Trial by Fire

Trial by Fire

The seed of my inferiority complex was planted when I was about six years old. I fought with a neighborhood boy from across the street. Even though he was younger, I lost. I had other fights with this kid, and even though I was the victor, it didn’t help me feel any better about myself. As a small boy, bullies could pick on me whenever they felt they could get away with it. I tried to stand up for myself towards the end of seventh grade and was beaten by an older and larger bully.

I was also afraid of things that could burn me. I was never one to play with fire or matches. When the pilot light went out on our gas heater, my mother went to light it. She wasn’t sure of what she was doing, so she told us to run out of the house if anything went wrong. My mother turned on the gas and lit the match. The heater went “Whoosh.” I ran scared and everyone laughed at me.  

I joined the Navy in 1970. Navy Boot camp was a highly negative experience. The drill instructors were there to demean us and demeaned I was. It is said in our Doctrine and Covenants that most men, when they feel they have some authority, begin to exercise unrighteous dominion. A military recruit doesn’t need a prophet to tell him that. Deep down inside, I detested that culture and gravitated towards others who also detested the Navy. This affected my attitude. I knew I didn’t like the Navy, but at the time, I didn’t know that I didn’t like myself either.

I was assigned to the Engineering Division of a nuclear powered submarine in 1974. I was friendly enough with my fellow enlisted men, but I had misunderstandings with one or two of the officers. The Engineering Officer intimidated me, on a sub-conscious level, because he was powerfully built. He reminded me of that bully from the eighth grade. This comparison is very unfair to the Engineer, who was a hard working graduate of the Naval Academy.

One terrible day, something happened that forever changed me. We were in port, preparing to go to sea the next day. I was off duty and getting ready to go home. Before I could take the rest of the day off, my supervisor directed me to bolt down a few portable benches in the Engine Room. When I arrived in the Engine Room, Virgil Ibarra, a friend of mine was getting ready to troubleshoot a problem with a reactor coolant pump motor.  He was assigned to remove two fuses from a breaker in a 480 volt electrical power supply panel. I was designated the safety observer. I was five feet away and the Engineer was standing next to me.

The Engineer said, “Be careful. It should be de-energized, but you can’t be sure.”

Crouching over the breaker, Virgil carefully removed the first fuse with a set of plastic pliers. When he pulled the second fuse, a large fireball erupted from the breaker with a loud roar. I was completely engulfed in the orange fireball.  I knew I was going to die. However, the fireball was gone within two seconds.  I was surprised I wasn’t hurt. My next emotion was horror.

In the dark, my friend was screaming, with his hair and clothes on fire, running towards me. My first thought was to have him drop and roll. That was impossible, because there wasn’t enough room. I stopped him and patted the fire out with my bare hands. The burning pain just made me angrier at the fire. Another reactor operator joined me and a machinist doused the fire on Virgil’s leg with a puff from a fire extinguisher.

Meanwhile, the Engineer ran from the fire to the reactor control room. From where he was after the fireball, he may not have seen Virgil, but thought he was killed. Virgil was alive, but he was severely injured with second and third degree burns. My palms were covered in black, leading me to think I had third degree burns.

I left to apply first aid to my burned hands. The black was not charred skin, it was charred clothing. My burns were only second degree burns that healed within a few days. Virgil was transported to the Oak Knolls Military Hospital in Oakland. He spent three agonizing months in the hospital recovering.

My self-attitude underwent a dramatic change.  I visited Virgil in the hospital a few days later. He thanked me for saving his life. His wife also expressed her gratitude. Their gratitude was more meaningful to me than the medal I was awarded by the Navy. Everyone was telling me how brave I was, but I didn’t necessarily feel that way. I acted impulsively, without thinking. Some people criticized the Engineer for running, but I defended him. Being hailed as a hero is very humbling, but pride wasn’t my problem. My problem was a deep seated sense of meekness. As I contemplated my reaction to this horrible incident, I realized I had no reason to feel inferior to any man. 

My attitude towards the Navy quickly changed. The crew responded to the emergency in a very professional manner. The disagreements and misunderstandings I had with the officers seemed insignificant and was soon forgotten by all. By the time I was honorably discharged, I was highly recommended for reenlistment.

For the sake of my friend, I wish this accident had never happened. It did give me nightmares. But like it or not, the accident did happen. I’m glad I was the one who was available to help. As it turns out, I needed help too.