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In the aftermath of the devastating attacks at the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, Americans have developed a new appreciation of firefighters. We may not understand their motivation for such a dangerous job, but we're glad they do it.

Nancy Rasmussen is one who understands, though. While the rest of the world views them as heroes, she knows "they're just doing their job."

As deputy chief of administration, 54-year-old Rasmussen is the highest-ranking woman in the Indianapolis Fire Department, and, after 21 years in the business, knows just what that "job" entails.

"I don't want to diminish the work the firefighters did. They were heroes. But they didn't do anything others wouldn't have done in the same situation. Firemen can get in, dig around, rescue and search. That's just our occupation. We're not heroes. What we do may be heroic, but everyone was a hero."

To her, the real heroes of the attacks were "those on the airplane that crashed in Pennsylvania, the passengers who saved hundreds, thousands of lives."

If she doesn't feel heroic, perhaps it's because she finds it easier being a role model. Rasmussen was the first woman on the Indianapolis Fire Department roster, and of course it follows that she would be the first IFD mother and grandmother. When she received her promotion to deputy chief almost two years ago, she also became the first woman to receive that title.

After being a stay-at-home mom for 14 years and raising her six children, she was ready for something different. Besides, she'd been a "mom" for a lot longer than that, having helped raise her younger siblings after their parents died.

A desk job wasn't what she was looking for when she read the ad for firefighters. An organized, service-oriented person who likes doing things for other people, Rasmussen liked the idea of firefighters working 24 hours on, 48 hours off. It would give her time to continue to mother her children.

So, at 33, she started training for her possible new job by carrying whichever child weighed closest to 100 pounds, the weight of equipment carried by IFD firefighters.

"I converted what I did at home into work. I worked long hours at home and was up all night. I was coordinating everyone's schedules and acting as a crisis manager. I never even thought about being under stress in the late '70s. I don't have any stress. I can just sit down in the midst of the melee."

There were no women in the Indianapolis Fire Department in 1979, and only 87 in the entire nation. "I applied in '79 and was hired in '80," Rasmussen says. "My ex-husband was a teacher, and, since we worked different shifts, the kids never were unattended."

She always wanted to be a wife and mother. She majored in music at Marian College, with the possibility of becoming a teacher. She dropped out halfway through when she married, but she always meant to return. She did finish her schooling after she was accepted in the fire department, finally receiving a business degree at IUPUI.

"You don't need a degree, it's not necessary; but lots of firefighters have them. I look for people who can speak, can communicate and can write," says Rasmussen, whose job description includes recruiting. "We have medical personnel, teachers, paramedicals, geology majors, business education majors, among the firefighters. Some even have fire service degrees given at some colleges."

Once a recruit makes it onto the force, "We offer incentive pay for college Ñ about $1,200. It's a 'gift' that was created for the motivated person. You're paid incrementally every 30 hours. A college grad has the edge on aptitude tests in the interview and does better in the application process."

Once past that part of the application, the new firefighters soon realize that firefighting is "grunt work. ... We get down and dirty," Rasmussen says. "It's hard, sweaty work, very laborious. Plus, we have ... rigid physical requirements, such as the ratio of height to fitness. There also are statewide baseline standards for applicants ... and we're retested yearly.

"We have a handful of divisions that work off-street, but ... everyone in the fire department starts at square one: basic training on the street.

"The physical test is a series of evolutions, such as crawling through mazes, which can cause or exacerbate claustrophobia; dragging a 160-pound dummy; climbing ladders. I've seen a lot of tears and disappointments. The test is given in a timed situation. It isn't just women who don't pass. Plenty of men are quasi-prepared.

"Today, recruits get to walk through the physical test, then after some 'practice,' they finally take the test. When I took it, we had to go in cold, no learning about the test beforehand. I knew enough about carrying the weight, which is why I practiced with bags of rock salt and my kids. We've come a long way."

As deputy chief of administration, Rasmussen is in charge of six divisions: recruiting, hiring and promotions, communications, fleet services, computer and records management, and buildings and grounds. And, instead of the schedule she followed when she was assigned to a station, she now works a regular 40-hour week, mostly behind the desk she sought to avoid by applying for the IFD position.

"We don't begin recruiting young people until they're 21. ... They'll go on to jobs or college before they apply. We find them at gyms and at fitness centers.

"Several years ago, I was asked to talk to my son's fifth-grade class. So, I hauled in all my gear to help with the talk. I handed out the application sheet so that they could see what was required. Later, the teacher applied for a job and now is a firefighter.

"It's easier to make a decent salary as a firefighter, but there's no summer vacation or holidays off. Lots of firemen have complementary jobs in sales or in service occupations."

Her second husband, Stephen Rasmussen, also is a fireman, with the rank of captain. She says that, when asked how he handles her position, he replies that she's his boss at home and also at fires.

The combined Rasmussen clan includes her three sons and three daughters (aged 24 to 33), Stephen's two daughters, and 14 grandchildren. She grew up on the Westside, and is the second of eight children: five girls and three boys.

"We're Irish immigrants, and an uncle and cousins were Indianapolis police officers, but that's the closest I came to being influenced by this job. At one point, I wanted to be a nun and even went to a convent."

She considers herself a religious person, a faith-filled person. "I lost my parents at an early age and raised the youngest of my siblings. I don't look much beyond the moment.

"My kids don't think what I do is different because I've done it most of their lives. My siblings may be more aware of the uniqueness ... of the danger ... of the job.

"Anyone can say they were in situations that were dangerous. I've fallen through floors, slid on roofs, been thrown around by a hose. Eighty percent of our calls are emergency medical calls that can be very dangerous.

"After I go through something like that, I just sit down and say, 'Whew, boy, I got lucky.' I get nervous after the fact.

"I love the job. After a shift change, I want to go right back in to help. It's exciting. I go in thinking that, hopefully, I'm going to effect change.

"Teachers do it (make a difference) every day. They affect so many people. Little kids look up to the uniform. Unfortunately, those little Golden Books we read as kids didn't ever feature women in roles of the police or firefighters, so we have to work to change that.

"There have been women in IPD for 90 some years. They might not have been out on the street, but they were there."

In discussing the terms "brother" and "brotherhood" that were heard so often following the Sept. 11 attacks, Rasmussen says that the brotherhood of firefighters is strong. It's a national bond, an international bond.

"I can go anywhere and be welcomed as a fellow firefighter. I'll be a realist, though. Women are still only superficially welcomed to it. The occupational bond is there, however."

Even though hers is a high-ranking position in the department, it also is a role traditionally held by men. "There's still resistance, such as 'OK, they're here,' but the men would be just as happy if we weren't. This is the last male-dominated bastion, and we broke through, but not to accolades.

"I'm not speaking negatively. There are always isolated incidents that you just don't complain about. You make it on your own. I was 33, a mother and, I felt, more mature than the rest of the class. I figure that what little inroads I've made, some gal behind me doesn't have to. I had to respect, empathize with, what these guys were going through with me in the department.

"One time, I went to a station to fill in for another firefighter on the engine. The captain knew I'd traded hours, but he didn't want a woman in his crew, so I spent my eight-hour shift sitting on a park bench.

"There were no bathrooms for women then, so we had to share. And sleeping was the least of the issues. Firefighters all sleep in a 'cold' dorm, wearing our class 'C' uniform so we can be ready to jump on an engine. They made me a separate sleeping room from the guys' TV room, which didn't made them happy, since they then had no place to watch TV. Now women have their own bedroom, but back then, firehouses weren't designed for two sexes." She finally took a folding cot to the station and slept on it near the engine. "When you isolate women like that, you set them up for possible abuse and make it more of a problem than it is," she notes.

While discussing Third Watch, the CBS Monday night drama that deals with firefighters, police and emergency medical technicians, Rasmussen says that the camaraderie shown is very real. She adds, though, that just as on the show, proximity can cause problems. "Sometimes, relationships ... do develop, as they would in any situation, so IFD doesn't schedule relatives in the same station if one could be a superior of the other: son/father, husband/wife, etc. They can work in the same station as long as the husband/wife are on different shifts or apparatus. There's no competition among shifts, because each shift is like a different station.

"Would I want one of my daughters in the department? That's a head-banger, but I'm not sure. It is a good, secure job, though."

In her administrative role, Rasmussen will get dressed in all her gear and go to the scene of a major fire. "It's good for the residents to see the chief running fire scenes."

When she isn't on duty, "I work in the yard. I love to garden. And I attend all the grandkids' athletic events. I don't sit well; it doesn't suit me. I love to go to flea markets, but, if you go with me, you'd better like to walk, because I walk fast. At flea markets, antique malls or garage sales, I tend to stick to the nostalgic. I'm always on the lookout for things to give to the kids. With all these grandchildren, someone's always needing something."

Rasmussen says that, if anything, the Sept. 11 attacks have had a positive, rather than a negative, effect on firefighting and recruitment.

Personally, though, "I don't think people get it. I feel a terrible sadness (and) extreme fear. My youngest son's wedding was in Cleveland two weeks after the attacks, but we went anyway. We know it could be in a catastrophe (situation), but 'we' feel we're invincible.

"This is the beginning of a ... war like we've never seen before. I think a little harder about what's going on. It's very unnerving to me and our extended families. We just sit watching television: CNN, MSNBC.

"The son who just was married could be drafted. My father enlisted in the Marines during World War II, even though he was past draft age. He was gone three years and didn't get to see my older sister until she was 3. In past wars, we were so patriotic. ... I hope it's not like other wars we've had." She fears, though, lots will die.

However, Rasmussen says of the fire department's abilities to weather an event such as the Sept. 11 attacks, "We're as ready as anybody could be under those circumstances. We've defined them here in Indianapolis and we're trained in all these functions. There's (just) no way to fight these fires."