Inferno: A place or region that resembles hell.

Two weeks ago the community was told that the state’s call record for November 28th had mysteriously vanished without a trace. Sound familiar? I won’t bring national politics into this, but it sounds suspiciously like another time citizens demanded answers that for some reason, couldn’t be supplied. And now we have the EMA director who was in his position for eight years taking a Operations Director position with a construction company. After a lifetime spent in emergency services, this is unheard of. Something tells me he knows the government has failed. He was the one on the phone with the state, pleading with them to issue an evacuation. The call was dropped due to cell phone towers being engulfed by flames and the evacuation warning never came. The state reasons they didn’t want to send citizens deeper into the inferno, which is a reasonable excuse…however, not doing anything proved to be just as lethal.

Some people in the community are saying drop it so we can move forward. We’d be glad to, as soon as we know what happened. Or rather, what didn’t happen. How do you make your peace without answers?

Regardless of what officials were telling people in the county, one thing is for sure: 911 was handling it the best they could. For all their training, nothing could prepare them for the night of inferno that spread down the mountain like blood on the hands of a butcher. I want to prove that bunch was doing all they could within their powers to bring help to the county. As they do all day, every day, and all night. Holidays, sacred days, and the witching hours. They keep watch. And they need rest. They don’t need to second guess their actions of that night. They don’t need trotted out for the press and a few misguided citizens to pick over. Their skin is stripped, their innards are trailing and knotted, and their emotions have been wrung out long ago. They’re normal people, just trying to make a living and eek out an existence so they can go to the beach once a year and keep their houses warm in the winter and Chinese for supper once a week. I know of one soul in particular that worked 7 days straight for a total of 91 hours, 31 of them in  just two days. Imagine being tethered to a desk for that long, listening to people screaming, people begging, people crying. And that’s just the callers. In your other ear, you’ve got all the agencies blasting out of your radio unit–I don’t even know how the six of them managed all that, the ambulance service, the Rescue Squad, and all the individual fire departments scattered throughout the county trying to communicate with Central. And on top of all that, they’re listening to their county burn down. It’s their home too, don’t forget. It’s their school. Their church. Their park. They’ve ridden the chair lift, and went to a graduation party in that cabin, and driven those roads to get home. They may have taken a call from a relative that night, stricken with terror as they were trapped in their home. So on top of carrying their own worries, now they’re living with each additional tragedy that they took a call on. And I’m not just talking about the fires, now. All the calls. Ever. Because when an emergency comes in, you instantly replay all the other ones you’ve taken and you want to make the outcome different.

You want every single person on your watch to live. Draw one more breath. Don’t you die on me. You cannot will it hard enough.

No helicopter could come-the winds were too strong. No immediate relief in sight from rain. And no way to get these huge heavy trucks to the top of those winding roads.

Think about this. Let’s all praise the firemen, the police, the ambulance service. Yes. Absolutely. They put their lives on the line. But when you call 911, you don’t talk to these people. You talk to someone who is stationed there in a room, tuned like a bloodhound on point to listen to your words and deduce from your hysteria where you are and what the problem is. They are your connection to the heroes you’ll encounter. And you forget about them as soon as someone shows up. They are but a vapor. But they sat with you and counted the compressions out for you and were the one person you latched onto during the scariest moment of your life. And they got you your help.

Now. Let me explain to you how the 911 system works. When you call 911 from a landline in Sevier County it rings to Central, unless you’re in Pigeon Forge proper, and it rings to the police department. If you need fire or EMS, they stay on the line and connect you with Central. If you call 911 from your cell it pings off the tower closest to you, and if that tower is in Sevier County, it rings to Central. There are twelve 911 lines, and five non-emergent seven digit lines that are recorded on each console. The six dispatchers can all listen in on each other’s calls from their station. Then there are ten “black phones” in the building which are used to make personal calls, or that the media calls on. The twelve 911 lines each branch off what’s called a trunk line. If memory serves, each trunk could have 12 calls in que. So that’s 144 911 calls at a time ringing into Central. As those lines fill up, the calls that continue to come in roll to the five non emergent lines. After those aren’t answered, they roll to the black phones. If THOSE aren’t answered they roll on to Sevierville Police Department, Sevier County Sheriff’s Department, then Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg Police, and Sevierville Fire Department. To keep this safe, a foolproof method continues onto neighboring counties. Then to their surrounding counties. At this point, you can safely say that things are out of control. But the moment they roll out of the dispatch center, dignitaries know that part of the state is in serious trouble.

They rolled that night. Oh, how they rolled. And Gatlinburg’s phone lines melted down, literally. 10,000 dispatchers and 10,000 firemen wouldn’t have been enough.

Please watch this video of dispatch that night.
The people who want us to sit down and shut up are probably the same ones touting forgiveness for the 9/11 crashes and bombs. I won’t forget. I won’t forgive. Call me heartless, but I’m not letting it go until we know what went wrong so we can learn from it.

I don’t have a dog in the fight, as I’ve stated before. I didn’t lose a thing except sleep. But I hope my words will serve for those fourteen souls that can’t speak, or the countless ones that won’t due to repercussions with their government jobs.

For the love of God, if your neighborhood is on fire, don’t wait for the damn mayor to call you. Don’t wait for a big red fire engine to pull up to your front door. RUN. Run like the wind blows. Because where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And there had been plenty of smoke for days prior.

So when the 911 tapes are released this week–the calls that weren’t “lost” like the official state records–remember that they’re just human. They’re just like us. They wear flannel shirts over t-shirts and they have children out in the world. They read and color and work crossword puzzles during down time to keep from losing their minds. They like chocolate cake and tattoos and fishing. They dread their job and they love their job. They drive five year old cars and shop at Dollar General and they pray when they can. They don’t make a lot of money. They do the best they can. Some are married, but more are single because it’s hard to have a social life when you work in that kind of place. They are kind, tenacious, aggressive, and passionate.

They are weary.
They are alone.
They are survivors.

They do it every day.

They came to work the next day, and the day after that, as new tragedies unfolded. They answer calls about husbands of 50 years not breathing, and nieces having seizures, and babies locked in cars. Oh yes, you haven’t forgotten about that, have you? They listen to trailer park drama and sixty eight calls coming in as accidental cell phones dialing, and twenty three about a wreck on the Parkway “but I’m not sure if anyone’s hurt”, and Spanish speaking callers who blast you with words you can’t understand while your partners try to raise a translator. They take calls from the same drug seekers week after week and the woman whose husband beats her but she won’t leave.

It’s hard out there for a dispatcher. Don’t look to them to lay the blame. They were doing all they could.