A Decade of Hope

by Dennis Smith

  When you get knocked down, your first instinct is to try to stand up. I guess I’ve been trying to right the ship for ten years, but there’s a lot of weight in that ship to right. I can honestly say, because of the recent loss of my parents, that my brother’s loss is magnified even more. So now I tell my wife, Oh, when John and I were little kids, we used to do this. Or John and I planned this or that, or wore this or that. I’ve done things that felt right to me, and that’s how I survived.

  September 11 was a political wake-up call for me. I didn’t vote for George Bush, but I had an experience with him that I will never, ever, ever forget, and that is the day that he came to New York and was standing on the fire truck with fireman Bob Beckwith. They assembled us and said that the president wanted to meet the Police Department families. We were led into a room in the Javits Center with seating for about three hundred people. George Bush came in with Governor Pataki and Mayor Giuliani and began walking around. I could not believe how personable he was. I witnessed history that day. I was standing there, and when Bush came up I said, “Mr. President, this is my sister-in-law Carol, this is a picture of my brother John—he was killed in the Trade Center, a New York City policeman.” I asked him, “Would you sign the back of his picture, to John and Nicholas, his children?” As he was signing I said into his ear, Do what you got to do. This man turned to me and said, “Oh, I will.” They talk about political promises being kept, and he kept his. And you know what? I took that as a personal promise to me.

  The president had it right: He did not target Muslims, but extremist Muslims. I’m a New Yorker, and there are Muslims all over the place, and I’ve never had a bad experience with any of them. I don’t believe in painting all Muslims with the same brush. Extremism is a worldwide problem, an ideological movement with extreme people hiding behind the Muslim religion. I’ve realized that these people are at war with us, and the building of a mosque down there [near Ground Zero] is just another front in that war. When I saw people in Muslim dress protesting on behalf of building the mosque, they were yelling at the 9/11 family members, calling them racist assholes. Those 9/11 family members, so wounded and injured, were being called by them racist assholes. I had to leave that demonstration there, because it was just very, very upsetting to me. I wish the American people could have seen what I saw down there at Ground Zero, the total destruction. I saw a woman cry so much, she was standing in a puddle of her own tears, crying over her lost daughter.

  After 9/11, I heard a saying going around that a conservative is a liberal that has been mugged. I think I fit into that. My brother and I were twins, but we were exact opposites in politics. I was with the people on the East Side of Manhattan, and he was with blood and guts on the West Side. But he was right: He was a prudent American worrying about our safety. This is a war that’s going to last a century, and I don’t know how we’re going to resolve it. Certainly in the world community, barriers have been broken down—for instance, those between blacks and whites, or between Catholics and Protestants—but this war will continue. It’s very easy with the Internet and all the new communications to wage war against the United States in ways we never thought possible. We need strong laws, a sense of Americanism, to protect us from people using our laws against us.

  John will live forever through memorials with his name on them. People will know. We have the story; we know what happened. I’ve done everything I possibly can to memorialize him.

  We’re such a great people, a wonderful, giving, understanding people, and we just have to protect our culture, our institutions, our way of life. They’ll use our laws against us as they do in Europe. We’re not like these other countries that endorse and cheer religious totalitarianism.

  I don’t know how we are progressing in America as a multicultural country. We should all want to be American. But we are broken down into factions of ethnicity, and everybody needs to be heard and represented. But we’re American. America should mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people, but that meaning should be fundamentally American—free, fair, hardworking, and with allegiance to our flag and our law. My friend Mike, who runs the grocery that I go to, came here from Yemen. I see his kids now in the store; they’re Muslim, and they’re just trying to figure out who is going to win the next football pool. And what’s more American than that? That’s what America should be—with each generation they’re more and more American.

  Zack Fletcher

  Zack Fletcher is a New York City firefighter, as was his twin brother, Andre. Both brothers played football for Brooklyn Tech High School, and also football and baseball for the FDNY teams, in addition to being volunteer firefighters on Long Island. Andre was killed on 9/11 while working with Rescue 5 in the North Tower.

  My brother and I were actually fraternal twins, but probably only a handful of people would have thought so, given that we looked so much alike. We were born in Brooklyn in February of 1964—my mother didn’t even realize that she was having twins, and when we came out, she named my brother Andre and my father named me Zackary, after my grandfather.

  Mom is retired from the New York City Department of Social Services, where she was a social worker for about thirty-five years. She used to be in the field visiting foster kids, and then she moved up into dealing with the courts. My mother was proud of working for the city and had a sense of what was right and what was wrong. She was just trying to do whatever she could to help anybody out, any kids out. And she was always very proud of my brother and me. Mom gave us everything. She bought us everything we wanted that was within her means. We knew there were certain lines that we couldn’t cross with our parents, and we did what we had to do to keep them happy. But also keep us happy. My mother was very instrumental in the way I am now. There was always a difference between Andre and me: I’m more like my mother, and Andre was in many respects more like my father.

  Dad used to work for Prudential Securities down on Wall Street as manager for their mainframes. He was very proud of his job, and would always drum into our heads that if you want to get ahead in the world, you have to connect with the right people. We kind of blew that off—yeah, whatever, Dad. We listened to a lot of things he said, but we were more apt to listen to what Mom told us. Men from the Caribbean—West Indian people in general—have a sense that you have to have straight As in school. He used to put the belt to us and provide discipline. Dad retired some time ago, and unfortunately has dementia now. He used to smoke three packs a day, and that helps [bring on] dementia. He also used to drink a lot, and I would say to myself, I never want to be a person who drinks and smokes as much as he does. I can understand now why he did so, because of all the pressures that he had when he was raising us. Also, being a man of color back in those days, having to deal with the racism, was very, very tough. He stopped drinking only after 9/11. My mother tried to be patient, thinking that if she kept quiet it would go away. And I would say, Mom you’re in denial. And you know, I would always be by her, and I would let her know, Don’t worry if he gets physical with you, I’m right here.

  But Dad had six ministrokes. They had to put a shunt in his head to relieve the pressure that was building up, and put a screen in his leg, so that no clots would come up to the heart. Very tough time. And dealing with him now is also tough, like another full-time job. The guys at the firehouse are always saying, Zack, if you need the day off or something like that, just give us a call and we’ll cover your shift, no problem. They know it’s tough too.

  We grew up on Chauncey Street between Bushwick and Evergreen. In 1974 it was named the best block in the whole city—pretty good for an impoverished neighborhood. It was a beautiful block, almost like a little paradise within the jungle that surrounded us. It’s like where I work now, my firehouse. They call it the eye of the storm, as it’s in a nice part of Prospect Heights, but around us, everything is pretty run-down, with a busy fire load.

  Mom and Dad both realized how hard it was out there, especially in the sixties and seven
ties, and they wanted the best for their children. So being that my parents were from Jamaica, they sacrificed to put us into private school. We went to Brooklyn Junior Academy—which is right around the corner from Engine 222—from kindergarten all the way up to eighth grade. We had to wear uniforms to school. When you’re a kid, and you’re at that age, you’re very malleable. Often that’s when you get formed into the type of individual that you will become. I remember the gangs, tough guys, and Andre and I wanted to be part of it, to be accepted. Back then, in the seventies, martial arts were big, thanks to many martial arts movies, and I wanted the excitement of joining a gang. One gang member, the leader, used to always come by and say to us, “You guys keep doing what you’re doing.” I think he was actually proud of Andre and me because he recognized These guys are going somewhere. These guys are going to be somebody. And he put the word out on the street: Nobody, nobody messes with these two. I asked to join, and he told me, “No, this is not for you. But if these two. I asked to join, and he told me, ”No, this is not for you. But if you ever need anything, just ask me.” Of course we didn’t realize the favor that this guy actually did for us. They were watching out for the Fletcher boys.

  We excelled in our grades, and when we graduated, my brother went to Bronx High School of Science and I went to Brooklyn Technical High School. Our parents had also wanted us to learn music, so my brother and I took piano lessons at the Third Street Music School in Manhattan. As a result we had also been accepted at the High School for the Performing Arts and also the High School of Music and Art, very difficult schools to get into. I absolutely loved Brooklyn Tech though—great sports, and again I excelled in my grades. It was a huge school—something like seven thousand people—and it was intense; very, very rigorous; and competitive in academics and in sports. A lot of top people come from that school, and a survey showed 80 percent to 85 percent of its graduates are very successful. The trek for Andre was up to an hour and forty-five minutes each way on the train, so he figured, Why don’t I just go to Brooklyn Tech? The fact that Bronx High School of Science no longer had a football team, and he wanted to play football, was another reason. He transferred in his junior year.

  Andre and I both graduated with a Regents diploma in June of 1982 in a class of fifteen hundred. At around that time we left Brooklyn—my mother had gotten mugged for the third time, and she said, “That’s it, I need to get out of here,” and decided to move to Freeport, Long Island. We were used to the concrete jungle, and we moved to grass, prim suburbs, and the whole nine yards.

  Although I got into American University in Washington, D.C., my parents didn’t have the money to send me, and I didn’t have a scholarship. So I had to pass on that. Andre and I went to New York Institute of Technology in Westbury, Long Island. My brother then went to community college in Medford. I stayed for one year, paying for school myself and studying architecture, but then stopped going and started working. New York Institute of Technology was very expensive, but I was making then more than enough money to get student loans—you have to make a minimum amount of salary to get educational assistance. I decided to go to the State University of New York at Westbury. I have ninety credits, and as soon as I get promoted to lieutenant I will go to John Jay College of Criminal Justice to finish up my degree. To be a fire marshal you need at least forty credits. For lieutenant you need at least sixty. To be a battalion chief you need a bachelor’s degree. The Fire Department will pay for these promotion credits with grants. From Medford, Andre then went to SUNY Westbury and was in the process of finishing up when the tragedy happened.

  In 1987, when we were living in Freeport, we both became volunteer firefighters, and were both gung ho about it. We just loved firefighting. We got our EMT certifications. I got an AEMT [Advanced Emergency Medical Technician] certification, which is one level below paramedic, and Andre ended up getting the paramedic certification. We took the FDNY test together, and I got a 98.6 on the written part, but missed 100 on the physical by three seconds. Andre got 100 on the physical, but he got 96 on the written, so when they averaged out the scores, his was three tenths of a point higher than mine. So Andre was appointed to the job in January 1994, and I got on in July in 1994—just six months apart.

  We had no hooks, no “rabbis,” to get us the choice assignments in the busy companies. He went to Engine 297 for about three years, but in the FDNY you can use your knowledge as your rabbi, and because Andre was a paramedic and not just an EMT, he asked to go to the busiest EMS engine in Brooklyn, 257. It is a big deal to be a paramedic, and the guys respected him because he knew his shit, pardon my language.

  The law gives medical authority to whoever is the highest medically trained personnel, and there were sometimes stubborn bosses, lieutenants, or captains who knew better than to give orders to Andre. Andre knew what he was talking about. There were times when bosses said, We are going to do it this way, and Andre would say, No, we’re not going to do it this way. They would look at him like, Who the hell are you? Andre had no problem telling a boss, No disrespect, Lieu or Cap, but this is my license on the line. So just please do as I asked you to do. He would do it in a way that didn’t seem like he was arrogant. The lieutenant would be a little pissed, but he’d do it Andre’s way. And so Engine 257 won many medical EMS commendations because of Andre.

  After that Andre wanted to get into a ladder company—he really wanted to get into Rescue. The one thing we would always talk about was, Okay, who is going to get into SOC [Special Operations Command] first? SOC was then looking for people who had some type of training besides mechanical skills, and because of his training as a paramedic, Andre had his way in. But still, getting into a Rescue Company is very, very hard, so he decided to go to the facility on Randall’s Island where all the special units would get trained, or get refreshed in training. Andre did two years there, and once you did that you could pretty much go anywhere you wanted.

  In 1999 the captain of Rescue 5 said, “Why don’t you come to us?” Andre hopped on that offer in a heartbeat. Rescue 5 was off Clove Road on Staten Island, and he was then living in North Babylon, New York, with his wife and his son. He was really proud of being in a Rescue Company. I loved going over to Rescue 5 and spending time with them on my off days. I would have lunch with those guys, and they would say, Hey, Zack, when are you coming over to SOC? And I said, One of these days. Actually, the Fire Department doesn’t like putting two members of a family in the same unit.

  When I started my career out of the academy, after probationary training, I got assigned to Ladder Company 15 in Lower Manhattan. Now I did have a hook, but my rabbi didn’t pan out. My girlfriend at the time was a detective in Freeport. She had busted an FDNY two-star chief for a serious traffic thing but let him go. He told her who he was and that if she knew anybody that needed a favor, just mention his name. She wrote his name down but lost the paper. So it didn’t pan out for me to go where I wanted in Brooklyn. I went to Ladder 15, with Engine 4, down on South Street, just a few blocks from the World Trade Center, and was there for almost seven years. It is a nice firehouse, and a great company, but I wanted to transfer out of there because I wanted more work, more firefighting. But there was an unwritten rule that you had to stay in the first battalion, first division, for five years, because they couldn’t get anyone to go there. I just had to get out of there, especially after 9/11, because every time we responded to a call and we passed by the site, I would have a minor anxiety attack. It was hurting me. I said, I can’t stay here, and then the captain, and even Chief [Joseph] Pfeifer, said, Anywhere you want to go. I could even have gone to Rescue in honor of my brother, but I felt that it might be too much for the guys there, seeing my face and knowing Andre so well, and that he died there. So I said, Let me go to a busy Brooklyn company. So I chose Ladder 132.

  Just before 9/11 Andre and I talked about developing a modeling and acting career. We used to see the Doublemint Twins on television and thought, Hey, we can do that. But we were always so busy
doing everything else, we just didn’t have time. But one day we said, You know what, screw it; let’s just start, and we went to an agency. One of the agents looked at us, and he said, “Where the hell have you guys been all my life?”

  “You guys are tall, clean-cut, handsome. Twins—for that in and of itself,” he said, “you guys can go a long way.” We were asked to go to California; everything would be paid for by the agency. This was two months before the towers were hit.

  Andre and I weren’t just brothers; it was as if he was literally a part of me. We did everything together. When he got on the fire marshals’ list, I got on the fire marshals’ list. [Fire marshals investigate the causes of all fires in New York.] Andre was posthumously promoted to fire marshal because, though he had been on the list, they had kept pushing the promotion back. It was the right thing to do, and generous of the department. So I am on that list now, and as a matter of fact, will be in the next class.

  On the morning that Andre died, I was at my girlfriend’s house. Andre had separated from his wife by then, and a little more than a year before he died, he had moved back in with my parents, though he would still go to see his son every single day. It wasn’t official with the department and the city, and I kept telling him, make it official, just do the paperwork and file for divorce too. He was, I’ll get to it, I’ll get to it—always the last minute for everything. He had started dating, met someone, and kept going down to North Carolina to visit her. He called me from there two days before to tell me he was having a great time, and that he was coming back to New York on September 12.