It's amazing to me how sometimes that are things in my brain that sit idle for so long. Something will trigger a memory and it's like being ambushed. I know it's going to sound trite and perhaps even stupid but there are still times that memories of September 11th put a lump in my throat. Example: When driving home, I typically listen to local talk radio as a nice debrief from my day and helps me change gears from Professional Me to Dad. I have about 40 minutes to shake off the office and get ready to wrestle and roll around on the floor and sing songs and the like. Most days the host is engaging, witty, and has a few topics that grab my interest. On the other hand, there are days like yesterday. He was out for some reason and another local guy was filling in so I tuned out. I hit the CD player and Bruce Springsteen's The Rising was in the deck. Song #2 comes up. Into The Fire. The opening verse reads:
The sky was falling and streaked with blood
I heard you calling me, then you disappeared into the dust
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
Nothing encapsulates the sacrifice made by the Firefighters better than that. Whenever I hear this song I think of the picture of Mychael Judge standing on a box giving General Absolution to a group of Firefighters bedecked in their gear, heads bowed and eyes closed. I think many of them knew they would not be coming back and went anyway. That's what they do. It's what they've always done and until that day, most of us never really understood that. The second picture that I think of, belonged to a friend named Lou. Lou and I knew each other in Charlotte. He was FDNY and somehow or another ended up in the Queen City. I was at his house one night and after many beers, the stories started. He pulled out an envelope of 4X6" photos he had taken himself when he was at a fire. One shot I'll never forget was a fire in a bodega. There are four or five Firefighters pulling one of their own out of the basement. A curl of flame billows up out of the basement like dragon's breath. Thick oily black smoke pours out menacingly. The firefighters lay in a heap at the top of the stairs just out of the reach of the smoke and only a few feet back from the flames. They appear to have formed a human chain to save the last two men. Each man hold the man in front of him around the waist as if giving the Heimlich maneuver. Every one of them are clearly exhausted from their efforts. The grimace on the face of the anchor man is etched in my brain. It is a look of exhaustion, relief and anguish all at the same time. I simply cannot imagine what it is like to have that be a normal day on the job. I have a few cops and firefighters in my family and they always have an air about them that says with a shrug, "that's what I do." To them, it is the most normal thing in the world. I have the utmost respect and admiration for them because of it.
The sky was falling and streaked with blood
I heard you calling me, then you disappeared into the dust
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
Nothing encapsulates the sacrifice made by the Firefighters better than that. Whenever I hear this song I think of the picture of Mychael Judge standing on a box giving General Absolution to a group of Firefighters bedecked in their gear, heads bowed and eyes closed. I think many of them knew they would not be coming back and went anyway. That's what they do. It's what they've always done and until that day, most of us never really understood that. The second picture that I think of, belonged to a friend named Lou. Lou and I knew each other in Charlotte. He was FDNY and somehow or another ended up in the Queen City. I was at his house one night and after many beers, the stories started. He pulled out an envelope of 4X6" photos he had taken himself when he was at a fire. One shot I'll never forget was a fire in a bodega. There are four or five Firefighters pulling one of their own out of the basement. A curl of flame billows up out of the basement like dragon's breath. Thick oily black smoke pours out menacingly. The firefighters lay in a heap at the top of the stairs just out of the reach of the smoke and only a few feet back from the flames. They appear to have formed a human chain to save the last two men. Each man hold the man in front of him around the waist as if giving the Heimlich maneuver. Every one of them are clearly exhausted from their efforts. The grimace on the face of the anchor man is etched in my brain. It is a look of exhaustion, relief and anguish all at the same time. I simply cannot imagine what it is like to have that be a normal day on the job. I have a few cops and firefighters in my family and they always have an air about them that says with a shrug, "that's what I do." To them, it is the most normal thing in the world. I have the utmost respect and admiration for them because of it.
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