The younger firefighter had noticed two sticks, broom handle in length and about one inch to one and a quarter inches wide, leaning up in the far corner of the bathroom. Michael planned to use them as a last defence to protect himself and Allan.
“Dad was …” Tracey Hilliard had jumped back into the conversation. She had remained silent for a long while as her husband recounted the hostage taking. “My dad’s my hero. There’s nothing my dad can’t do, except paint. He’s a carpenter. He’s an electrician by trade. He was my guy who could do it all. That day changed my father – forever. Now, twenty-five years later, he’s good. He can talk about it. He’s talked about it afterwards. But when he came out of there, the year afterwards, we had a hard time with my dad. A man with that many years service having to go through something like that, that really had nothing to do with firefighting.”
Outside the prison, while Michael and Allan were barricaded inside the guards’ washroom, their friends and colleagues, the other responding firefighters, wondered where they were.
Michael said, “My buddy Adrian [Tracey’s cousin] was the captain in charge outside. He started co-ordinating with correctional centre staff. He saw Allan’s car when he pulled in, so he said to the guards, ‘Where are the two firemen who showed up first – the two guys that were in that car?’”
Adrian Langlois was told the two missing firefighters were around the other side of the correctional centre. Adrian sent two men to find them and bring them both back. They were nowhere to be found.
“One of the other guys came out of the building and handed Adrian our glasses and our jackets,” said Michael. He and Allan had left their belongings in the first guards’ station, in the minimum security area, the spot where they first put on their breathing apparatus.
“He [Adrian] turned around and he looked at the boys and he told them, ‘Two, two-and-a-halfs. One hundred and forty pounds of pressure.’ They’re taking hoses in. He said, ‘I don’t care if it’s correctional centre staff, guards, RCMP. I don’t care who it is, they get the stream in the chest. We’re going in and we’re finding them,’” Michael said, of the plan the firefighters had concocted to rescue their brothers in the chaos. “They never got as far as having to use them [the two hoses].”
The amount of water pressure the firefighters had planned to use could “knock the windows out of a car, knock the windows out of a house, and would knock a chimney over,” Michael explained.
Eight firefighters had been planning to go into the hostage taking. But before they had to, “The RCMP stepped in, and when correctional centre inmates saw the people with the guns, everything stopped,” Michael explained.
“We heard some hollering. Then it got quiet. Hollering. Quiet. Then we hear banging on the door and a voice that identifies himself as a corporal with the RCMP. ‘Come on out!’” Michael remembered the officer had said.
The two firefighters were leery.
“Allan said, ‘Tell us who we are,’” said the son-in-law.
“Wasn’t that smart?” Tracey interjected.
The RCMP officer called via radio and asked to speak with Captain Langlois. According to Michael, the firefighter would not give their names over the radio, for fear the women back home would somehow hear them over the pagers or a scanner. Adrian did not know the names had already been broadcast on the radio newscast.
The RCMP officer physically sent someone to get personal information about Michael and Allan so the two men would leave the safety of the bathroom. “The corporal said, ‘You’re two firemen. You were the first two here. You came in your own car.’ By the time he got the word ‘car’ out, we were out the door and halfway down the hall,” Michael explained, of their final few moments inside the guards’ washroom.
JL: “Were there any injuries that day?”
MH: “I don’t know the extent of the injuries that day, but I do know I saw an awful lot of blood on the walls when I was coming out.”
There were several headlining media stories resulting from the fire and hostage taking. One story in the Cape Breton Post, published the day after the incident, January 2, 1992, was called “Rampage at centre.” It was written by Steve MacInnis. His story reads, in part:
“Alcohol may have contributed to a three-hour rampage in the maximum security wing of the Cape Breton Correctional Centre Wednesday, Solicitor General Joel Matheson said last night.
“‘There was some indication there had been some liquor either generated or smuggled in or something,’ Matheson said by phone from Halifax. …
“Inmates set fire to mattresses and trashed their section of the provincial facility, including video equipment.
“While there were no reports of injury, two firemen considered themselves lucky to escape unhurt after they were forced to barricade themselves in a washroom after becoming separated from centre guards and confronted by angry inmates.”
The story went on to confirm there were no injuries in the melee and that twenty firefighters responded to the prison. If Michael saw blood on the walls after leaving the washroom, it is uncertain how there were no injuries.
A second story on January 3, 1992, also in the Cape Breton Post, entitled “Alcohol blamed for disturbance,” was written by journalist Doyle MacKinnon.
It confirmed alcohol use was a contributing factor in the rampage “that caused about $10,000 damage to the centre. Jim Crane, executive director of the correctional services division of the Solicitor General’s department, said that a home brew – believed concocted from fruit, sugar and water in tobacco tins – was being consumed by a few of the inmates and the uproar resulted when prison officials confiscated it.
“On New Year’s Day afternoon, four inmates in the maximum security wing of the provincial institution were involved in a three-hour ruckus that saw windows, toilets and electronic monitoring equipment smashed while mattresses were set ablaze. …
“‘There’s enough evidence to lay charges … against two prisoners in connection with the incident,’ said Sgt. Guy Arsenault. …
“Meanwhile, area politicians, contending that alcohol and drug use have been an on-going problem at the facility, are calling for a full-scale review of all operations and practices at the centre. …
“However, Crane, who was in Sydney Thursday to survey the situation, said that alcohol and drug usage isn’t commonplace at the institution. …
“Crane said that an internal review of the incident will continue, covering all aspects of Wednesday’s uproar. …
“The centre, one of the 13 adult facilities in the province where offenders serving sentences under two years are housed, can accommodate up to 112 inmates. Currently 60 inmates are residing there, including 13 in maximum security,” the second story concluded.
After Michael and Allan had been successfully rescued by the RCMP, the women at the New Year’s Day party still did not officially know from any authority exactly what had happened to either firefighter. The ladies had to endure about three hours of frantic waiting until someone came to tell them, beyond any doubt, that Allan and Michael had been rescued and were unharmed.
It was Captain Adrian Langlois who showed up at the Hanratty home after the mattress fire was eventually extinguished. Michael and Allan were delayed because they had to give police statements.
In the week that followed, Michael attended a Critical Incident Stress debriefing held by corrections officials. Both he and his wife view what happened as a major learning experience – for everyone.
“I learned a lot from it,” Tracey said. “I learned about trust and I learned about love. I learned about faith. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he [Michael] came down those basement stairs after all was said and done. I knew I was going to see him again [but] I never, ever took another call for granted. I make sure ‘Be careful. I love you’ is said [to Michael while he is] going out the door.”
MH: “I don’t go anywhere without my gear anymore. I learned to slow down and look [around a scene] a little
more; be aware of your surroundings.”
TH: “I don’t know how many times he’s said that over the past twenty-five years.”
JL: “Because you didn’t know what was on the other side of the smoke.”
MH: “I had no idea what I was getting into that day. I’d be lying to say I’ve never replayed that day in my head. I look at it now as an officer. I look at it now as an incident commander. How would I run that now? But things have changed so much, the way we do things now, as to the way we did things then. It would never happen now.”
Michael Hilliard concluded by stating policies for both the fire service and the correctional centre were reviewed and improved after the hostage taking of January 1, 1992. He mentioned changes adopted by the prison included flame-resistant mattresses, as well as a new exhaust system that would not allow smoke to build up in the ranges. Repeated requests to the Nova Scotia Department of Justice for a comment on this incident and any resulting changes or improvements were not answered.
What follows is a poem Tracey Hilliard presented to me the day of our interview in Sydney, Cape Breton, on September 9, 2016. She originally wrote it twenty-one years earlier, on March 12, 1995, three years, two months, and ten days after the terrifying incident. What she has written underlines how trauma lingers, for the wife, mother, daughter, niece, and cousin of firefighters.
Tracey’s poem shines light on the importance of family for all first responders. Being a loved one of those who regularly put their lives at risk brings with it a unique point of view that bonds people.
I was moved by Tracey’s gift from one daughter of a firefighter to another. While the poem is written from Tracey’s perspective, anyone who has a close bond or relationship with loved ones, friends, and peers who help others, not just firefighters, will connect with her words, regardless of gender, faith, or belief system.
The Other Firefighter
I am the wife, daughter, sister and mother of a firefighter,
An honour I hold dear.
But every time they get a call,
My body fills with fear.
They don’t respond to a call alone,
I am always there.
Hoping and praying they take their time,
And work with utmost care.
I don’t roll hose or run a truck,
I do sit home and pray.
I pray they put the fire out,
And that God shows them the way.
It scares me to think, “What could have been?”
Or what the next may be.
But every time the pager goes,
I thank God for my family.
I want them to know as they go out the door
They’ll never be alone.
There is not a wife, daughter, sister or mother,
Who will rest until they’re home.
I am the wife, daughter, sister and mother of a firefighter,
Who joins them on their ride.
And every time they get a call,
My body fills with pride.
Tracey Ann Hilliard
March 12, 1995
revised November 2012
Tracey Hilliard’s Legacy Letter
To The Reader:
What could I possibly have to offer anyone in the form of a Legacy Letter?
I’ve contemplated this question long and hard since our meeting with the author and have sat in front of a blank document many times over the last few weeks trying to get my head and my heart in sync.
What profound words do I have to offer, words that will leave some type of impact with you, the reader?
I don’t know you, nor do I know your circumstances that preceded your reason to pick up this book.
I don’t have any specialized training. I’ve never run a scene. I don’t know what it’s like to pull up to a home totally engulfed in flames.
I can’t imagine it.
I have sat in my home and watched as my father, husband, sister, and, eventually, my son closed the door behind them to go answer the call for help.
I’ve missed out on events.
I’ve cancelled plans.
I’ve kept dinner warm, and I’ve gone to sleep without hearing the words “I love you,” all for the sake of having my loved ones protect those who needed them more than I did in those instants.
I’ve been the member of a first responder family since the day I was born. Forty-six years to date. I’ve seen them attend some very serious calls, as well as calls that, thankfully, were much less grave.
My introduction to the life of a firefighter was through my father. He and a few of my uncles were members of a fire department that protected our community even before I was born. I grew up spending time with him at the fire station, as well as having him leave our home at all hours when the alarm sounded.
Over the years, I watched as my cousins followed in their father’s footsteps. Becoming a firefighter was almost like a rite of passage in our family.
Was I shocked or surprised when my future husband showed an interest in the fire service? Not at all. I was so proud to know the tradition would continue. I felt such joy knowing my father would have the opportunity to share his knowledge and experience with his future son-in-law.
Over the years Mike evolved into not only a firefighter, but a firefighter who made my father proud. A few years later, my sister joined the ranks. And years later again, my oldest son answered his first alarm.
What a testament to my dad.
He and my mom have truly shown a great service to our family by their selfless acts of commitment to the fire service over the years.
Why did I mention my mom?
Quite simply because she was the glue that held it all together. As much as Dad provided an incredible service by fighting fires all these years, the role of my mother was just as vital. She had the job of holding our family together when he was protecting other families.
She let her husband, the father of her children, walk out the door with no guarantees that he would return. Unbeknownst to her at the time, she taught me how to be that wife and mother.
She taught me how to stand beside my husband through the good and the bad.
She taught me to value the time we spent together as a family, because we never knew when that alarm would ring.
She taught me I could be strong when I was needed most, and perhaps most importantly, she taught me how to listen to the firefighters in my life when they came home from the calls and wanted to talk about them.
Mom and Dad always shared the fire service with me and my sister.
We always got to hear Dad talk about his calls. Even though Dad was the firefighter, we were all included, because they felt it was important for us to understand what happened when Dad left our home.
Thinking back, my sister and I were very fortunate to have been brought up that way. It certainly showed me how I wanted my family to be raised, when the time came for me to be sitting at home with children while my husband drove away.
My extended family of aunts, uncles, and cousins, who are [also] involved in the fire service, led by the same example.
Having firefighters as family members was something that always was [my reality]. Having strong families stand beside those firefighters was also something that always just happened.
Were there close calls over the years? Of course.
Do the endless hours of training and alarms in the middle of the night get tedious? Absolutely.
Do I, at times, wish that I had never been exposed to the fire service?
Never.
For all the dinners that were ruined, for all the plans that were changed, for all the nights that Mom had to tuck me and my sister into bed without a goodnight kiss from my dad or the nights I had to do the same with our boys, knowing they were off helping others who, at that moment in time, needed them much more than we did made it easier to watch them go.
It certainly doesn’t mean we always liked it, but knowing the help they were off
ering when they were gone has allowed us all to handle it as [well as] we did.
I need to thank my mom and dad for raising me in this type of a family, a family that helps.
Helping others sometimes means putting your own family on hold for a little bit. And that’s okay.
Because without helpers, there would be lots of other families who wouldn’t get what they needed.
As Mr. Fred Rogers once said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”
I am truly blessed to be a member of a family of helpers.
Michael Hilliard’s Legacy Letter
Dear New Firefighter:
Hello. Welcome to firefighting.
I’d like to share Hilliard’s First Rule with you: When your shift is over, go home alive. Here endeth the lesson.
This is paraphrased from a line in one of my favourite movies, The Untouchables, the 1987 version with Kevin Costner and Sean Connery. It could also read, “When the call is over, go home alive.”
It is one-third of the foundation I’ve used each day as a firefighter – that and a song from 1993, co-written and recorded by Garth Brooks. The song is “Standing Outside the Fire,” and it contains the following line: “Life is not tried; it is merely survived, if you’re standing outside the fire.”
And finally, an event, something [the hostage taking] that happened to me when I had a total of eight months in the fire service and was a whopping twenty-four years old.
Bad things happen most often to good people. That is why we have chosen to do what we do, so someone is there to help people when things go bad.
On January 1, 1992, something bad happened to me; a call went wrong. The outcome, which was good, was also bad.
But the fact of the matter is, instead of letting it consume me, I’ve taken it and turned it [around] to make me who I am today.
I’d like to take a second to talk about the word “good.”
The Legacy Letters Page 21
