by Mike Squires
Around midnight, in mid-December, back in the early ‘90s, we received a “voice-page alarm” of a structure fire at 10302 Doty Avenue, cross streets 104th and Century Boulevard. Engines 3, 4, Truck 1 and Unit 11 responded.
I was the captain at Fire Station #4 in the city of Inglewood, located at 107th and Crenshaw Boulevard, a perilous part of town. The fire was my “First in District.” We would be the first to arrive at the scene.
We all leaped out of our beds as the lights in the stationhouse came on and we slid into our turnout pants and boots. It’s only a one story firehouse so there was no pole to slide down. The overhead engine room door rolled up and Engine 4, along with Rescue 4, rolled out. We had three men on the engine and two on the rescue unit.
As we turned onto 104th Street we could see the loom up, a yellow and orange header of smoke glowing over the buildings near the Hollywood Park Racetrack. I announced over the radio, “To all incoming units, we have a worker,” meaning a working fire in progress. As we turned onto Doty Avenue, about a half block down on the right hand side of the street, was a two story apartment building aglow. People were gathering in front and pointing to the building for us. We slowed down in search of a hydrant and, as luck would have it, there was one in front of the apartment building.
I radioed to all units, “Engine 4 in on the scene. We have a two story apartment complex, approximately 15 units. One of the middle, second story units is well involved. We are laddering the south side and taking in a live line. Engine 3 and Truck 1, come on in and assist. We have our own water supply.”
My guys donned Bas (breathing apparatus) and left for the south side of the building with a 24-foot extension ladder and a live line. The north side of the building was actually the front of the apartment. Flames and smoke were rolling out of the second story from windows and the balcony of the apartment, about halfway down the side of the apartment walkway.
About that time, a man who was in the crowd in front of the building and was watching the operation ran up to us and yelled, ‘Why don’t you go in the front door? It’s open and she’s in there.”
“There’s someone in the apartment?” I had to shout over all the other noise and incoming sirens.
“She’s not out here,” he yelled back.
I shouted to Ralph, my engineer, who was at the panel of the rig adjusting the hose pressure for the first live line, “Charge this line when I get down the walkway!”
I grabbed a second live line from the transverse bed. I had the nozzle and one loop of the hose over my shoulder and started heading down the corridor between the buildings, sort of a stumbling jog. The couplings on the hose kept catching on objects in the walkway, but Ralph kept popping them loose for me. I reached the stairway in the fire unit and pulled an extra 20 feet or so of the hose and flaked it at the bottom of the stairs. Then I ran up the stairs with the nozzle and a 10 foot loop of hose. The door was about half way open. I was down on all fours and could see the entire entrance to the living room. There were two couches, a TV set and other furniture. Beyond that was an open-style kitchen.
The whole kitchen area and far side of the living room were heavily involved in flame. The smoke level was about four feet off the floor and the fire and smoke were rolling overhead and going out the front sliding windows of the balcony. I could hear my guys coming in through the back bedrooms and bumping into things. It was pitch black with smoke back where they were.
I crawled into the living room, staying as low as possible under the smoke. I checked as much of the room as I could and made it to the other side of the first couch and entrance to the kitchen. That’s where the fire and heat stopped me. It was too hot without a face piece. I had a hood on but my ears still started to tingle.
I couldn’t see the woman anywhere in the room. I crawled back to the front door, got the hose line and opened the nozzle a little to let out any air in the line. Then I aimed the tip into the top of the flames over the back couch and kitchen area, using a partial fog pattern. I covered the walls, couches and kitchen quickly. The fire area darkened down immediately and I backed down the stairwell, letting the heated smoke pass over my head. I radioed to the truck company and Engine 3 that I had the fire knocked down and needed some guys in BAs for search and rescue.
Immediately, two guys were coming up the stairs. They said, “Great knock down, Cap,” through their masks as they entered the front room. I radioed for salvage covers downstairs and lights and blowers for the fire area.
I watched the two fire fighters from the open doorway. They had a master light, the beam waving through the steam and smoke, like some mysterious wand. My guys were finally coming in from the back bedrooms. The heavy breathing and mumbling in all the face pieces were very eerie, but I had seen this many times. One of the guys called out, “Hey, Cap, you better take a look at this.”
They had found a woman’s body over by the kitchen entrance, behind the farthest couch. The other firefighters were opening windows to ventilate the room. The blower had not yet arrived. I took a big breath, held it and re-entered the room. On the other side of the back couch was the body of a naked black woman. She was very badly burned. Someone had wrapped her in Christmas tree lights and her face was in a pan of water. The burnt remains of the Christmas tree lay partly across her back and legs. Part of the tree lights were still connected from her to the tree, although not much of the tree was left. The body resembled a mannequin — you could see pink flesh in the cracks on the skin.
I instructed all the firefighters to vacate the unit to try and preserve any evidence that might still be available and radioed for a P.D. unit and the coroner. I also informed our Battalion Chief we had a fatality. By now the BC was on the scene and he took command of the fire scene.
It took about 45 minutes for the coroner to arrive. Engine 3 and Truck 1 returned to quarters, along with Rescue 4. Before the BC left he gave me a verbal reprimand for entering a hostile environment without my BA on. His words were, “I applaud your heroism, but next time use the BA.”
Of course I said, “Absolutely, Chief. You know best.”
The BC worked for me years before as a paramedic and engineer. It was kind of funny; in all my years as a Fire Captain, I had never seen him give a hundred percent at a fire, or go the extra mile for the guys in the department. He had always been mediocre, at best. I was sure the reprimand had to do with the past.
I called Engine 4 in service at the scene and told them we could be available, if needed for another fire, if more than three engines were required. Our city was relatively small; we had four stations and four engines. We also had Mutual Aid from other nearby departments if we needed it.
We watched the coroner examine the body. Burned bodies, along with other things in fires, give off a pungent odor. We noticed the coroner stuff a menthol slave of some type up his nostrils. He was bent over the victim and attempting to pry open her fingers. Then he started removing rings from her fingers and the cooked skin came off with the rings.
I was behind him and to his right side a little. He turned towards me and slowly shook his head. “She didn’t burn to death.”
I didn’t expect him to talk to me, and I sort of gulped out, “She didn’t?”
“Nope.”
He pointed to his own kidney area and said, “There are two stab wounds right about here. I think the fire was a cover-up.”
“Wow,” was all I could think of to say. He started unrolling a zippered body bag and laid it beside her.
Engine 4’s crew had done a great job and we were ready to return to quarters. Everyone’s face, helmet and turnouts were black from the fire. We had made a good stop on the fire. We were all disappointed we couldn’t get the woman out. As we walked out, the coroner was putting the rings in a small manila envelope.
Engine 4 returned to quarters. It was about 3:30 in the morning. Maybe we’d get some sleep, maybe not.
I’ve thought about that fire from time to time and always wondered if the man who told me about the front door being open could have been the murderer.
In my 40 years on the department, I never saw it all.
Editor’s note: Mike Squires joined the Inglewood Fire Department on March 16, 1961 and progressed through the ranks from firefighter to engineer, fire inspector, arson investigator and captain. When he retired in 2001 he was recognized as having had the “longest fire career on record for Inglewood City” — 40 years, 4 months and 16 days. B
