Those of you who are fans of musicals probably are familiar with Fiddler on the Roof, the tale of a Jewish father, Tevye; his family; and the trials and tribulations of living as a minority in Russia at the turn of the century.

To the best of my knowledge — and I have seen both the movie and the stage presentation — there's absolutely nothing in the productions that has to do with the fire service. But that won't keep me from drawing a comparison. The idea that the fiddler on the roof was an identifiable person playing a catchy violin tune that evoked emotion in those who heard his playing was resurrected recently on the fireground.

This modern-day version of the fiddler on the roof was contained in a digital photograph that came across my computer recently. It depicted one of the scariest scenes I have seen in along time: Eight firefighters were standing on a very tiny roof. They were are all properly equipped and in full PPE, including breathing apparatus. They were all carrying the tools of the trade. Smoke could be seen pouring from the window against which all of them were crowded.

I'm not going to even attempt to find out the photograph's owner, nor do I wish to reproduce that photograph for fear that people might recognize themselves, their fire department, a neighboring fire department or for that matter their friends in the fire service. However, that picture scared the living daylights out of me.

What can be more dangerous than being on the roof above a fire? A whole bunch of people on a roof above a fire. Perhaps the danger increases exponentially with each person we put up there. Why don't we get it?

One does not have to read too many books, watch many movies or listen to too many firehouse tales to have heard a story of a firefighter going through a roof. It's a common phenomenon that in some cases is taken for granted. I can recall a fire in the early days of my career in which a heavily laden fire officer meandering across the roof of an auto repair garage fell through all the way to his waist. The only thing that kept him from going the rest of the way was an 8-foot pike pole. That event did not result in a fatality, but it certainly resulted in a wake-up call for me.

Since then I have been very sensitive about the need and necessity of sending anybody on the roof of a building. Notice I say “need and necessity” — those are two different things. A need is based on the existence of a problem that must be resolved, and a necessity indicates whether it's mandatory, voluntary or discretionary.

In other articles and other venues I have had extensive discussion about the role of truck companies and the firefighting phenomenon of the modern building. In my opinion, it's time for us to examine the need and necessity of putting people on rooftops. Moreover, when we do determine that there's a need and a necessity, we must have the discipline, intelligence and courage to not send people up there as if they are kamikaze squads.

As for the photo I saw on my computer screen, I have no doubt that it depicts a combination of engine company and truck company personnel. In addition, there's a white hat ascending the ladder, preparing to join the other eight people on this small rooftop.

What is the need and necessity? Was it necessary to send all those people up there? What were they intending to do? They are so closely crowded on the rooftop that it's unlikely an axeman could use his tools, nor is it likely that a nozzleman could be effective. Moreover, if the fire had gone to flashover I have no doubt that all eight of the individuals on this small roof adjacent to a window would have been immediately in danger.

Granted, I wasn't at the scene of that fire. Neither were most of you. But I would like to fashion a couple of questions that ought to be on your mind if you're responsible for making these kinds of decisions on the fireground. Once you've decided that you're going to send somebody to an area in advance of the fire, do you know the answers to the following questions?

• What is the volume of heat production based on smoke production?
• Is it likely that the fire has achieved a high level of preburn in the confined space below where you're sending people?
• What type of construction lies immediately under the feet of your firefighters?
• Exactly what you expect them to accomplish during the short period of time in which they can stay there?
• How long do you expect them to be able to stay there?
• What will be the consequences of catastrophic structural failure?
• Who will be responsible for telling their next of kin if anything goes wrong?

Just for the sake of discussion, let's imagine that if each of those firefighters on that roof were stripped down to their gymnasium weight, they would be around 200 pounds each. If you add a uniform, turnout clothing, breathing apparatus, and tools and equipment to each of those individuals, it's likely that each has 75 to 100 pounds of additional weight. That means that in the picture that was sent to me, there's more than a ton of weight concentrated on an area that's about 8 feet by 8 feet. Is that a weight-to-strength ratio that you're willing to risk lives on in a dwelling fire?

Now consider this: Another photo, complete with article, was sent to me showing a balcony that collapsed under the weight of partygoers. People were severely injured, and the firefighters who had to treat them were critical of the party guests for being on the balcony. The emphasis in that article was that the balcony was constructed without a permit. Do we know if buildings are up to code when we send firefighters onto their roofs?

Having spent my fair share of time at the dining room table arguing tactics and strategy, I know that some might consider this criticism unfair. As stated earlier, I wasn't on that fire. There might have been a reason for all eight of those people to be standing on that narrow roof ledge, but I have my doubts as to whether there was a logical reason. I think it was an accumulative reason.

I don't wish to enter a debate about whether we should be ventilating buildings. Ventilation is part of our professional skills and abilities and will continue to be practiced as an act of discretion, as it has been by many fire departments. I recall a fire where, by the time we arrived on scene, a large hole had already appeared on the roof from which the fire was belching forth. A veteran truck officer murmured, “Well, if it's trying to get out of the building that bad, let's let it go!”

Ventilation is an act of discretion; therefore it involves a decision-making process. In other words, we don't want to be fiddling around on a roof. If a decision is made to go up there, then it needs to be specific. If you're unaware of the fire conditions immediately beneath a roof structure and you're the person who has to make that decision, you need to realize that it may be one of life and death.

Just because you have a truck company doesn't mean that ventilation has to be provided vertically all of the time. To the contrary, horizontal openings exist for ventilation purposes. All means of ventilating a building by keeping firefighters out of harm's way should be exhausted before any decision is made to send people above the fire.

As you might imagine, I can hardly get this picture out of my mind. I can't help but feel that the person who took the picture knew something was wrong. I'm not sure if the chief officer climbing the ladder to join the firefighters on the roof was up there to add to the problem or to resolve it. I am not the least bit interested in trying to fix blame for what occurred. What keeps going through my mind over and over again is the potential consequence of their actions. What would have happened if the roof had collapsed?

Fatality? Possible! Injury? Highly likely. Cost to the fire service would be incurred, not only by the emotion and distress of being associated with the incident, but also in the form of the second-guessing and the loss of professional reputations and credibility. I have heard of several studies that talk about how much it costs to lose a firefighter in combat. The amount of money paid out in terms of death benefits pales by comparison to the consequence of multiple injuries. Imagine broken bones, crushed spinal columns and shortened careers. Is it really worth all that to ignore basic fireground safety provisions?

While working with one industrial group, I was discussing the consequences of a foreman failing to take appropriate action on a safety violation, and I was told that in that particular industry it was grounds for immediate termination. Do we hold our people to that standard? I think not.

After conversing with those who are vitally interested in reducing the loss of firefighters' lives, I'm convinced that the very people who pay most of the respects to our departed comrades would be among the first to chastise them if their deaths could have been prevented by just being stricter for 30 seconds on the fireground. The fireground is a dangerous place to be. There's no room for freelancing. There's no room for stupidity. There's no room for arrogance. There's no room for carelessness masked as bravado. As many times as it's been said, it doesn't seem to resonate with many.

If we are going to fiddle around, let's stay on terra firma. The minute we throw a ladder up against a building with the objective of going aloft, the minute we start climbing an aerial or the minute our bucket from a Snorkel rests on a rooftop, we ought to be asking ourselves two simple questions: Why am I up here and how fast can I get off?

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With more than 40 years in the fire service, Ronny J. Coleman has served as fire chief in Fullerton and San Clemente, Calif., and was the fire marshal of the State of California from 1992 to 1999. He is a certified fire chief and a master instructor in the California Fire Service Training and Education System. A Fellow of the Institution of Fire Engineers, he has an associate's degree in fire science, a bachelor's degree in political science and a master's degree in vocational education.