Buildings On His Boots

    It took my Dad twenty years to reach five days before September 11, 2001.  This was the date he retired from the Fire Department of New York (FDNY). I can remember going to my Dad's graduation from the fire academy when I was bumping around his knees as a four year old. 

Me, Dad & Mom on Graduation Day

Grandma Diemer, Dad & Grandpa Diemer on Graduation Day

 

     When your dad is a firefighter you become part of the firefighting family.  At Christmas we would head into the city for the annual firehouse party where too many hot dogs were eaten as we all waited for Santa to slide down the pole with our gifts.  In the summer we would go to the big beach picnic where we would eat more hot dogs. 

     Dad had a lot of stories from the job but my favorite was how he pulled a Pee Wee Herman and rescued a bunch of animals out of a burning pet store.  The ASPCA awarded him plaque for his compassion.  Next to the plaque sat a photo of him carrying a person away from a fire on a stretcher in the snow.  Sometimes, Dad's stories were not spoken but told in the burns and injuries he came home with.  There were the times when he came home and he was just silent.  A few days would pass and I'd watch Dad leave the house dressed in his uniform blues to say good by to a fallen friend.

    Occasionally, Dad would bring home his turnout gear (his firefighting coat, pants, helmet, boots, gloves) and I would put on a little fashion show.  I would last about two minutes before the shear weight of the outfit overheated and crushed me into escaping before it suffocated me.  That is what he had to wear, with his oxygen tank, into burning buildings as he climbed flights of stairs to sometimes carry out another's life in his arms. That was my Dad's job.
     In the spring of the year Dad was to retire, there was a terrible fire that occurred on June 17, 2001.  It is known as the Father's Day Fire.  Three of New York's Bravest died that day: my Dad's close friend, Harry Ford, Brain Fahey and John Downing.  Up until then, that was one of the worst days in FDNY history.  The loss of those three men in one single fire was unbelievable...at that time.
     Then on one sunny, brilliant fall day, as I was leaving the house to feed the horses I heard the TV.  A plane hit the World Trade Center.  Ten minutes later my dad was running into the house to grab is turnout gear that had only been retired for five days.  His buddy, that he had retired with him, pulled in the driveway.  Hell had opened up in New York and I had to hug him goodbye.
    Towers fell, phone lines jammed, planes crashed. Newspaper extras hit the stands at noon showing pictures of people jumping out of the buildings.  Lines of donors wrapped around the blood banks.  Tractor trailers waited on the sides of roads as they got filled with medical supplies, food and water donations.   American flags sold out in hours.
    As night fell and the candle light vigils along the highways glowed, we waited for dad.  It was late when he came home.  He did not say much and we loved him too much to ask.  The one thing he said was he couldn't believe all the beeping.  He just shook his head as if he were tying shake the sound out of his thoughts.  The beeping sound, he was talking about, was from the Personal Alert Safety System (PASS) devices that the firefighters wore. When a firefighter becomes incapacitated and has stopped moving the PASS device sends out a shrill beeping sound. The alarm helps the other firefighters to locate them and get them to safety.  I watched my Dad, who looked as though ten years had collapsed on him in twelve hours, take off his boots that were covered in the buildings that changed the world that day. 

My Dad's Company fire truck on 9/11

 

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A view of the old New York skyline from the Staten Island Ferry

 

 

Copyright (c) 2013 Jacksonhillhorseygirl.com September 6th 2013