Hopping onto the bus to the PTSC by 7:30 Friday morning felt like a relatively easy start to the day after so many years of getting to fencing tournament venues by 6:30 or 7:00. After the short drive, our four buses disgorged their nearly 300 passengers in front of the Fire Apparatus Bays, which we walked through, past multiple fire trucks and engines, out to get our first view of River City, the collection of streets, buildings, and other interesting sites that FVTC uses for practical training.
Many of the WPA sessions (crime scene photography, building searches, etc.) were held in various village buildings, frequently put to multiple use—one writer discovered that the smoke-filled room she crept through during a burning building search & rescue session was a perfectly normal looking hotel lobby for her crime scene photography session the next day.
It was back to the fire apparatus bays for my first session, though (I’m considering a building fire for a future book), where Chris Fischer, chair of the fire protection department, showed off both individual firefighter gear and some of his big vehicles, all while answering our endless questions. We learned about Stokes baskets for aerial rescues, why it’s not a good idea to jump off a building with just a rope tied around your waist (married to a physicist, I already knew that), and why firefighters aren’t allowed beards (interferes with good seal of breathing apparatus).
Eventually, someone warned Chris to stop answering our endless questions, and we climbed up into the fire truck (with ladder) or fire engine (no ladder) for our rides through River City with lights and sirens. As I expected, the ride seemed slower from the inside—lights & sirens drives are rarely as much as 10-15 mph over the speed limit, and often slower through heavy traffic. Comfort, of course, is not a priority, though the seats accommodate firefighters in full gear, including their SCBA tanks.
Our session, of course, ran slightly long, so by the time I got there, both the crime scene to autopsy and the fingerprinting sessions were full, so I ended up in a session on patrol work, where we heard about the “use of force continuum” and the dangers of the “sympathetic grasp reflex” (which essentially translates into “KEEP YOUR FINGER OFF THE TRIGGER UNLESS YOU INTEND TO SHOOT THIS INSTANT”).
After a quick lunch, I went to a session on interview and interrogation, which did more to confirm what I already knew than to provide new information.
My second Friday afternoon session was at the firing range, where I’d learn at least a bit about shooting a pistol. We started out in the classroom, where we learned the rules (at least the most important ones, anyway—the instructors told us that regular students put in 8 hours of class work before they are allowed to shoot the way we would). We were fitted with vests and belts, including bright orange plastic fake Glocks, and proceeded into the range, where we learned the basic stance, and how to load and fire our weapons. Then, after collecting ear protection and extra magazines, we traded in our fakes for real Glocks. I was better at it than I’d expected, though by the time we loaded our 2nd magazine, I was trying to pay more attention to my grip and form and my accuracy suffered. But with the distance we shot from, we were practically guaranteed a decent experience—after all, how badly can you miss from three yards under tightly controlled shooting conditions?
Next year, though, I’ll definitely enter the lottery for Milo, the shoot/don’t shoot simulation.
After the shooting experience, Katherine Ramsland‘s session on kids who kill was not exactly soothing, but fascinating in all its creepiness.
Then it was back on the buses, for dinner on our own (which is to say, with any other WPA attendees who happened to be around when we were ready to eat—there were lots of us and we had as much to talk about with each other as questions to ask instructors during the formal sessions. Then after the Sisters in Crime reception, most of us traipsed around the corner and across the street to the police station, where we got to watch Jaco, a lovely German shepherd, demonstrate how much faster he can run than the demo perp in the bite suit. Then, eventually, someone decided the next question had to be the last, only a half hour or so later than planned.
Next: Mind games & Franz