VIENNA — Vienna Fire Protection District (VFPD) volunteer firefighters shared their experiences and thoughts about one of the most difficult days in the district’s history ahead of the fifth anniversary last Friday.

The Explosion

On Aug. 16, 2019, six VFPD firefighters sustained injuries while responding to a house fire call. Volunteer firefighters including VFPD First Assistant Chief Mark Buschmann, Mark Honse, Chad James, T.J. Jeremy, Chase Lenning and Mason Smith were all burnt when the house exploded on the scene.

The dispatch call for a first-alarm residential structure fire in the 13000 block of Highway 28 southwest of Vienna came in around 10:15 a.m. Within five minutes, the first fire personnel arrived on the scene.

“I saw the house was producing smoke,” Mason Smith said. “It was slow fire conditions; nothing really major. Kind of a lazy smoke. We knew whatever was going on wasn’t super active at the time.”

At 10:22 a.m., two engines and a tanker arrived on the scene to establish the command. When the first apparatus arrived, the crew conducted a 360-degree size-up of the scene, which involved surveying the complete exterior of the structure.

“We did a walkaround,” Buschmann, the highest-ranking firefighter on scene that day, said. “We shut the electricity off and pulled the meter. We shut the gas off at the tank and pulled the hose. We were getting ready to go in there.”

“We suspected it was maybe coming from the attic space because that’s where the majority of smoke was coming from,” Mason Smith said. “We put a ladder on the side. I went up, looked with a thermal imaging camera (and) didn’t notice a whole lot of high heat, so we determined it’s not originating from the attic space. It must be coming from the base level of the home, which we didn’t have access to due to locks.”

At 10:29 a.m., a three-person attack crew attempted to enter the structure through the front door. James kicked open the door and pulled it shut to avoid providing too much air to the fire.

“The boys were getting ready to back up there, and then all of a sudden one of them turned around and just stopped,” Buschmann said. “He came back to me. We were standing there in front of the house, and he said he only had 12 minutes (of oxygen) in his mask.”

When the firefighters enter a structure, they wear oxygen masks that typically hold 30 to 45 minutes of oxygen.

“I said, ‘That didn’t get filled up or something,’” Buschmann recalled. “‘You just go to the door and feed them hose, and you stay at the door, and that 12 minutes will be plenty. We’ll have it knocked out before then.’”

“If we would’ve been 10 seconds faster, or it would’ve been called in at a different time, and we would’ve been inside the house, three of us could’ve ended up dead,” Mason Smith said. “That’s the risk we take with doing this as a job or as a public service to people.”

“I was probably 15 feet (from the house),” Jeremy said. “I did not have my mask on. I had my gloves off because I was using my hands to get my mask on. And that’s when the explosion happened.”

When the crew began walking back toward the door, the house exploded. A ball of flame shot from the house and engulfed the attack crew, the support crew and the engineer of the pumper.

“I noticed from my right side that I could see something peeking out from under the house,” Mason Smith, one of the attack crew, said. “So I took a look. As I looked, I noticed fire coming out from underneath the siding, and about the time I noticed that, I started to get up, and that’s when the house ended up igniting. I started to move out toward the yard, but by the time I started to move, the force of the house ended up pushing me down.”

Honse was operating the pumper that day, as he often did. He estimated it was about 20 feet from the house when the explosion occurred.

“They were getting ready to take the door down to enter, and in seconds: kablooey,” Honse recalled. “The whole side flew out of the house and landed on the ground. It blew the chimney off the house, a few feet away from the firetruck where I was standing. The concussion of it was unreal. I’ll never forget the sound of it right before it blew up. It was sucking air to get oxygen when it blew up. I heard it one other time before, on a different fire, so I knew what it was.”

“That boom that day, it just sounded like if you lit a gas grill or a fish fryer or something: that whoosh,” Buschmann said. “But you can’t imagine how loud it was. It was just a big ball of gassy fire that sent us all flying. I remember hitting the ground and getting back up and just seeing people lying everywhere.”

“I ended up probably 20 to 30 feet back from where I was standing,” Jeremy said. “I was kind of in shock and not really sure what had happened there.”

“I thought there was a firefighter underneath the house, so I went straight around there trying to find him,” Honse said. “That was Chad James. It blew him out in the yard. But a few more seconds and there would’ve been two or three of them in that house when it blew up.”

“It threw me about 30 feet,” James said. “I don’t remember that. I just remember crawling away from there.”

Buschmann said he began running around the scene to ensure he could account for all the firefighters.

“I looked back at the house, and the whole house was blown apart,” he said. “There was no fire showing because it just blew out and that was it.”

“It was a different structure entirely from what I’d just seen seconds before,” Mason Smith said. “It was a lot of shock and confusion of everybody trying to pull back, figure out what just happened and treat the people who are obviously critically injured and need to seek attention immediately.”

The AFtermath

A mayday call requested additional emergency medical units and a second alarm. Then, the command on scene requested the presence of the Missouri Division of Fire Safety at the scene for an investigation.

Buschmann said that after accounting for everyone, attention shifted to helping those with the worst injuries.

“It was awful,” he said. “They were peeling their shirts off and skin was coming off.”

“I was burnt on my back, stomach, face, arms,” James said. “I couldn’t tell. I was just standing there. I had a pair of pants on. It just felt like they were getting hotter, and hotter and hotter. Finally, I asked the ambulance guy: ‘What’s my face look like?’ Nobody would really say. I guess it had skin sloughing off it.”

“I was like, ‘I think I’m okay,’ so I’m going to go back and see what I can try to do to help,” Mason Smith said. “We were trying to reorganize things. People were checking on me. I go back to try to work and do what I can on the house. As time went on, my hands just started burning more and more. My hands had gotten burnt. I didn’t realize it at the time and just put on my gloves and went to check on people, but over time, the burning started to get worse and worse. I started having blisters form, and after that, I started seeking medical help. My grandparents ended up taking me to (Capital Region Medical Center) and I had full-thickness burns on both my pinkies and second-degree burns across both of my hands.”

Jeremy said that the rush of adrenaline the firefighters got from the surprise explosion kept those with less serious injuries more focused on helping those who suffered the worst injuries. He estimated it took him more than 15 minutes to realize he had sustained burns to his face and hands.

“Once they got into the ambulance and got them secured, I think the realization that my hands were the worst off started to set in,” he said. “You could start to see blisters forming and the discoloration of the skin had started to set in.”

Buschmann said that after helping the most severely injured firefighters, one of the assistant chiefs told him to sit down because he had also been burnt.

“I said ‘No I’m not; I just have a little bit on my hands,’” Buschmann recalled. “I had no idea that my face was all peeled back, too, from the blast. I had full gear on. I had my helmet on. But I didn’t have anything in front of my face, and I didn’t have gloves on because I was helping all those guys get their air packs on and get ready to go.”

As the shock of the explosion began to wear off, Buschmann realized the extent of his injuries. He rode in an ambulance alongside Lenning to the George D. Peak Memorial Burn and Wound Center at University Hospital in Columbia.

“I didn’t want to leave the scene because I was in charge, but I knew I needed to go with these guys, too,” he said. “I rode in the back, and you don’t realize how long the trip from Vienna to Columbia is in the back of an ambulance. It was a long trip.”

Buschmann said that throughout the ambulance ride, his mind ran through what could have gone differently to change what happened.

“Then, all of a sudden when we got to Jeff City, the pain kicked in,” he said. “I had my hands up by the air conditioner as much as I could, but at Jeff City, it was about more than I could take. My hands hurt so bad, and my face hurt so bad. I can only imagine how bad I hurt compared to those other guys who had all the burns.”

The firefighters lauded the treatment they received at University Hospital.

“They pounced on us,” Buschmann said. “I remember Chad James being in a room; I bet there were 10 or 12 people working on him. Same thing with Chase Lenning.”

When the families of the firefighters sent to Columbia for treatment arrived at the hospital, Chief Mike Smith and Captain Allan Pollreisz met them there. They were not at the scene of the fire because they were at their jobs in Jefferson City when the call came through. They left for the hospital after finding out about the injuries to the firefighters.

“It was tough,” Pollreisz said. “These are the guys that you put so much trust in.”

“I didn’t know where to be to do the greatest job,” Mike Smith said about the challenges he faced as the district’s chief that day. “Since I was already here in Jefferson City, I chose to be with my guys at the hospital as much as I could help them. I knew they were in good hands with the medical staff.”

Mike Smith said the trip to the hospital was nerve-racking because he did not know the conditions of the injured firefighters. He worked to notify family members about the injuries and their destinations.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” he said. “I thought maybe they just had some minor burns, but then a couple of the guys had severe burns to them. I had to step back for a little bit and prepare myself to talk with their families and to be with them.”

Pollreisz said that when he arrived at the hospital and explained who he was, the staff told him only one firefighter had arrived. They directed him to gather family members as they showed up and keep them in one spot so everyone could wait for updates.

“The staff there was tremendous,” Mike Smith said. “They treated us about as well as you could be treated. They kept us advised of the conditions and what they were doing. I stayed out in the waiting rooms with the families and was notified by hospital personnel what to relay to the families. I think I left the hospital at 9 or 10 that night just to make sure everyone there was okay.”

Lingering Effects

Along with the physical pain the firefighters experienced came the emotional pain of speaking with their families following the incident. Buschmann said the emotional struggles remained with him long after the physical pain had ended.

“The hard part for me was afterward, all the thought process,” he said. “What we could have done, what I could have done differently. It’s going to be five years, and it still kind of affects me. You have so much guilt from me being in charge, and anytime somebody gets hurt on your watch you just have that, and it’s tough. To this day, I still have trouble sometimes.”

Buschmann said he does the best he can dealing with his guilt from that day. Talking with other firefighters, including leaders in other departments who have similar experiences, has helped him work through his experiences, and he said the feelings of guilt have improved over time. He recalled advice from a fire chief from another district in the region.

“He said ‘Mark, you can let this guilt eat you up if you want to, but what you have to remember is the number one thing is everyone under your watch went back home that night,’” he said. “‘They all get to go back home to their families. That’s the part that you have to look at.’”

Buschmann also mentioned his tendency to be “jumpy” after the explosion, and how he realized it after an unexpected firecracker went off near him.

“To this day, if I hear a large boom, I jump,” he said. “I probably do have a little (post-traumatic stress disorder).”

Physical injuries linger, too.

“It changed my life,” Honse, who sustained burns on his legs, face, arms, back and neck, said. “The rest of my life from there on out. It skyrocketed my blood pressure that day because I got burnt. At a later date, I had a stroke over high blood pressure, so I’m handicapped from that day on.”

Although the effects of Honse’s stroke forced him to retire from VFPD, he said he does his best to help however he can. He loved helping people while firefighting and the rush of adrenaline he got when answering a call.

“I still listen to every call when they go out,” he said. “If I can offer any assistance, I’ll call one of them.”

Honse said he used to do machine work, which took him to several farms throughout the area. If he’s familiar with an area, he will let the dispatched firefighters know of an unnoticed gate that they might use to access a property.

“I was the fire chief for 11 years,” he said. “I have 30-plus years of service in with them. I’ve seen a lot. I’ve seen a lot of death; I’m glad I didn’t see any that day because it would’ve been all our own. It’s very fortunate that everybody got out of there with their lives.”

James worked as a full-time firefighter in Jefferson City at the time of the explosion. His recovery from burns and a dislocated shoulder kept him out of work for at least six months. When he finally returned to work, his injuries persisted to the point that he had to retire from the fire service.

“My shoulder wasn’t really getting any better,” he said. “It had a lot of limited movement. I thought it would be best for me to get away from that kind of a career because I didn’t have a lot of strength in my arm anymore. I still go to the doctor a couple times a year to get the shoulder looked at.”

James said he misses the camaraderie of firefighting, but his new career as a mechanic and tow truck operator have allowed him more schedule flexibility to spend time with his family.

“I do enjoy being home with my kids and getting to see all their stuff,” he said. “Before I wouldn’t have gotten to see everything because we worked 48-hour shifts.”

“It’s been five years, and I still have to wear gloves on my hands if it gets below 50 degrees,” Buschmann said. “My hands get cold, and I never had that before the fire. There are still some effects of it, but I know some of those guys have it much worse than I do.”

Although the injured firefighters left following the explosion, the scene still needed work. Dixon Rural Fire Protection District, Rolla Fire & Rescue and Waynesville Rural Fire Protection District all responded to the scene in support. Maries-Osage Ambulance District and Dixon Ambulance District also responded along with the Vienna Police Department and the Maries County Sheriff’s Office. Around 4:30 p.m., crews had cleared the scene.

“That’s what we do,” Buschmann said. “We back each other up even when it’s something like that. That’s the first thing we really had that really affected anybody close to us where firefighters got hurt. I think all departments learned from that about what can happen and just how dangerous it is. You just don’t know what you’re going into. Every fire is different.”

An investigation by the Division of Fire Safety determined that the fire was arson. In January 2023, Gary M. Travers, Jr., pleaded guilty to six felony counts of second-degree assault of a special victim and one felony count of second-degree arson causing injury or death. He received seven concurrent five-year sentences.

“It’s just sad with what we put into the community that somebody would do that,” Honse said. “I’m glad they got him prosecuted.”

During Travers’ sentencing, Buschmann and James each gave victim impact statements.

“This community that we live in, and the surrounding fire departments and communities will never be broken, and stand together to show you this little town is way stronger than you know,” Buschmann said in his address.

Regrouping

Many of the firefighters noted that the community always shows its support for VFPD, but that support was especially strong in the immediate aftermath of the explosion. Community members established funds to financially assist the injured firefighters, and donations and well-wishes came from many different places.

“It was tremendous, especially the local community,” Pollreisz said. “They were asking ‘What can we do? How can we help?’ They were taking that extra step because they knew we were down six guys at that time.”

Pollreisz runs VFPD’s social media and fielded many questions from news outlets in the aftermath of the explosion.

“That’s when I found out that we are highly followed on Facebook,” he said. “Our story ended up on the East Coast. I have a cousin who’s a firefighter in St. Louis who reached out. They all picked up on it. Firehouse Magazine picked up the story and posted it on their website. I didn’t realize how much people paid attention to what our fire department was saying.”

“We had people from all over sending us things,” Buschmann said. “It was overwhelming, the support we had. Words can’t express what it was like.

“The support they give us, we can never repay it,” Pollreisz said. “But we’re going to try it every time the tones go off.”

“That day was not a good day for us,” Jeremy said. “But the support of the community was overwhelming. It’s something we see everywhere; not just in firefighting, but in school functions, FFA, 4-H. Everything in this community is supported by the community.”

The support of the community, Jeremy said, is what keeps him motivated to continue firefighting with VFPD.

“I have a job where I have the availability to help,” he said. “I make sure I show (the community) support because they showed me support that day.”

Despite the trauma of the house explosion, the firefighters still do what they can to help the district and the community as a whole.

“It changed our lives,” Buschmann said. “But I still do it every day. I still go every time there’s a call. I know the wife and kids, they still worry every time there’s a call. I still go every time, but I’m not going to lie, right after that, every time we had something, we were a little bashful, a little gun-shy, but I’ve gotten a lot better with it now. You just have to trust in your instincts and go from there.”

“(Firefighting) makes you late,” Pollreisz said. “You miss things. We’ve left dates, and wedding dances and dinners with our families and holidays. You really don’t feel like it’s a sacrifice when these people say ‘thank you.’ You look at these people and how they’ve supported us over the years; we want to give them that same support when they’re in need. They’re looking for a friendly face, and that’s us.”

Mason Smith became a full-time firefighter with the Osage Beach Fire Protection District shortly after the house explosion. He has worked for the Jefferson City Fire Department for the last three years. He said he dedicates what time he can to training new firefighters and preparing them for similar incidents.

“I don’t think I ever had second thoughts about doing it,” he said. “If anything, it made me more sure that I need to be better and I need to be more prepared for things that could happen on the scene. Having that incident before I started my firefighter career, you go into it as a younger guy as very headstrong (with) that invincible mindset. You’re never expecting to be the one hurt. You’re expecting to do the saving and not expecting to be the one in the backseat of an ambulance or on the way to the hospital. From then on, as I’ve taken different roles either in local volunteer firefighting or in the career fire service, it kind of changes your role in things to ‘hey, I need to make sure my guys are alright and I need to make sure I have the best picture I have on things because if one of those guys gets hurt, I’m going to have to live with that.’”

Jeremy said his outlook on firefighting changed that day, and he is unsure if that shift in perspective was for better or worse.

“There are a lot of times we show up to things like car fires and smaller fires that may not seem to be as risky, but I am one that now throws my gear on for pretty much everything where I may not have done that in the past,” he said. “But it also makes you a little bit more cautious. When your pager goes off, you start to get a feeling in your stomach as to what you’re going into, and your adrenaline starts pumping a little more than what it did before that day.”

Some of the firefighters reflected on the way the experience of the explosion brought them together.

“We have a good fire department; so close-knit,” Buschmann said. “We’re not just a fire department. The guys that gave into us, they put a lot of heart and soul into it, and we do, too, and we’re very proud of it. We’re more family than we are firefighters.”

“It’s a brotherhood,” Honse said. “Everybody looks out for one another.”

“The biggest takeaway is how much closer the fire department got afterward,” Mike Smith said. “We always say we’re a family when we go out and fight these fires, but when we came together after that explosion, we became more tightly knit. Any time we talk about it, even today, you become overwhelmed with the emotions of that day. You’ll never forget it. You constantly live with it.”