Fire Safety Day
Elementary school; photo from Wisconsin Historical Society
The brick school building was a backward C; the long side, with the front doors, abutted the street. A wide grassy strip, with seesaws, swings, and a kickball court, protected the building from the road. Nothing protected the children from the road. The facade was beautiful.
The back pavement, cradled by the short sides of the C, was where business was truly conducted: bus drop offs, lining up before the first bell, monkey bars and tether ball. The teachers’ lounge was also in the back, and I think they still smoked then, although my memory is hazy.
We were excitable, and thus treasured any deviation from the norm. Once, fitness guru Richard Simmons visited the school, arriving in a black limo, greeted by a contingent of teachers’ pets (yes, including me). We ran around the building for the President Fitness test. Well, we ran around the smaller side; on the street side, the long C side, we walked. One exciting afternoon, a window was broken by a powerful kickball. We got yelled at, yes, but the boarded up window reminded us of the ruckus for a week.
So we were at a fever pitch for Fire Safety Day. Shiny red fire trucks were parked on the pavement. We excitedly climbed in, wearing yellow child-sized helmets. A small model house was set up nearby, I suppose so we could practice escaping quickly. We showed off our Stop Drop and Rolls.
In the afternoon, we piled into the cafeteria for a treat: a movie! An instructional film about fire safety. A typical family in a typical suburban house, surprised by fire in the middle of the night. They had to think quickly: some exits were blocked by fire. The children escaped via ladders attached to their windows. They made it to their designated meeting place. Success!
We all now knew how to be safe in a fire. What a great day! Until the screaming began.
That night, my parents tucked me into bed, as usual. My dad wound up my music box, my mom kissed my forehead. I had George the Dragon and Mr. Ed the Horse snuggled under the covers with me. A small nightlight by the door emitted a soft glow. The door had been left open, as usual, and I could hear the television from downstairs as I drifted off to sleep.
I dreamed of fire, creeping down the hallway, licking up the walls. The green dresser, burning. The shag carpet a field of flame. My bedroom was on the second floor! I didn’t have a ladder! And even if I did escape, we hadn’t set a designated meeting area.
I awoke to my father holding me down as I screamed and thrashed. Dad was in his underwear; it was late, my parents had already been asleep. The room was bright: the overhead light was on, the hallway lights, my parents’ bedroom lights.
My mother called the school first thing in the morning. She was not the only parent to call. I was a kindergartner and I don’t remember any subsequent Fire Safety Days.
