Sirens blare throughout Fire Station 3, located in downtown Winston-Salem. An alarm notifies the station of an emergency, as the words “cardiac arrest” are announced on repeat through the piercing sirens.

Fireman Ethan Adams says, “We have 80 seconds to respond en route to a call,” running toward the red truck. I follow suit, strapping myself into the cab of the vehicle. 

“Or what?” I pry. 

“Or I have to fill out a lot of paperwork,” He quips back.

The double-door garage opens and the truck pulls out. Immediately, one thing becomes very clear: operating this vehicle is no easy feat. Still, Orren Wade, the engineer at Station 3, commanded it with expert precision.  

On the job

When we arrive on scene, a middle-aged man stumbles out of the house, a cigarette between his lips, his hands covering his face and his shoulders shaking. The neighbors discovered his son in the backyard this morning. Most likely, he had been dead all evening. 

“If there is greater than 15 minutes of unknown downtime, we don’t attempt CPR,” Sam Harvey, the officer in charge, says as we make our way back to the truck. 

“What happens to the body?” I inquire. 

“There are companies they can call. My buddy used to own a body removal service, actually,” Adams replies casually. 

My first hour with the Winston-Salem Fire Department was macabre, but provided me with a much-needed reality check. 

“When you’ve seen so much death, you become sort of desensitized to it,” Adams says.  

What he wasn’t saying was this: these men willingly witness the unthinkable every day so that no one else has to.

“The thing about firemen is that we would willingly give up our lives for any stranger,” Captain Michael Guteriez said. 

The second call we receive comes an hour later. Initially, it was classified as an active shooter at Forsyth Technical Community College. When we arrive, we are redirected from a nearby apartment complex where the victim resides with his grandmother to an on-campus building. Inside, a young boy sits gripping his arm. Despite the blood, his speech is even. 

“Do you remember your [guardian’s] number?” The medic asks.

He begins to recite the number with such clarity before abruptly stopping. 

That’s when a radio transmission fills the room. “[Guardian] also injured here. Taking [them] to the hospital.”

A family member was identified as the person responsible for the shooting. The cause remains unclear.

That’s one story — the messy, convoluted experiences that come with the job. 

The other story is this: the firemen behind them. 

The Firemen

“The only difference between the fire station and your home is that we have a bigger garage.” Captain Jonothan Lindholm said. “We spend a third of our lives with each other. We’re family.”

This sentiment was abundantly clear to me before Lindholm said anything. Despite the hectic morning, the men’s spirits remained high, joking and laughing with one another in the face of disaster. 

The job does not come without its risks, and numerous firemen have the scars to show it. Captain Blake Groce was injured at a house fire while coming down from a ladder when his leg caught on a fence.

Gutierrez recalls the incident and the fear he felt.

“I was with him at the hospital. We were scared that they were going to have to amputate a leg.” 

Lindholm describes having shared similarly frightening experiences. 

“I’ve been in two situations where I’ve thought I wasn’t coming out of the fire. It’s a sobering thought. I’ve cheated death twice,” he said. “We call them near misses now, back then we just called them good stories.” 

Regardless of these instances, Lindholm reflects that the worst part of the job is its physical limitations.

“I only have two years till I need to retire. I don’t want to, but I have to. Physically, my body has paid the price of the job,” he said. “I want to do this till I physically can’t, but I have to know my limitations. First and foremost, I am responsible for the safety of all my firemen.”

Battalion Chief John Suders, praised by his captains as “one of the best around,” recognizes the fruit of his labors in his firemen. After his tenure as fire chief concludes, his legacy will continue through them. 

He says that, no matter who’s at the helm, “at the end of the day, the doors will go up and the trucks will go out.”