California Fire And Life

12

So he has to learn certain definitions.

Like fuel load.

Fuel load is the total potential BTUs per square foot of the structure in question. You calculate it by determining the total pounds of matter in the structure and multiplying the total weight by the total BTUs of the various materials in the structure – 8,000 BTUs per pound of wood, 16,000 BTUs per pound of plastic, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Certain materials give off more heat than others. Wood, about 8,000 BTUs. Coal, about 12,000. Flammable liquids, somewhere between 16,000 to 21,000 BTUs.

Another term: heat release rate. This is the speed at which a fire grows, depending on the fuel upon which it is feeding. Some materials burn fast and hot, others are slow. HRR is measured in BTUs per second, otherwise known as kilowatts. A plastic trash bag, filled with the usual garbage, is going to have somewhere between 140 and 350 kilowatts. A television set about 250. A two-square-foot pool of kerosene, 400. Kerosene gives you a hot, fast fire.

Jack learns that fuel load isn't just fuel load, but is divided into two parts: dead load and live load. Dead load is the total weight of the materials in the structure plus the total weight of any permanent built-ins. Live load is the total weight of the materials of items added to the structure – furniture, appliances, artwork, toys, people, and pets. The irony of the phrase "live load" is that if they are found in the fire, they are most likely dead.

Conductivity – that is to say, the amount of heat a substance on fire transfers. Some materials retain most of their heat; some transfer it to other materials in the structure. Jack learns for a fire to spread it has to encounter material that is conductive, that transfers and adds to the BTUs. Paper, for example, is highly conductive. Water isn't – it absorbs more heat than it transfers. Air is highly conductive, being made up of about 21 percent oxygen. So most structural fires spread by convection, meaning the transfer of heat by a circulating medium, usually air. Fire burns up, because that's where the air is.

"It's all about fuel," Fuller lectures. "You are what you eat, and fire is no different. You can determine its severity, its origin, its direction and rate of spread, and how long it burned, by the fuel in the structure."

Jack aces the chemistry test.

Fuller passes out the results, which apparently launch him to new rhetorical heights.

"So," he asks, "what happens in a fire?

"It has all the dramatic structure of your classic three-act play, gentlemen. It has the rhythm of a love affair.

"Oxidation occurs. Act One: The Smoldering Phase. The seduction, if you will, the chemical reaction between oxygen and solid molecules in which the oxygen tries to induce heat in the solid matter. The seduction might take a fraction of a second – in the case of a hot number like gasoline or kerosene or some other liquid accelerant, the roundheels of the flammable street corner, I might tell you. Switching metaphors, liquid accelerants are the aphrodisiacs of the fire seduction. They are the storied Spanish fly, the fine wine, the manly cologne, the American Express Platinum Card left casually by the side of the couch. They can get the passion ignited in a big hurry.

"Or the smoldering phase might last hours or even days. The material, the fuel, wants to be wined and dined, courted, taken to dinner and the movies. Come to Sunday dinner and meet my parents. But fire is a patient seducer, comrades. If it can just hang in there long enough to generate a little heat, if the affair is given a little air to breathe, it lingers. A kiss on the neck, a hand under the blouse, the steamy heat of the backseat at a drive-in movie, fellows. Working, working, trying to melt the fuel to liquid and then into burning gas. A questing hand under the skirt, trying to generate enough heat to reach the ignition point, smoldering, smoldering and then…

"Ignition. Act Two: The Free-Burning Phase. The flash point is reached. Open flames, my boys. Passion. Heated gas is lighter than air so it rises – witness your Goodyear blimp. It starts eating up the air and then it hits the ceiling. If the fire is hot enough to ignite the ceiling materials you have more ignition. The fire might even blast a hole in the roof to get to that easy, tasty air. The heated gases themselves become a source of radiation, now spreading the heat downward to ignite material below. This is why the ceiling might burn, by the way, before the furniture does.

"It all depends on your fuel, gentlemen. Is she an ice maiden with a high flash point and a tepid HRR? The affair will die from lack of passion. She's a frigid bitch, my jolly boys – do your worst, she won't respond. Or is she a hot number? A low flash point, a steaming HRR? Then hold on, buckoes, you are in for a ride. If she's hot enough and big enough, your fire will reach a critical temperature. The heat will radiate down from the ceiling hot enough to overwhelm the ignition point of all the materials underneath it, and then the fairies start flying.

"What do I mean by that esoteric and somewhat effeminate reference regarding flying fairies? Just before flashover, boys, you might see little pockets of gas in the air ignite – little licks of flame dancing in the air. That is the 'fairies flying,' and that is the time to put it in Reverse, gentlemen, because if you see the fairies flying, it is a prelude to "WHOOSH! Act Three: The Flashover Phase. All the exposed surfaces reach ignition point, and now you have an out-of-control fire. An undeniable passion that sweeps everything before it. Nothing can resist it, every substance opens its legs and joins the orgy. The heat is transferred upward by the air, downward by radiation, and sideways by conduction. It thrashes in passion in all directions. The intensity doubles with each 18-degree rise in temp. It gets hotter and faster, faster and hotter. This is fire's orgasm, gentlemen, the fiery consummation of the affair. It roars and screams and groans and moans. It howls like a banshee into the air. It burns until it runs out of fuel or someone comes along and puts it out.

"And now," Fuller says, "we shall have a cigarette."

He lights his cig and leans back against the desk in a parody of sexual satisfaction and exhaustion. After a minute he says, "Three phases of fire, ye thirsters after knowledge: smoldering, free burning, and flashover. The first act often dies from its own lack of energy, it suffocates from lack of air; the second phase can be put out by prompt and appropriate action; the third phase, flashover – well, Katie, bar the door.

"So what is fire? A dry chemical interaction between molecules. A three-act drama that often ends in tragedy. A metaphor for sex, which reveals itself in our language of love, i.e., the 'heat of passion': 'You get me so hot, baby.' The stereotypical seduction setting of the bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire. The heat that can only be extinguished by the emission of cooling exothermic fluids.

"This is the chemistry that old Prometheus instinctively understood," Fuller says. "He gave it to man and man has used it to warm his caves, to cook his food and – being human – to incinerate his fellow man in all manner of nasty combustion.

"Well, let the sparks fly. Let the eagles feast."

He finishes his cigarette, tosses it into the trash can, then says, "Let's go dance with the bitch."

Dance with the bitch?