I had been covering the LA wildfires for the past two weeks when I got a tip that I should check out the firehouses in the city. Over the last three days, I visited more than 20, and I was shocked by what I saw: buildings in disrepair, mold so bad it was “sickening firefighters,” and one firefighter who was so upset about the conditions he broke down in tears.
To put it bluntly, the LAFD’s fire stations are falling apart. Five firefighters, who agreed to speak to me but asked not to be named, said the only way repairs get done is if they do it themselves—with their own money. At one station in Pico-Robertson I saw two firefighters using sand to fill in a three-foot-wide pothole outside the fire house. A firefighter at another station told me that a sewage pipe had been leaking into the dining and kitchen area for six months—and “now the ceiling is falling in.”
A source told me that at least 12 fire stations out of the 106 in the city are infested with mold. At Fire Station 112 on the Port of Los Angeles, an April 2022 mold report showed the dining hall teeming with 2.3 million spores of aspergillus and penicillium per cubic meter, when a healthy count should be less than 700. The firefighter who paid for the mold test said his chief became so sick from the mold he had to be taken to the hospital, where his thumb was amputated. He said another one of his colleagues refused to go into the kitchen because every time he did, his face would “break into hives.”
The firefighter, who asked not to be named for fear of losing his job, told me the LAFD press office would say the problem had been fixed—but “anyone legitimate would say the station needs to be torn down.”
At one fire station, east of downtown, I saw a wooden panel had been used to cover up a broken window, and roof tiles that were warped and slouching from water damage. At yet another, a firefighter told me the LAFD had refused to fix a garage door to the station for a year—and it was only being repaired now because the community had raised the money. The faulty door has meant firefighters have had to park their truck outside the house for months.
As of press time, the LAFD has not responded to The Free Press’s request for comment.
Last year, the city slashed the LAFD's funds by $17.6 million, and Fire Chief Kristin Crowley wrote that the cuts “adversely affected” the department’s “ability to maintain core operations”—including fire prevention. LA Mayor Karen Bass has denied the reductions have prevented the force from fighting the fires that have so far killed 27 people and destroyed 12,000 buildings.
But it’s undeniable that LA’s firefighters—who live in their stations for 24-hour shifts at a time—have been subjected to appalling conditions that have impaired their morale, and possibly their physical and emotional health.
I have witnessed horrendous scenes in my hometown recently. I’ve talked to dozens of Angelenos who’ve lost everything. But this is the first time I’ve interviewed a person who broke down in tears.
At sunset on Wednesday night, I rang a bell at a station in Cahuenga Pass and a firefighter came out to greet me—and it was as though he’d been waiting all this time to unleash his pain. When I asked him about the conditions of his station, his eyes welled up with tears.
“I’ve complained and no one will listen. I’ve begged and pleaded,” he said, looking down at the pavement. “I used to be bitter, upset, and angry. But I just gave up.”
“We can’t extend ourselves if we don’t have anything,” he added. “We’re not looking for money, we’re just looking to do our job.”
