies to be the one that got there first and put out the fire.”

Competition in those days, despite the dire situations that gave rise to it, was not friendly and often suspended selflessness in the quest for personal success. Teams hid fire hydrants from one another, brawls broke out, and, at intersections of main thoroughfares leading through the canyons of the city, side-by-side races began.

Logically, these early “races” were simply of competing crews scurrying to get to a fire first. After the city’s fire crews became paid professionals in 1865, the races became friendly competitions between firehouses. The practice spread to community fire departments which had never interacted with one another, and firematic competition was born.

From then on, the practice evolved largely along technological lines. As equipment like great hoses, gas-powered water-pumpers and, eventually, motorized vehicles were incorporated into firefighters’ arsenals, they were likewise incorporated into the firematic competitions. Still, the most basic implements of firefighting, ladders and buckets of water, remained integral parts of the competitions.

Most small volunteer fire departments around the country, including those on the South Fork, compete in some form of inter-departmental drill races, typically bucket brigades, hose races and time trials between old-fashioned pumper technicians to see who can build up a powerful stream of water the fastest. The annual muster hosted by the Southampton Fire Department this past Saturday showcased some of these competitions.

But in parts of New York, particularly on Long Island, the use of motorized vehicles has evolved to a level not seen anywhere else. By the end of the first quarter of the 20th century, fire trucks had been incorporated into races, hauling fire teams and their equipment down roadways transformed into race tracks. When departments began traveling to competitions with their counterparts around the state, it meant losing, for a time, a necessary fire vehicle—and that necessitated that certain equipment be dedicated solely to the competition. With that, a whole new class of race began to evolve.

First came Class B vehicles, which were required to have a water pump on board and be a factory-built vehicle, commonly a retired fire truck or a utility vehicle not essential to the department’s fire protection efforts.

But soon the push to go faster and enhance the abilities of a race team spurred the creation of custom-built chariots. A giant engine, lightweight chassis and large tires borrowed from racing cars enabled these vehicles to roar to great speeds over a short distance and lurch to a near halt even faster, all regulated by the Fireman’s Association of the State of New York.

“There was a point in the 1940s when it was getting ridiculous, the vehicles they were building,” Mr. Heller said. “So they decided they needed standards. All must have dual master cylinders, engines can’t be larger than a certain number of cubic inches, that kind of thing.”

But that is where the limitations seem to stop. Some of the machines employed by teams do look like old fire trucks, at least somewhat. They may be red and have the chassis of an old department vehicle, for instance. But their huge rear tires and galvanized ramps and handrails reveal them to be racing tools. Other vehicles make no bones about their intention—they look like giant metal go-carts, with thundering exhausts and low-slung steel bodies.

In modern ladder competitions, a four-man team clings to the back of one of these veritable drag cars as it rockets from zero to 50, 60, 70 mph in a matter of a few hundred feet. The driver then slams on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to nearly a dead stop at a specific point below a two-story archway over the track, where the four men hop off with an ultra-light aluminum ladder, their own bodies’ forward momentum allowing them to plant the ladder into the ground and swing it skyward toward the top of the archway, as one man scurries up it in an effort to hit the top rung and stop the clock. Often the climber, hand over hand at a dead sprint, is nearly to the top of the ladder even before it comes to rest against the archway. Times of under five seconds from start to finish are typical.

“Chariots of Firefighters,” of course, celebrates the best teams, most of which are from Long Island, where the density of community fire departments and a comparably broad tax base has fertilized the competitive spirit and the expansion of competitions. West Sayville, Central Islip, North Lindenhurst, New Hyde Park and Hempstead are the top teams lately. The Cutchogue Fire Department is the only East End department to field a competitive motorized competition team, having taken third in an August race.

As a journalist, Mr. Heller also focuses on the storm of controversy that has swirled around the firematic competitions in recent years, following a series of articles looking at how some volunteer fire departments are spending the tax money that supports them. The inspiration that pushed Mr. Heller to write “Chariots of Firefighters” was actually a growing fear among the firematic crews in the wake of the exposure that coming restrictions, coupled with the economic realities of life, might mean an end to their sport.

“After the Newsday articles, there was a feeling of despair in the sport that it might be dying off,” he said of a 2007 series by the Long Island daily that laid bare such expenditures as more than $50,000 spent by one department on its custom racing vehicle. “I figured I’d better write this history if the sport is going to go under.”

Mr. Heller, who is himself a volunteer firefighter in East Hampton, says this is the first of at least two volumes intended to be a record of the history of the sport; the next, “The Practice,” will be a handbook for staging the sort of competitions New York now has, in hopes the sport can be spread to other states and regions.

The dedication of time by competitive teams to practice, typically twice a week, to develop the precision required for the high-speed competitions has also impacted the ranks of participants, he says. “These days everyone is working two or three jobs to keep their heads above water,” Mr. Heller lamented. “They don’t have the time to commit.

“And it’s not for everybody,” he said. “If you compete on an old-fashioned team, you hold the hose and you run down the track. But in the modern-day sport, you have to hold on to the back of a truck racing 70 mph down a track and hop off the truck while it’s moving. A lot of guys think to themselves, ‘This is insane. I’m gonna get myself killed.’”