The Boy Who Cried “Fire!”

As a third grader, fire drills were a blessing. You would make predictions with friends about when the next one was coming, thinking it had been a while since the last. Then, on the day of, official word meant for only the teachers would leak to the students (or the teacher would purposely dish out info to the boy who was made nervous by the sudden, unpredictable noise and whose parents had called the school about it). Rumors would be passed like a blunt in the Arbo, and by lunch everyone knew about the pending evacuation drill.

Although it was whole-heartedly anticipated as an excuse to miss a portion of class, the procedure was practical. If such drills were nonexistent, and a seventh-grader became too mischievous with his Bunsen burner, I am sure we would have run around like headless chickens. Our teachers would have to scream to get us to calm down and share any instructions they had learned from training or adulthood. But, because of our drills, my entire third grade class memorized their role in an emergency situation.

Fire drills are state mandated in elementary, middle and high schools, as written in all fifty states’ legislations. In Connecticut, one fire drill must be conducted each month school is in session. But now we are in college. Every student at Connecticut College has dealt with fire drills at a prior institution.

At this stage in our lives, fire drills are only contributing to a “boy who cried wolf” situation. Currently when the fire alarm rings, students assume it’s a planned exercise and they dilly-dally or stay in their room and hide in their closets when they hear Campus Safety roaming the halls. I know that I casually grab my jacket, cell phone and keys, and put on my shoes before heading into the chilly night to gather with other shivering scholars or drunks (depending on the night).

In the case of an authentic fire, students would not hesitate to adhere to the same practice. If it were announced by the college that our dorm-life would never be interrupted with drills, when the hallways did howl with rings and dings, we’d rush to our nearest exit hoping to survive being burnt to a crisp.

I understand our Office of Residential Education and Life is likely abiding a state regulation. But not all laws are befitting of all populations. Whether we practice our fire evacuations because of statute or whether it is merely an excuse for Campus Safety to privately sniff our underwear, I think it is in our best interest to abandon a silly tradition. Actually, we played four square and drank a good amount of chocolate milk in third grade… maybe Conn can assist in bringing back some other good elementary school memories.