Flashbacks

I am terrified of fire. Not just afraid of it. Terrified. Some people might find that hard to believe, as when it is nice weather, Erich and I like to sit by our fire pit and enjoy a bon fire. The difference is that in our fire pit, the fire is contained. We have this metal chimenea. It's like a pot bellied stove with a chimney on top. There is a door on the front, and the fire is contained in this small area. It is controlled. I am terrified of fires that are not controlled, such as wildfires or house fires.

I can trace most of this fear back to 1988. I was 12 years old, in 7th grade. One night in late October, I heard the fire siren go off. It went off several times, signaling mutual aid. I heard the truck sirens head north out of town. The next morning on the radio, they said there had been a fatal house fire in Petersburgh. Petersburgh is the town to the north of my hometown. It was alarming to hear, and we knew there was a good chance we would know the family. We got ready and went to school, my sister to the elementary school for fifth grade, me to the 7th grade school. For many years, 7th grade in our district had their own school. It was an old two story school building. It was in Petersburgh, and had served as the village school before several towns joined together to form the school district. My class was the last class to experience this separate world. They built a new jr/sr high school, and the following year grades 6-12 were put into one building.

When I got to school, there was a solemn mood over everything. Some students were crying. The teachers told us that one of our classmates and friends, Jolene, had died in the fire the previous night. Her house was not even a mile from the school, and all day we watched fire apparatus go up and down the road. Counselors were brought in, parents were called, and there was no learning that day. It devastated our little school. It has stayed with me all these years. I still see Jolene's smile; hear her laugh. She is buried in the same cemetery that my my Grandmother's family is buried in. When I go through the cemetery, I take a walk to Jolene's grave. I know part of my fear of fire stems from this loss.

Part of it. I honestly think the rest of it stems from something that happened long before I was around. Yet I've heard the story so much, I can almost picture it. 'It' is the propane truck explosion in my hometown in 1962. Or, as the locals call it, 'The Disaster'. It was July, 1962, just about dinner time. A truck driver hauling propane lost his brakes coming down the steep mountain into Berlin, my hometown. People still aren't sure how he ended up on this road. Some say he took a wrong turn in Poestenkill, others say he was given incorrect directions. The road he ended up taking, Plank Road, is really too steep for trucks. It is a 2 mile descent into town. When you come down this mountain in a car, you gear down to hold the engine back, and even then, you are on the brakes a lot. There are actually two mountains- as you descend you first hit the 'big hill'. It is a steep grade that takes you from the top of the mountain to about 2/3 of the way down. As you drive down the hill, you see the entire village of Berlin nestled in the valley below. There is a little plateau, and then you go down the 'little hill'. At the bottom of the little hill, you are in the middle of the town.

On this summer evening, the truck lost its brakes coming down the mountain. It crashed, just before the little hill, and sent a fireball over the little town. My grandparents lived at the bottom of the little hill. Grandma heard a loud noise, and went outside to see what had happened, and was met with a face full of fire. She came in and called for my grandfather. They ran out, trying to help anyone. My mother was not quite 9 years old. Grandpa gave her a hose and told her to keep the water aimed on the house. Mom tells of seeing her neighbors come through the yard, both on fire. My grandparents tried to extinguish them, and then bundled them into Grandma's car. She rushed them to the town doctor, not even a block away. She had a brand new mercury, and in the chaos that erupted in the minutes following the crash, someone hit her car trying to get to the dr. They started apologizing, and she told them not to worry about it, they might all be dead tomorrow.

Mom said they thought the world was ending. The whole town was on fire. It took days to fully extinguish the blazes. Fire departments came from all over NY, Vermont, Massachusetts, and possibly New Hampshire. Years later, we found out my dad's father had been in town with his fire department. My Grandparent's house was saved, thanks to mom's efforts with the hose and the slate roof on the house. Many houses were destroyed. I grew up in a house maybe a block from where my mom lived, and some of the houses on our street were destroyed in the Disaster. 10 people died, including the truck driver. He died at the hospital a couple hours later. They said he begged for forgiveness from the people of Berlin. He left a wife and young children in Pennsylvania.

The Disaster is a tragic event that is part of the history of Berlin. It is also part of the history of my family. The first casualty was my great-grandmother, Mabel Wager. She was crippled with Rheumatoid Arthritis, and confined to a wheelchair. As she watched her beloved hometown burn around her, she was filled with panic because she relied on other people to transport her. It was more than she could take, she had a fatal heart attack. At the time, the news of this incident was spread all over NY and into Canada. My Grandma's sister and her husband were headed to Canada, and they heard about the Disaster on the radio. The news report incorrectly identified the first casualty as 'Mrs. Lewis Wager'- which was my grandmother, not my Great-grandmother. They turned the car around and sped back to Berlin. They had to park the car and walk in, because people weren't allowed in town unless they were firefighters. When the door opened and Grandma stood on the other side, her sister just about fainted (or maybe she did... this is one of the tidbits of the story that isn't as clear).

If you have lived in Berlin for any amount of time, you know the story. Some people in town talk about it a lot. My grandparents never did. My mother rarely does. And when she does talk about it, she doesn't talk for long. People who didn't live through it ask her about it. My sister and I have asked her about it a lot. In 1992, they held a memorial service. A monument was erected in the community cemetery to the victims. There was a program at the fire house, and people stood up and talked about their experience. They created a video of it, which my mom bought for Grandma and Grandpa. I now have it, and mom refuses to watch it. I have pictures of the town right after The Disaster (they were in all the boxes of things from Grandma's house). Mom didn't want to see them. They were hard to look at, even for me, but I feel we need to keep them. I have often heard my mother say 'I just can't talk about it now'. On the rare occasions she does talk, her voice is always quiet and full of emotion. She still says, almost half a century later, that on a hot day she can still smell it- smell the burning of trees and buildings and flesh.

I think mom's experience left an impression on me, and is part of my fear of fire. Even though I have a clear mental picture of it, I didn't witness it. I wasn't 8 years old, watching my world go up in flames. You have to understand what she saw to understand how some things affect her. Like last night, I went to the Albany newspaper, and saw the headline 'Propane Tanker Burning in Rensselaer County' . Immediately I thought 'OH NO!' and opened the article to find out where. It was in Hoosick, about 15 miles up the road. My parents were in no imminent danger. I emailed mom this morning, because I wanted to check on her. I didn't ask 'are you ok?' . I am pretty sure the news of this caused her to flash back to that hot July day. I just asked her what the status was (they were trying to let it burn out). We talked about a couple of other things, and she said when she heard about it yesterday afternoon, her first question was 'where?' . The county had to keep the local highway garage staffed all night in case of evacuation, and to provide fuel for the fire trucks. She said she was glad she didn't have to staff it. I know she is struggling with it, as are any lifelong residents of Berlin. They are words you just don't want to hear. Because even though it was nearly 50 years ago, for those who lived it, the pain and trauma are as fresh as if it were yesterday.