Sharing warm recollections

Retired firefighter is passing on his love for life-saving

SL/SM View--Jim Thomason stands behind the door of a fire truck at the fire station on Banberry Cross, Monday, Mar. 21, 2005Thomason retired after 33 years on the forcre.--View Photo Christine H. Wetzel SL/SM View--Jim Thomason watches as his grandson, Tallon Thomason, 7 tries on a coat at the fire station on Banberry Cross, Monday, Mar. 21, 2005.Thomason retires after 33 years on the force.--View Photo Christine H. Wetzel

Some people get a gold watch when they retire. Some get stock in the company. Jim Thomason, 59, got a ride home on a fire engine. But then, he used to be on the rig as part of his platoon.

Thomason spent 33 years as a Las Vegas firefighter and saw the city grow as he protected its citizens. The Las Vegas native graduated from Western High School in 1964. After a stint as a shoe store manager, he learned the city was hiring firefighters and applied. Back then, part of the exam was based on how many push-ups and sit-ups were done. He also had to climb a 100-foot ladder and look down from the top rung to identify objects on the ground. Then he had to enter a smoke-filled room without a breathing mask. He received a 99.8 score.

He was assigned to a fire station downtown, the latest rookie. His first call was to a home where children had set fire to the curtains. The blaze was easily extinguished.

Other calls were more memorable. One time the department received a call that defied comprehension: "A little boy's head is caught in an elephant's trunk," was all the dispatcher said. Fire crews arrived at the location to find a toddler stuck after attempting to crawl through the up-turned trunk of a carousel elephant outside a store.

It wasn't the only time a child's curiosity created an incident. One boy got his foot stuck in the end of a saxophone. On another occasion, a couple of youngsters got their hands stuck in the duct work of a pool table and it had to be dismantled to free them.

In a more serious incident, a man walked into the station carrying a tire rim. Attached to it was his girlfriend, whose finger was stuck in one of the lug nut holes. Her finger was so swollen she had to have surgery to decrease the circumference of her digit so it could be extracted.

Of course, not all Thomason's calls were non-lethal. In 1980, the MGM caught fire and every available firefighter was called into action. Thomason worked triage, handling the walking wounded and seeing to it that those without injuries were bused out of the congested area. After the fire was contained, he was one of the rescuers to go room to room seeking survivors, which necessitated going through the casino, by then a blackened, smoky hole.

His wife recalled how he came home and told her he saw "bodies charred beyond recognition." Thomason would only comment in general terms.

"It was bad," he said. "There was still this black smoke everywhere and there were bodies on the floor. I knew our guys had gotten about 15 feet in the main doors when they saw it was about to (erupt in a fireball) and they ran back as fast as they could and dove through those doors. They just made it."

Asked what he remembered most about that day, he shook his head.

"Actually, I'd rather not remember," he said.

Soon after, the Las Vegas Hilton caught fire and he and his platoon responded. He said it was a much smoother operation partly because the fire was not on the ground floor and the MGM fire taught them all about the logistics of managing a large blaze while keeping pathways clear for incoming units and moving people quickly out of danger.

But despite being well managed, a fire can still claim lives. Thomason recalled another department sending two men into a high-rise facility.

"They went into this building, it was really big and they got lost," he said. "You could hear them calling for help but they weren't sure where they were to tell anyone how to find them. Then you didn't hear them anymore. They ran out of air. When somebody doesn't make it and you hear them on the radio ... it's tough."

Thomason said if he were to write about his days as a firefighter, he'd call the book "Heroes I Have Known." He also could write "Pranksters I Have Known." That's because when not facing life and death situations on the job, he and his buddies found ways to relieve tension with good-natured fun.

They used trash liners to make their own helium balloons and then devised an idea to add a fuse and oxygen to the mix. The result was a floating noise bomb that garnered them more attention than they bargained for. Some of the balloons drifted close to the federal building and the subsequent explosion prompted immediate phone calls to the station to cut it out.

One fellow firefighter was oblivious to anything once he was asleep. He had to sleep right under the fire station's alarm bell in order to be roused. Knowing this, the others waited until he dozed off, then picked up his bed and turned it around. When the alarm bell sounded, he jumped out of bed -- and into the wall. The scene was all the more funny after he repeated the attempt again and again.

Another time, a water fight escalated from mere squirt guns to a full-out blast from a fire hose, right into the station's kitchen. That prank flooded the room.

Then there was the rookie whose former career was as a chef for Andre's, a well-regarded French restaurant downtown. When he came to the station, he made fabulous feasts. Then one night he tried to make popcorn and burned it.

"Here was this French chef who made great meals, but he burns the popcorn," Thomason said.

The 24-hour life of a firefighter and taking on a second job to support his family meant Thomason's wife, Rae, held down the household.

"I felt like I was a single mother," Rae Thomason said. "At first, it was hard to get used to being alone at home at night. I'd get so scared. But then it became a routine."

Thomason's legacy includes teaching the Fire Explorer program for Boy Scouts. As a result, a number of new firefighters later entered the service.

One of them was his son Erik, who joined the city's fire department 16 years ago. Jim's daughter Melissa plans to take the test the next time the department is seeking new recruits.