Editor's note: This article is the third in a series following recruits through the San Mateo County Fire Academy.

By Dwana Simone Bain
Staff Reporter

Entering the academy, "[Recruits] should be in the best mental and physical condition ever." Said Academy Training Chief Don Ciucci. "You're betting your physical and mental prowess for a career 30 years long." Wants and desires are laudable, Ciucci said. "Still, this is a physical job." Technique goes far, Ciucci acknowledges, but "that chainsaw doesn't know about technique. It's a high-compression, high RPM tool." As for the mental performance, "How can you perform on the job, Ciucci asks, "if you can't recall what you read the night before?"
There's a quality this academy requires that goes beyond the physical and textbook knowledge, said Ciucci.
It's a willingness to learn, "All we expect you to do," says Ciucci, "is come to the table and let us train you. He tells them, "You don't know all you need to know."
Jane O'Neil Hunt, referred to often as "Neiley", revels in everything she's learned.
"Every day's learning, and every day is new and every day is different," she said. "There hasn't been a day -- not one day -- that I've gotten up and been 'Oh, it's going to be a hard and terrible day.' That's never really crossed my mind."

Friday, May 18, 2001
Rappelling
At the South San Francisco Fire Department stands the tallest tower in the county. It's called a confidence course. Recruits are practicing techniques for rescuing "injured" victims from buildings. "I need a victim!" shouts a recruit as he dangles in front of a second-story window. Rappelling from the roof, each descends the tower, stopping on the second floor to pick up a victim, who hangs limply on the rope as the rescuer slides to the ground.
Emergency harnesses aren't kind to firefighters, said South San Francisco Firefighter Bryan Verna -- who assists with the confidence course training. Strapped around the chest and groin, "They'll have bruises on their armpits, up around their chest and their breasts," he said.

Blindfolded
They've climbed up the building. They've rappelled down the building. Now, they're going to climb up the building with fleece hood over their eyes. They don't call it a "confidence course" for nothing. Climbing blindfolded builds a recruit's confidence, say academy graduates like Verna.
The exercise is voluntary, but isn't just a game, said Battalion Chief Bert Ramirez of the South San Francisco Fire Department. It teaches recruits to navigate using their senses of touch and hearing, senses they may need to rely on in the case of low visibility. "If you can't [maneuver] blindfolded and with gloves on, you're not going to be able to do it in a fire."
"If you're going to want to do it blindfolded, you want to pick a partner," Academy Co-director Capt. Colin Sullivan explains. "Only one person talks," he tells them. That guide's voice, should be all the climber hears.
San Mateo recruit Stephanie Morello volunteers to go first. "This is for the immunity challenge here," jokes Capt. Ramirez as Morello places her protective hood over her eyes.
Morello's partner directs her up a ladder, across to a rope-hung board, a right to another rope-hung board, which leads to a ladder. He guides her as she climbs up the ladder to a fire escape. From the fire escape, she feels her way to a plank that wraps around the corner of the tower. Guided along the plank -- not long enough for her whole foot -- she rounds the sharp turn around the building corner. From there, she scales a post up to the top of the tower. As she reaches the top, her classmates pull her to the roof, and the whole crew erupts with applause.
Morello gets to take off her blindfold and take the stairs back down. As she exits the tower, Ramirez looks at her, "You're safe for another week ... you can't be voted off," he jokes.

A matter of trust
To navigate a confidence course blindfolded, you must have trust in your partner, recruits say. "Trust" is a word used firefighters use often to describe their relationship. For some, a friendship began even before the academy. "A lot of us met each other on the testing circuit," said South San Francisco recruit Carlos Arroyo. Forrest "Buddha" Dyer smiles. "I had 10 interviews in eight days," he explains with a slight laugh. "I kept seeing the same people over and over." Though they've sometimes met before, friendships strengthen in the academy. "We're all really coming together as a group," said Menlo Park Recruit Steven Rohrer. "The friendships that we're making ... are likely relationships that will keep throughout our entire career."

Wednesday May 23, 2001: Smoke is rising from the rooftops in Daly City.
Combined with fog, a mist overhangs the area surrounding the fire station. It's noisy in the fire station lot, and wood chips fly furiously -- debris from the roof slicing exercises -- making it increasingly hazardous to be a bystander. The smoke is from a smoke machine, the rooftop a prop for recruits practicing rooftop fire attack with axes and chainsaws.
Going through the roof helps control the fire, limits property damage and helps firefighters better see the victims.
Chainsaws to the roof, recruits cut as close as possible to the seat of the "fire," at the highest point possible. It's a time-consuming drill, as the roof must be rebuilt after every four turns.
Training Chief Ciucci has taught this academy section for years. Today, Ciucci is teaching recruits the finer points of chainsaw maintenance and ax-sharpening. "He's awesome," Neiley says as Ciucci walks by. "Phenomenal."
Ciucci makes everything look easier than it is, according to Neiley. But equipment maintenance is a refined skill. An ax blade must be sharpened precisely, Neiley explains. Too sharp, and it's brittle. Too dull, and it's "like using a sledgehammer."
Neiley explains, "You check out your equipment everyday." You can't arrive at a fire and find a chainsaw that won't run. Chainsaw skills must be practiced often, Ciucci tells recruits. "You get lax, you get tired, drop off attention and lose focus -- those saws will come get you," he said.

Smile! You're on academy camera
Amateur photographers abound at the academy. Between throwing ladders, pulling hoses, hacking rooftops with axes and chainsaws and rappelling from towers, the recruits become action photographers.
They're saving the Kodak memories for a graduation-night slide show. Except for Neiley -- sporting a dark wavy ponytail -- and a few other exceptions -- buzz cuts and baldheads are becoming the academy standard look. Rohrer, with his blond buzzed hair and farmer's tan is the model for the new fire academy style.
On the last day of roof training, 16 recruits along with several instructors pile onto the smoking prop roof for the traditional photo. "Suck it in!" jokes one instructor. "One, two ..." counts the appointed photographer "three," the camera clicks. "Perfect."

Thursday, May 31, 2001: It's nauseatingly hot today as recruits prepare for Top Gun II, the second of four crucial performance evaluations.
"From the last Top Gun to today I see a change in this group," said Academy Administrator Don Dornell. "I look around, and I see an eagerness." As Dornell talks, the recruits practice for tomorrow's exam. A recruit stumbles on a ladder technique as he rotates it on the ground.
The ground -- not the recruit -- should support the weight of the ladder at this point, Dornell explains. He asks recruit Blake Washington to help him demonstrate his point by giving an example of poor technique. "You want me to do it the incorrect way?" Washington asks, a little confused. "I don't know how to do it the incorrect way. I'll try."
Off in the distance, Neiley coils and uncoils a hose line repeatedly, methodically. Dornell points out her persistence. "You want to hire people [like Neiley] that don't work only when they're being watched."
Tomorrow, he will tell her chief what he saw. Now, it's time for recruits to go home, practice, and pray for confidence and comfortable weather in the morning. "This [will be] your second opportunity," Capt. Sullivan tells recruits. The Chiefs are beginning to get an impression of who you are and what you do," he tells them as they leave. "Life is simple," he reminds them. "Do good. Keep your job."