Spring/Summer 2000 One Year Later

Spring/Summer 2000 - One Year Later

So Others May Live
by Tim Reid

Last year, 229,950 gallons of gasoline spilled into Whatcom Creek, creating an inferno that took the lives of three boys. In one agonizing twist of fate roaring flames greedily devoured the unique spark inside each boy.

The boys’ families still suffer the pain of their loss. The healing has begun, yet the emotional destruction the boys’ families have endured, and are still dealing with, can only be imagined.

Yet, there are others who are dealing with the emotional and psychological repercussions of that afternoon. They are the professionals and volunteers who were on call and responded to the needs of their community. Blessedly, many were not directly involved in the discovery or treatment of the three boys — but those who were have been changed forever.

Each has a story to tell. Some are reluctant to share their stories, each one dealing with the images, sounds and smells of that fateful day as best they can. Some have chosen to lock the painful memories away in the closets of their minds.

But there are those who, nearly a year later, are finally able to share their stories of that day. They hope that the telling their stories will help heal themselves and others too.

May we all finally heal — but never forget.

AT THE BRIDGE: 4:24 p.m.: 911 operators received a report of a chemical odor on or near the Whatcom Creek bridge on Bellingham’s Woburn Street. Within minutes, Fire Capt. Jeff Jaquish arrived at the bridge and reported gasoline visible in the creek. Immediately, Bellingham police and additional fire units were dispatched to investigate the extent of the spill and control traffic.

4:33 p.m.: Bellingham Fire Department’s Battalion Chief Ron Morehouse arrived on scene and took charge. Morehouse assessed the situation, determined a plan of action and decided how best to deploy his personnel to handle the growing crisis.

A 29-year veteran of the Bellingham Fire Department, Morehouse has seen a lot. But nothing prepared him for how the creek looked prior to the explosion.

"The creek didn’t look like it had any water in it," Morehouse recalled. "The creek was so full of fuel that the water was a light brown, kind of a frosty color. Sort of like engine oil looks when it’s got water in it."

Firefighters and emergency service crews were sent to locate the fuel source and evacuate the park. All roads in the area were blocked off. A creek-side residence and business evacuation plan went into effect.

He remembers those intense moments.

"I thought, ‘People need to be evacuated. Traffic has to be stopped from getting near the creek. Wow. Look at those vapors. They must be 15-to-20 feet above the creek. They are so thick I can just barely see across the (Woburn street) bridge. Are vapors moving out of the creek’s channel? What do the air samples say? People have to be notified, kept out of the area. Where are my people? Are there people near the creek? How far has the gas gotten down the creek?’"

5:02 p.m.: A boom ripped through the air and a wrenching shudder shook the ground. The explosions had begun.

"I don’t know if I heard or felt the first explosions or not. I’m sure I did, I just don’t remember," Morehouse said. "But when I saw the ball of fire coming down the creek, all I could think was, ‘wow, this is going to be awesome.’"

As the wall of flames, more than 70-feet high and 150-feet wide, raced down the creek, it devoured everything in its path.

"I was mesmerized by the size and beauty of the flame as it came toward me," Morehouse recalls. "I was so awestruck by the flames … I almost forgot to get out of its way."

The amount of fuel spilled was staggering.

"The thing about the fire was that I could visualize 5-to-10,000 gallons of fuel on fire. That’s a tanker truck," Morehouse said. "There was no way I could even imagine over 200,000 gallons of gas on fire. You just can’t train for that kind of thing. And it just kept coming.

"What scared me most was I knew I had people down next to the creek just before it exploded." Morehouse said. "After it caught fire, I remember thinking, ‘Do I still have people down there? Have I lost anyone?’"

The whole emergency service community shared the fear that firefighters and other emergency workers might be lost in the explosion.

"I can’t describe how relieved I was when everyone checked in," Morehouse said. "I was sure that we had lost some good people in the explosion. I still can’t believe we didn’t lose any personnel. We were so lucky."

IN THE PARK:

"My partner, Ryan Provencher, and I were dispatched to investigate the chemical smell at the creek first," said BFD firefighter Kelly Devlin. "We get calls like this all of the time. Usually, when we get there the smell is gone. But when we got to the creek at the (Woburn) bridge, we could see right away that there was lots of gas in the water. It wasn’t the rainbow sheen you usually see. The creek was yellow with the stuff.

"Right away, Capt. Jaquish dispatched us to go down Lakeway and get into the park to evacuate people and see where the gas was coming from," Devlin said. "We didn’t find the gas, but we did find people."

By themselves, Devlin and Provencher tirelessly searched a large portion of Whatcom Falls Park in their attempts to locate, and as calmly as possible, evacuate anyone who was in the park or by the creek. But, people were everywhere in the park: joggers, walkers, bicyclists, and people playing with their children — all enjoying the beautiful evening.

What Devlin and Provencher didn’t realize was just how much danger people were in.

"We knew there was gas in the creek. But creeks just don’t catch fire," Devlin said, still stunned by what happened. "You never expect to see something like that happen."

Now age 28 and just over 6 feet tall, Devlin’s rangy build, relaxed smile and his open and easy-going personality radiate the confidence of a person easily trusted –– someone to depend on in a crisis. Amazingly, at the time of the explosion, Devlin had just passed his one-year probation period as a full-time firefighter with the fire department.

Devlin’s dark brown eyes lose their focus as he continues his story.

"I remember the explosions started behind me and Ryan as we were getting people out of the park. I remember hearing someone yelling over the radio, ‘Look up the hill. It’s running (the fire), it’s running. Get out of the way,’ and thinking ‘they’re talking to me.’ Ryan and I ran. As we ran, I remember hearing the explosions, then looking over my shoulder and seeing the trees along the creek going up in balls of flames. We were only wearing our bunker gear. No respirators or anything."

Without a hint of bravado, Devlin tells how he and Provencher, even with the fire and explosions, continued to run through the park, clearing everyone out. They made repeated trips back toward the flame-filled creek to look for potential victims and or survivors.

"Really, I don’t think of myself as a hero. That’s what everyone else tells me I am," he says. "I was just doing my job."

SEARCH AND RESCUE:

When the call went out, emergency service crews from not only Bellingham and Whatcom County responded, but so did Western Washington University’s police force, the U.S. Navy’s Search and Rescue helicopter from Whidbey Island, and EMS personnel from Skagit County.

Whatcom County Sheriff’s Chief Civil Deputy Ron Peterson coordinated the county’s search and rescue efforts. Born and raised in Bellingham, Peterson, 53, has been with the Whatcom County Sheriff’s office for more than 27 years.

Peterson, with his deep voice, silver gray hair, weathered countenance, and piercing blue eyes, exudes confidence. A Vietnam veteran and seasoned sheriff’s deputy, one can tell by the stories he shares that Peterson is a man who has been in bad situations before. In contrast to his tough and capable image, Peterson tells his story with heartfelt, honest emotion and exceptional candor.

"I had been driving on Iowa Street and I remember looking in my rearview mirror and seeing the flames as the creek exploded," Peterson says. "With the sound of the explosion and the flames, the first thing that went through my mind was that there had been a napalm strike.

"I’d seen lots of (napalm strikes) in Vietnam. I think that, rationally, I knew it couldn’t be one but that’s what went through my mind at the time. But, once you see something like that you never can forget it," he said with a catch in his voice. "My guts just bunched up and I had a real bad feeling.

"I had just seen firefighters go by me on the road that I have worked with for over 20 years. Some of them, I had even gone to school with. All I could think was, ‘My God, I’ve just lost some of my best friends.’ I remember repeatedly asking, ‘How many? How many are there?’ I couldn’t stop myself. I was sure that we had lost a lot of firefighters in the blast.

"I could smell the burning petroleum and I had a flashback," Peterson said quietly. "Suddenly, I wasn’t smelling just the burning gas, but the smell of burning flesh and stench of dead bodies too. All those bad memories from Vietnam filled my head.

"The bad things I hadn’t thought about in 20 years came back. Even a year later, I still have the smell in my nose from time to time. You just never forget."

Despite the terrible memories and fears, Peterson activated the county’s search and rescue volunteer teams, ensured that the Navy’s SAR helicopter was on-site and personally flew over the fire for hours searching for victims.

"I couldn’t let what I felt stop me from what I had to do. I had to keep my emotions in check," Peterson said with a determined gleam in his eyes. "But, when I got home, I let my emotions go. I cried with my wife about the boys. It’s so much harder to deal with when it’s kids."

"So Others May Live:" Bellingham Mountain Rescue’s motto.

A hero unwilling to be identified. A hero hesitant to tell his story. A hero dealing with his memories.

He was one of the volunteers from Bellingham Mountain Rescue who discovered the body of 18-year-old Liam Wood in Whatcom Creek. He braved the fires and risked being burned during his search for survivors or victims. He asked not to be identified.

"I can’t take the risk (of being identified)," he said. "The company I work for owns part of the pipeline. If they thought I was bad-mouthing them or the pipeline I could lose my job."

"The one thing I can’t seem to reconcile with myself is that I looked at Liam Wood, lying there, face down in the creek and walked on by because I couldn’t tell that he was a human being," he said with a tightness in his throat. "I thought that he was just another burned log floating there. That’s how burned he was.

"I didn’t realize for over 20 minutes that it was a person," he said. "I will never forget when we finally realized it was a body and knew that there wasn’t anything we could do to help. He was dead."

THE RIDE TO THE HOSPITAL:

"We got the call that there were some badly burned boys — boys that needed assistance," Brad Bannerman says. "When my partner and I got to the scene we saw the two boys standing in the yard with their backs to each other so they couldn’t see each other. But it didn’t matter. Their pupils were white from the burns, so they couldn’t see anyway."

Brad, 39, a 17-year veteran of the department, has spent his last eight years as a paramedic. As an instructor and mentor for many new paramedics, Brad is a highly regarded member of the team.

"Brad’s an excellent paramedic," Morehouse said. "He is very well thought of and he has a better bedside manner than most doctors I know. He never gets upset and is rock solid in an emergency situation. He’s good people."

A consummate professional, Brad says that taking care of 10-year-old burn victims Stephen Tsiorvas and Wade King was the most pivotal point in his career.

Because of his involvement with the boys, especially Stephen, who he transported to the hospital, Brad is no longer serving as a paramedic.

"I’ve never had anyone or anything affect me like this ever," Brad said as tears built up in his eyes. "I don’t know why this has affected me so much. But something inside me has been lost forever."

Brad told his story of that day in a voice nearly strangled by emotion.

"When I first saw the boys, I realized that Stephen was in the worst shape. He was burned really badly. He had circumferential burns around his whole body and his lips and eyelids were gone. Wade was in bad shape too, but his face wasn’t as badly burned. So, being the lead paramedic on the scene, I took Stephen."

"My partner Steve James and I loaded Stephen into the ambulance and had the driver head for the hospital."

With tears flowing down his face, Brad continues.

"You know he never cried out or complained? He asked me my name. Can you believe that? Stephen was having trouble speaking as the burns in his trachea compromised his airway. But he turned his head and asked me how bad he was hurt and what was going to happen to him.

"I felt he deserved the truth. So, I told him he was badly burned and that I was going to have to give him some medicine to keep him from moving and I was going to have to put a tube in his throat so he could breathe.

"He said to me, ‘I can’t see you, but it’s okay Mr. Bannerman. Do whatever you think you need to do.’

"Here I was trying to be professional and this boy was tearing me apart with his courage. Then he asked me, ‘Am I going to die?’ I knew the answer was yes, but I couldn’t tell him the truth. All I could say was, ‘We’re going to take good care of you.’

"My partner took over talking to Stephen for a while so I could take care of Stephen. But, due to his burns, the medicine didn’t work and I couldn’t find a vein in either of his arms to put an IV in. His breathing was getting increasingly labored as the burned skin of his chest and throat tightened. All I could think was, ‘My God, I’m going to have to cut this boy’s skin so that his chest can move and he can breathe.’ I was horrified at the idea and told the driver to go faster."

The tears continue to flow as he describes the rest of the ride.

"The only thing I could do was hold his hand and try to keep him calm. I know he couldn’t feel my touch because of the burns, but it didn’t matter. His hands were curled in fists like talons and he couldn’t even move his arms. But I held his hand anyway."

"When we finally got to the hospital, I made sure that someone took over for me and kept talking with Stephen after I left. In just a period of minutes, a part of my soul was linked with Stephen’s forever."

After the fire died down and the crisis was over, Brad went home and cried. It was then that his time with Stephen overwhelmed him.

"He cried for hours and hours," said Trisha Bannerman as she squeezed her husband’s hand. "He didn’t sleep for five or six days. I didn’t know what to do. He was always so strong and suddenly he wasn’t any more."

"I was in bad shape emotionally and psychologically. I couldn’t work either. I was on medical leave for quite a while," Brad said.

"My dad was so sad all of the time," Brad’s 13-year-old son Derek said. "It was hard to be around him. I was frustrated ‘cause there wasn’t anything I could do. He just cried all the time."

"He would walk into walls like they weren’t there," Trisha said. "A couple weeks after it happened, I was cooking and the sounds and smells were too much for him. He ran from the room with his hands over his ears. When I found him later in his office, he was lying on the floor curled up in a ball crying uncontrollably."

"He just wasn’t him anymore," Trisha said tearfully. "And that was what was so hard."

Tormented by his dreams and by his memories of Stephen, Brad resigned from being a paramedic and now spends his time as a regular firefighter for the department.

"I think it is the best decision for me. I don’t want to have to be the one making the life and death decisions anymore," Brad said.

He plans to continue as a firefighter and continue training new paramedics while he receives counseling.

"I know that I still need to see someone to talk about what I’ve been through," Brad said. "I’m going to have relapses into depression every once in a while. But, with the love of my family and the support of my friends, I know that I will get better — in time."

The following is a letter from Brad Bannerman, a paramedic with the Bellingham Fire Department, to Katherine Dalen, the mother of Stephen Tsiorvas.

Dear Ms. Dalen

I felt compelled to write to you and express my deep condolences for your tremendous loss. Stephen touched a lot of people in many, many ways. I have been personally touched by Stephen in a very profound way. I am the Paramedic that treated and transported Stephen on that terrible afternoon.

I am probably one of the last people he was able to talk to following his horrific ordeal. I want you to know that Stephen was not in a great deal of pain, due to the depth of his burns, during the ride to the hospital.

I have never been exposed to anyone as brave and unselfish as your son Stephen. During transport, his main concern was for his friend Wade, whom he repeatedly asked about. At one point, Stephen asked me what was going to happen to him and wanted to know my name. At that time I explained to him that he was very badly burned and that I had to give him a shot of medicine to paralyze him and then put a tube down his throat to breathe for him.

He then looked up at me and said, "It’s okay Mr. Bannerman. Do whatever you think you need to do."

Unfortunately, the medicine that I gave him wasn’t as effective as usual, due to his burns, so he didn’t become paralyzed until after we had him in the emergency room. Never once did he complain or even cry out. I was able to hold his hand and try to comfort him throughout the ride and only wish I could have done more. I have a 12-year-old son and cannot begin to fathom the depth of your loss.

I have been on the fire department for 16 years and have never had an incident or a patient that has impacted me to this extent. My partner, Steven James, and I have been unable to return to work since this incident and are receiving counseling that I hope will bring some healing. I know that Stephen would want us to move on and help other people so we are trying our best to deal with this. In my extensive experience, I have been witness to many acts of bravery and heroism but all pale in comparison to what I witnessed by your son that day.

I feel somewhat selfish writing this letter to you, as it is a part of my healing process, but I felt very compelled to tell you how proud you can be of your son. You must be one fantastic mother! I truly believe that Stephen is now an angel that will watch over us for the rest of our lives and am deeply honored to have been even a small part of his life. I will carry a part of Stephen with me for the rest of my life and will hopefully, someday, be able to use my experience with him to better myself and the people I come in contact with.

That day has made me realize how short and precious life is and has brought me ever closer to my son. If you ever need anything, please feel free to contact me. I would be honored to help in anyway possible. Thank you for bringing such a wonderful person into this world.

Sincerely,

Brad Bannerman

Bellingham Fire Department

Spring/Summer 2000 - One Year Later

So Others May Live by Tim Reid

So Others May Live
by Tim Reid