FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE(Women)

New York City’s First and Only Female Fire Captain Battles More Than Flames

by Diane Simon

Rochelle Jones' father was a firefighter, but that's not what inspired her to become one. In fact, for the young Rochelle, most of the glamour of his job stemmed from its irregular schedule, and the smoky odor that sometimes filled the car on the way to church. This was all she knew of a firefighter's life–a few nights away, a tinge of burnt wood–because her father didn't speak about his job. "At our table," she says, her voice full of the old Brooklyn neighborhood, "there was no firetalk."

No firetalk, that is, until it was Rochelle's turn. Her call came as an adult, in part because of her father's reticence, but mostly because there were no female firefighters in New York City until a series of court battles opened the force to women in 1978. At the time, Rochelle, now the first and only female captain in the history of the NYFD, was a secretary. She was underpaid, overworked, bored and dissatisfied with her life.

"I hated my job then," she says. "It just wasn't how I pictured myself living. It was dark when I left the house in the morning, and dark when I got home." As a firefighter, she would have the kind of independence generally reserved for the man-of-the-house, and the pleasure of knowing she was helping people. "I knew you could own a home," she remembers now. "I knew I could support a family. And you know, there was no great satisfaction in being someone's secretary."

It had never occurred to Rochelle that she might be able to follow in her father's footsteps, but the news coverage of the department's change in policy started her thinking. And then there came a challenge: A lot of the guys she'd grown up with were preparing to take the written test required by the fire department. They were taking special courses, studying hard for the exam. Feeling like she had nothing to lose, Rochelle bet her incredulous macho pals that she could pass without that kind of preparation. "I wrote a good mark," she remembers now. "I did as well, or better, than most of the guys."

But passing the written exam was the easiest part of her journey. Angered by the court's impositions and resistant to the idea of female firefighters, the Fire Academy changed the required physical exam; instead of being administered on a pass-fail basis, it was to be graded, like the written test, and only the candidates with the best scores would be admitted to the Academy. In addition, excruciatingly difficult tasks that had no relation to firefighting, but emphasized upper body strength that most women don't have, were added to the exam.

"Suddenly, you had to do a standing broad jump, and a one arm bent-elbow hang for ninety seconds. Also, you had to carry one-hundred-twenty-pound duffel bags up three flights of stairs! Fire fighters don't do that," Rochelle explains. "In a fire situation, you're not going to stand up, into the smoke, with a person over your shoulder, and then carry them up the stairs. It just doesn't happen." As a result of these contrived obstacles, none of the qualified women passed the physical, and the case went back to court.

Rochelle, who was always a self-described "very feminine, girlie-girl," had already stunned her parents with her announcement that she wanted to join the force. When she heard about the newly devised physical exam, it was her turn to be stunned. Knowing there was no way she could pass, she gave up and concentrated on being a secretary. The courts took action again, though, recognizing the unfairness of the test, and reimposing–albeit temporarily–the old pass/fail standards and the old, utilitarian tasks that more accurately reflected the physical requirements of the job. Rochelle's father met her with the news when she returned from a cruise. "You'd better start training," he said. He'd bought her a stopwatch.

Eighteen years and two promotions later, memories of the Fire Academy and the first year on the job still trouble Rochelle. Learning to stretch ladders and carry hoses was the easy part; dealing with the attitude of her male peers was more difficult. When Rochelle and the other female recruits arrived for their first day of training, there was no gear small enough to fit them. Rochelle wore size 13 boots for many exercises, her own shoes for others. As an instructor explained the mechanics of connecting the hose, which has "male" and "female" parts, he told his students, "The male part goes into the fire." One of the trainees snorted, pointed to Rochelle, and said, "Why don't you tell her that?"

While some of her co-workers in her first house in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, were friendly and supportive, most were not. a screen that had been provided for her privacy in the bunkroom had a huge hole cut into it, and an advertisement promising a peep for five cents was scrawled above it. At the beginning of each day, Rochelle had to hunt for the gear her fellow firefighters had hidden around the house. Someone urinated in her boots. When she told the captain, he looked skeptical. "Maybe it's ammonia," he offered.

The atmosphere remained tense until Rochelle transferred to a company on Staten Island.

But eventually, Rochelle developed a thick skin, an abiding knowledge of fire-fighting strategies, and a come-back line for the most vexing and common question she was asked. While inspecting a bank in Brooklyn, the bank manager, a tall woman with a notably bulky build looked the five-foot-six Rochelle up and down and demanded, "Do you think you'd be able to carry me out of a fire?" Rochelle gestured to her male colleagues and said, "Do you think they'd be able to carry you out of a fire?"

Now that she is a well-respected captain, and has passed the test required for promotion to battalion chief, Rochelle is turning her attention to bringing other women into the department. There are just over 30 women fighting fires in New York City today–approximately three tenths of one percent of the 11,000-person force, and almost all of those women were hired in the early eighties, just after the full weight of the court's injunctions had been brought to bear. Since then, the Fire Academy has reimposed the graded physical exam, and the fierce competition for the few spots available each year makes it almost impossible for women to prevail.

A new cadet program, which recruits women who are already Emergency Medical Technicians, might make a difference, but progress is slow. And Rochelle admits that invisibility takes its toll. After a supportive mailing to prospective female recruits, Rochelle and her colleagues at the United Women Firefighters Association were both charmed and chagrined to receive notes from young women who said they were dying to be the first female firefighter in New York City. "That's a great impulse," she says, smiling dryly. "But who do they think sent them the letter?"

Diane Simon is author of "Hair: Public, Political, Extremely Personal," (St. Martin’s Press, 2000). She lives in New York with her greyhound, Tillie.

For information on the United Women Firefighters Association, call 718-999-2823

To learn more about a career in firefighting, visit the Women Firefighters’ Resource Page at www.wfsi.org

To email the Commissioner of the FDNY, go to www.ci.nyc.ny.us/html/mail/html/mailfdny.html