Minerva - A Tragic Story
 

Sometimes my best is not good enough. I have never publicly told this story before.

I never met her. I never saw her. I never heard her voice...until the fire. Twenty-seven years ago today, I was on patrol working the graveyard shift. The night had been cold and crisp. My son had been born two weeks prior and I had wanted to spend Christmas with him and my three-year-old daughter, but in this job holidays with the family are rare.

The call came out about 6:00am. A house was on fire and people were trapped inside. I was not far from the house and saw the rising plume of black smoke from the distance. Black smoke means a "live" fire. Further information from the informant came in that the house fire was caused by a Christmas tree. I drove to the home with my siren blaring, my overhead lights casting an eerie Christmas theme, and my tires screeching. I could not drive any faster.

When I arrived at the home, it was fully engulfed. Flames ripped through the now-broken windows and tar black smoke poured from every opening. The roar was louder than anything I remember.

There was a male adult wearing only his underwear running back and forth screaming, "My mother! She and the kids are inside!" I could not believe the overwhelming sense of despondency and despair I was witnessing. I ran from my police car to the back door of the residence, a duplex. To my surprise, I found a fireman in his full fire suit, minus his respirator, standing near the open rear door. I was confused because there was no fire engine outside, I was sure of it! He stood there just looking at me. I pushed him out of the way and looked into the mouth of this raging fire. If you know me, I have little patience when something life-threatening is occurring. The screaming male was going berzerk screaming about his mother.

I did not make a decision to enter the home or not. I just entered. I got down on my hands and knees, and using my flashlight to illuminate my path, entered the house. My senses were immediately overloaded. The acrid, burnt smell filled my nostrils. The flesh on my ears was burning. I looked toward the ceiling and saw angry, crimson red flames roiling across similar to ocean waves. I lost all sense of direction, but knew I had to save the trapped people. As I crawled across the living room floor, I could not see two feet ahead of me. I crawled across a hallway and found a woman laying on her back. Her head faced me, and because I was crawling so low to avoid the flames, only an inch separated her face from mine. She was burnt....burnt bad! Her facial skin had fried ink black. Her hair was singed and missing. Her face was contorted in excruciating pain....and the smell of burnt flesh. It is something you never forget.

I wrapped my arms underneath her armpits and across her chest and attempted to drag her back out of the house. Her skin from her arms released from the underlying muscle into my hands. It was as if her arms had been skinned. I looked at the crispy, gooey woman's skin in my arms and could not comprehend what happened. I would later learn this is called "sleeved." The heat was overwhelming and I had lost my sense of direction. I again placed my arms underneath her armpits, this time my hands gripped my own uniform. Laboriously, I inched my way back the route I had entered. When I was about five feet from the doorway, it felt like a vacuum suction of air was pulling me back into the fire. I could not think. I was confused. I kept pulling. I finally made it out the doorway with the woman and drug her onto some nearby grass.

I looked around, but did not see the fireman! He was still inside! I rushed back into the fire, this time anger filled me. Why hadn't he followed me out? I found him laying on his side coughing thick black junk out. I grabbed him by his fire jacked and dragged him out of the home. I was pissed at him because he should have done the rescue! He was wearing the fire gear, not me!

I went back to the woman who I had pulled out and I could not believe what I was seeing. Her arms had very little skin on them and had burst open, somewhat like when you overcook hotdogs. Her pink underlying muscles were every shade of burnt.

Her breathing was shallow. I began performing CPR on her. Her breath smelled and tasted......burnt. Additional firemen arrived and relieved me of performing CPR on her. One looked me dead in the eye with a look of disgust on his face. He reached out and peeled the woman's burnt lips from mine. My world started spinning and the next thing I knew, I was on a gurney with many concerned faces staring down at me. I tore the IV from my arm and had to be restrained by my partners because I wanted to go back into the house!

Minerva was her name. She was burnt over 60% of her body with third degree burns. She lived for five more days until she succumbed. Two additional adults within the home died inside. I went to Minerva's funeral and apologized to her for not being able to save her.

I learned the fireman was a reserve fireman on his way to volunteer. He saw the fire, put on his fire suit, and waited for additional personnel.

I was awarded some medals and called a "hero," I did not feel like a hero. I felt hollow. I wished I had been there sooner and could have saved them.

On that day, my best was not good enough. Like every other December 26th, I have a shot of whisky and say a prayer to Minerva's memory.

David

Daaaayyuuummmm....

Heroic effort yet so very tragic.

I have no doubt you have turned the tables on so many otherwise lined-up tragedies.

Society is lucky to have men like you.

Damn...a sad tale and a hellofa Christmas memory...you can rest easy, knowing you tried...

David, my heart aches for you. There is a limit to what mere mortals can achieve.
The fact you made it out alive and were able to help the fire fighter to safety is amazing
Your family got to see you come home.
That was the best outcome possible.

Best
Les

You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

Greatness walks among us...some post here.

Bless you.

Wow. You did your best, that's all you can do.

rjp

David,
You assured she was not alone at that time, and not only does she live on in your tribute, but now she is a little part of all of us.

Stunning bravery and compassion. You did more than any mere mortal could have. Thanks for sharing this story.

Bless you.

Thank you for your service and your story. I can't imagine that it's easy for you to recount the stories that you have told here over the years. They are a reminder for most of us to be thankful for our fortune and families and the folks that are willing to serve to help anyone that needs it. They are also filled with hope because they demonstrate that there are folks that are willing to put themselves on the line for whoever needs it, a reminder that we can all do better, that we should all strive to embody many characteristics that make a person a good person.
I'm sorry that you have to see and experience the things that you do.
I'd say that you are probably as close to a "super hero" as any of us can get. Thank you for your service.

Wow.

I can't think of a single word or sentence. I'm just choked up.

Thank you for trying, for being there for her, for sharing your story, for remembering her every year, because of who you are.

Wow....

You did what you could, and FAR more than the average human would have done. Feel NO guilt about your actions. Your behavior in this time of critical incident stress is what the world needs more of. We can't judge the actions of others around us. You do You, as the saying goes...

Thank you for sharing your story. It is important, and I hope it helps. I would bet that firefighter still stuffers from that incident...

The world needs more people like you willing to risk it all.... Tip my hat to you and admire (not sure that is the correct word) what you did. Would offer my hand if we ever cross paths.

Cheers

You are a hero, David. And a great story-teller.

I’m speechless. Thanks for sharing your story and doing everything you could to save her and help him.

Thank you very much for the kind words. I will never forget her or her memory.

If only there had been more men like you in Uvalde maybe some children would have been saved. Your writing and your stories are incredible.

God bless you David (and Minerva). Thankful there are still guys like you out there putting it on the line everyday.

Was this in Whittier?

You did the best that you could do, and that's all you can ask of yourself. It doesn't make you feel any better about the outcome. And you'll remember her forever. Maybe more so than the people you do save. Sometimes you can everything right, and still you don't win.

The world could use more people like you. For multiple reasons even beyond the scope of this thread, but also in part because the next time there's a burning building, you won't hesitate to do the exact same thing.

You Sir are a hero in every sense of the word, you tried!!!
Lots of people would not have even "tried", but you did, and that makes a difference.
You did all that you could do.
Rest in Peace Minerva

Sent from my SM-N950U using Tapatalk

Yes, following the fire I refused to be identified or interviewed by the press. I was heartbroken that Minerva and two others had died.