Fire stories
 

As I promised here is the beginning of a big fire story. Part one sets the scene.

Circa 1972

It was a dark and stormy night.

Actually, it was a sunny, cold winter day and my pals and I were kind of bored of all our usual haunts and so we decided to hike a few blocks to the abandoned field next to the train tracks and build a small fort out of discarded crates, plywood, pallets, and what not that littered the field.

Fate was smiling upon us that day as we made our usual rounds. First, we investigated the gum machine at the train station looking for coins that might have been left in the change slot. Lo and, well, behold! A dime. (this is c.1972 remember) After a brief conference, we invested the dime in a pack of gum, thereby laying in supplies for the grueling watch at our fort.

How the magic of finding a dime paled in comparison to events that unfolded next. Due to some malfunction of the candy machine, the machine would not only dispense your candy but also return your money.

The 12 year old mind fairly boggled. The implications of this were not lost on us. This meant we could get ANOTHER pack of gum.
And another.
And another.
And another.

Eventually some adult came along and wanted to get something or other. Realizing the jig was up, we stood there and fessed up.

“The machine is broken, it gives you your money back.” We allowed.

Apparently, all the adults we tried this ruse, this merry prank upon were not buying. They all eyed us skeptically, as if to say “I ain’t falling for it kid” then took their purchases and left. Without checking the change slot.

Our gain. We had graduted beyond mere packs of gum and rolls of lifesavers. We were in the big leagues. Mars bars, three musketeers, payday, almond joy, goldenbergs peanut chews, butterfingers. The world was our oyster and there was an R in December.

To dispell any notions you may have that we were greedy little urchins, I say this to you:

We didn’t empty the machine of every piece of candy. We left a few rolls of butterscotch lifesavers when we realized they tasted gross.


I have told a lie. This was our second stop of the day. Our first stop was the garbage room of the apartment building my pals and I lived in. Somehow we discovered that regular and frequent visits to the newspaper bin would yield an occasional playboy magazine, reputed to have excellent articles, albeit pictorial ones, ideally suited to the pubescent sensibilities of boys. Very rarley we would find a penthouse, but these had articles that we found to be a little lowbrow for our tastes.

On this auspicious day prior to the candy machine jackpot we had hit the reading material trifecta.

To be continued, i.e. The Fire next time.

Holden Caulfield, watch out! ;)

Heehee Marichiko!

Part 2

Now, armed with our serendipitously aquired larder and library, we headed off for the wilds of the abandoned field just down the street, past the alley, behind the parking lot, through the tall, dry phragmites, beyond the train station.

We set to work establishing our fort. Discarded plywood became the walls, old tires were put into service as seats, a large cardboard box was unfolded to make a roof and soon enough we were safely ensconced in our outpost.

Sitting still for a while reading, eating, and discussing the relative merits of the misses October and November we let the cold December air gradually make its stealthy entrance into our stronghold. Instantly we sprang to action and began assembling kindling, and larger bits of wooden refuse in order to make a fire.

Possesing matches was something that my friends with smoking parents could pull off with a bit of leger demain, other wise it meant hiding an entire box of ohio bluetips. If you were lucky they were strike anywhere, otherwise you could grab a handful and tear a bit of stiker from the box, but that was pretty much an instant bust. One of us was prepared that day and we set the kindling ablaze and sat back for some dramatic handwarming in front of the fire.

Little did we know that our movements were being watched that day. We were just beginning to enjoy our new campfire when out of nowhere our fort was beseiged! The big kids in the neighbor hood had found us out were attacking our fort. The walls were torn asunder. Like Alexandria, our libraries were burned, our comforting hearth was rudely kicked wildly into the dry phragmities growing next to that enormous puddle of water alongside the train tracks on that freezing winter day.
Puddle of water? Freezing day? Ice all around ? What madness is this? What are all those 55 gallon drums lying sideways in the puddle?

Soon, the dry grasses were ablaze, even the once reckless and destructive big kids were sobered and began frantically trying to stamp out the blaze. It spread faster than we could respond and almost all at once we saw the puddle itself catch fire. We now had a small lake of fire about as wide as a drainage ditch and a few dozen feet long. The fire was making its way toward the barrels from which the puddle seemed to be emerging.

At this point we took off, every boy for himself, pushing our stingrays as fast as we could charging up the hill that lead to the road home, not daring to look back. About at the top of the hill, we turned when we heard a loud BAVOOM to see the flames engulfing the barrel and a large tower of very black smoke shooting into the sky. Already sirens were sounding and fire trucks were on their way.

When we reached the apartment building my friends and I split up and went right to our homes agreeing that noone would say anything. We didn’t even talk to one another for three or four days, terrified that simply making a phone call would instantly reveal, magically, that we were the culprits.

We searched the papers daily to see if our names or pictures or descriptions had appeared. They never did. After a while we relaxed and felt that it was safe once again to scrape all the heads off a box of Ohio blue tip matches, stuff the contents into an empty 30.06 casing, cram some piece of lead sinker in there and set it overhanging the edge of a brick with a zippo silenty burning beneath it.

Did I mention that we were all latchkey kids?

Nicely written little story, Foot. I was THERE, and I'm just a dumb girl! (although the boys in my neighborhood did make me an honorary boy when I was 8 because I was the one who stole a hammer and a bunch of wicked nails to make our treehouse where no girls were allowed!) ;)

Butterscotch lifesavers aren't gross. They're good. Mmmm.

How far did the lead sinker go ?????

Oh , and try flaming tennis balls ( soaked in karasine overnite ) from a home made tennis ball cannon , VOOOMP !!!!!! " It ain't burning , DAMN IT !!!! " ,,,,,,,, " Oh yes it it , see the trail of fire as it rolls down the street ,,,, UNDER THAT CAR !!!!!!"

I might elaborate more on this story later.. but here's my fire story:
Me and a good buddy my sophmore year of high school went on vacation during the summer to their cabin in upper Michigan on some island. His dad is a marine, real hardass, and told me and my buddy to bring our paintball guns with us so we could play a couple games on this island. We get up there, take their boat to the island, and my buddy shows me that he has two smoke bombs in his bag for us to use while paintballing (you can probably tell where this is going). We unpack, and his dad tells us to get our gear and head over to the grassy field and we'll play a game there. The field is about oh, 3 footbal fields long, and 2 wide. It was me and my buddy vs. his dad the marine. We start and the guy slowly creeps around behind us, and starts taking little pot shots at us just to scare us. My buddy panics, and throws me one of the smoke bombs to light and throw so we can cover our escape. I stand up in this field, throw the smoke bomb, get popped 4 times int he back of the head (if you've ever played paintball you know how much that hurts) and proceed to run away.

I look back, and I see that there's alot more smoke coming from that smoke bomb than there should be.. and all I could think at that point was. uh oh. A fire starts in this grassy field, burns and burns, incinerates all our gear, spreads into the forest engulfing 40 trees with flames just as high. The forest service gets called and they have to bring over a landing craft and pump water out of the lake to try and contain this thing. Ends up, 6 acres of forest/grassland were burnt to a crisp, the fire threatened 15 cabins, all with people staying at them with boats, etc.

My buddy's dad, well lets just say never piss off a marine cause he will make sure you know he means business

That was risky marichiko. Obviously noone told you hammers are a gateway tool. Pretty soon you'd be moving on to cordless drills (it's only 12 volts) then before you know it you're trying to stuff a portable 12" table saw into your jacket and you feel a hand on your shoulder...

Wicked nails.

Farfromhome: I think the sublte pleasures of butterscotch lifesavers are lost on the 12 year old palate.

Zippyt: It went about 1/2 inch into a plaster wall. might have gone further if the casing was being held in place.

I was always a fan of the Butter Rum LifeSavers -- not quite sure why they stopped making those.

Oh crap. They are changing the five flavors in the Five Flavor rolls.

I will have to struggle with the ethics of trying the new product, although I am enticed by the new flavor lineup. They are keeping my beloved pineapple and the always comfortingly yummy cherry.

(see, this is an extension of the blue M&M thing, and the deleting colors from the Big Box of 64 Crayola thing)

Wolf - Isn't that story two years old? Did the sneaky bastards make the change without our knowledge? Guess I haven't had a LifeSaver in a while...

I have a (rather dull) one
 

When I was little a group of the neighbourhood kids and I made small fires on a grassy but not that well hidden area just round the corner from our houses. Older brother of one of my friends brought the lighter and we burned sticks and anything else that came to hand, plastic bottles etc. All went well until said older brother brought a can of deoderant, and thus the fires got far more interesting, until we were spotted by someone and shouted at, so we ran away thinking we would all go to jail :p , we were quite young at the time though.

I do have some good fire pics from the Glastonbury Festival though, first is my friends's (who i went with) cousin's friends setting eachother on fire when they were drunk, the other being when we had way too much fuel and just threw it all on the fire:

So it is ... the date was really tiny at the top. I didn't see the "2003", just focused on the 8/14 and thought it was more recent.

I know I haven't had a LifeSaver in a while ... I prefer chocolate. And the occasional Tootsie Pop.

Fire Stories? nothing so exciting as the openers to this thread, but here is mine.

i must have been 9 or 10 yrs old and my cousin was 4 years older than me. and a boyscout. and a bit of a troublemaker. his mom tells us to get out of the house and go play. as we leave through the garage, he stops to pack a couple of things in his backpack. we are in his town, not mine, so i just follow him. we end up in a little field that ends at a cement wall that goes about 20 feet down to the river.
i should mention that this is the cousin that used to pile up black powder in steel fenceposts in the back yard just to see the flash, so i should have known better when he said "watch this". but if i had known better i wouldn't have a story. he starts pulling somethings out of his backpack as i eagerly watch. the first one i recognize as a Zippo - no surprise. the second one is a bottle. I can read so i know it is Boost, but i don't know what it is used for so i ask him. he says it makes cars go faster. i still don't get it until he pours a nice stream down that cement wall and lights it. cool. the flames, where visible, are blue. he is a little frustrated because it doesn't look like it is really burning so he pours more. still nothing - just some small blue flames. he gets pissed and throws the bottle over in the grass, and pulls out some other bottles that contain liquids that seem to burn better.
at some point he made the mistake of spilling some of the new liquid on our side of the wall. we didn't really notice until he starts shouting that his foot is on fire. it turns out that the spill on our side of the wall linked up with the discarded bottle in the grass and flames had worked there way along that little spill to ignite the boost. apparently, what we took as a weak accelerant wasn't - it was burning clear. as he takes off in the grass stomping and kicking his foot to put out the flames i back away to watch the glory that is an entire bottle of Boost burn... only to ignite the remainder of the backpack. it was quite a blaze we had going there until my cousin took a stick and threw the whole backpack into the river. the flames quickly burned out after turning the small field black. my cousin wasn't burned, his shoe was just a little melted, and i'm trying to figure out how to keep our parents from finding out that we had set the grass, the wall, and apparently the river on fire. apparently, my cousin wasn't nearly as concerned. he turned to me and asked if i had ever seen a flaming potato shot from a fence post. the answer was no so off we went.

he is now a multi-millionaire - damn troublemakers.

my other one also involves a cousin, but this one was a bit younger than me. he had just gotten in trouble for setting a neighbor's antique chair on fire in their basement. i couldn't figure out how he could do something so stupid. we hung out all day and at various times i would ask how he'd done it, why he'd done it, etc. his answer was always - "i don't know".

in the afternoon we were over at my house and my parents were at work. we are watching movies and eating pizza. i get up to go to the bathroom and when i come back he is just standing there with a stupid grin on his face and he asks me if i "really want to know" how he set a chair on fire. i said yes, because i just couldn't understand how anyone could be so stupid.

he explains to me that bug spray - namely OFF! is flamable. i said "uh huh". he then says that they were spraying it and igniting the spray. i said "that was stupid to do it in the house". he says, "uh huh". i thought that was the end of it, so i went into the kitchen to get a drink of water. as i come back i hear him say that he figured out that the trick is to not spray it, because it is hard to control the spray. as he says this i see him (in slow motion) pull a lighter from his pocket and move his hand toward a glass A&W Root Beer glass sitting on my dad's end table. I yell "NO!" he says, in a container it's easier to control and lights the glassful of OFF!.

apparently it isn't easier to control because as soon as a column of flame shot from the glass he panicked and tried to pick up the glass to take it to the sink. yeaaaah, right. glass. flames. he burns his hand and jerks is away from the glass which of course lands on my dad's pride and joy. his lazy boy. when he came home from another 10 hour shift dad collapsed in that chair with a huge glass of Lipton Ice Tea - every single day. but not this day, because that chair went up in flames.

i put it out quickly with my shirt. the light brown nap of that chair was black. the smoke alarms were going off, and the house reaked of a chemical fire. i spent about two hours frantically cleaning the chair and was able to get the black off until it was no longer visibly damaged. the problem was that it was crispy to the touch. my cousin looks at me and says "he probably won't even notice". that was the first time i ever hit a person. i broke his nose, gave him a black eye, and knocked out one tooth.

and then i got grounded for a month. it wasn't until i was in my late 20's that for some reason we were all talking about it and i found out that my cousin had gone straight home to his mom and told her that i beat him up so that he wouldn't tell my dad that i had almost burned the house down. my aunt called my dad at work and apparently he was just so tuned up when he got home that he never even heard my side of the story. when his veins started bulging and he announced my grounding i assumed it was because i broke my cousin's nose. dad had thought for all those years that i set the fire.

that cousin just got stationed in korea. serves him right.

I must have been in the 8th grade. That day, in my science class, I learned that when you place a piece of zinc (or galvenized metal) into muratic acid, the byproduct is hydrogen gas (a very reactive and flamable gas). Hmmm. This to me seemed very far fethed. Was this yet another one of those urban ledgends made up by geeky science teachers to make themselves sound smart, or did this actually have some truth to it?

When I got home from school, my brother and I (we being latchkey kids ourselves) were looking for something exciting to do until mom and dad got home. I had this brilliant idea. My dad's workshop had an endless supply of galvanized nails, and having a pool, we had large quantities of muratic acid on hand. :litebulb: Ahha! Surley, mom and dad would approve, I mean, after all, it was all in the name proving that science teacher right.

I grabbed an old tupperware container, a lid, a plastic straw, some nails, and the acid. I placed the acid in the container, poked a hole in the lid and slipped the straw through it. I placed a half dozen or so nails in the acid and placed the lid tight on the tupperware container. Now lets see, what was I missing...oh yeah, a fire source. You see, it was my intent to create a sort of bunsen burner if you will. The idea was to let the hydrogen gas build up until it began to shoot out of the straw, then I would simply light the straw and voila! Instant torch. Yeah, I know, but keep in mind I was in 8th grade, a boy, and bored.

I waited a few minutes to let the gas build, lit the match and placed it at the end of the straw and waited for the jet rocket flame to emerge. I was a little aprehesive at first, stepping at arms length with the match in case the flame grew wildly out of control...nothing. I kept it there a little longer stepping closer now while my concern fadded replaced by bewilderment. Still nothing. A few extra seconds more, a few steps closer and the straw began to burn but still nothing spectacular. I turned to my brother and was about the announce this science experiment to be a complete failure, proving once again that science was a big disapointment. Ready to to back to school the next day and denouce the teachers claims and lable him a big fat lier. very idea of zinc and acid creating a flamable gas indeed.

Then I heard it. The loudest bang I had ever heard. Like a gun shot, a firework. The hydrogen gas inside the container finally lit, causing it to igniting a fairly large explosion therby blowing the lid off the container and the contents of the container everywhere within a 5 foot radius (by now I was standing well within that 5 foot radius). After I cleared my ears of the ringing sound and gathered my thoughts as to what just happened, I suddenly came to realize the burning sensation growing over the my left arm and the left side of my face. I was douced in muratic acid and it was eating me alive! Thinking quickly, I ran for the pool. Ran for the cleansing waters to wash away the acid. As I did so, there was a part of me that thought, "this was the stupidest idea I ever had." Another part of me thought, "That teacher was right...damn him!" Sill, another part thought...."success!"