A Decade of Hope

by Dennis Smith

  At that time, though, he was trying to get as much overtime as possible, and Rescue 5 called him and said, “Fletcher, twenty-four hours overtime: You interested?” He would have to come back just a day earlier, no big deal. Now, I remember the night before, September 10, vividly. We were having some really bad lightning storms, and they closed down LaGuardia and JFK airports. The only one that was still open was Newark, and they were accepting only half their flights.

  Andre’s flight from North Carolina to JFK was canceled, and they told him they would put him on a flight the next day. Andre was like, “Man, I want to do this overtime. I don’t want to lose it.” With overtime, you have to grab it when you can get it. He told them that he had to get back to New York, so they said, We can possibly get you into Newark, but you will have to hang over for five hours in Atlanta.

  So Andre was calling me the whole day: “Zack, you think you can pick me up if I can get a flight in?” I said, “No, I’m not going to pick you up.” And he’s like, “Come on. You know, I do everything for you.” He never did anything for me, but you know how brothers are. He knew I was going to break down; I love him a lot. So I said, “All right, what airport?” He said, “I’m coming into Newark.” I’m like, “What? You expect me to drive from effin’ Long Island all the way out to Newark?” I asked, “What time?” He said, “Midnight.” I said, “Hey, you’re effin’ kidding me. You’re fucking crazy. I’m not doing that.” He’s like, “Fuck you,” and slammed the phone down, but called me back ten minutes later. “Come on, man, please, pick me up. I don’t want to lose the overtime.” And I’m like, “Damn.” I’m shaking my head, and after going through this for an hour, going back and forth, I finally said, “Okay, but you owe me big time.” I laughed to myself then. Well, at least Andre would be there in the morning to get his overtime.

  I picked up his car to drive to the airport. He was wearing a spy coat, a trench coat, and I asked, as he opened the door of the car, “Who are you trying to be?” He looked at me, smiled, and said, “I knew you’d come for me.” And I asked, “How did you know that?” And he said, “’Cause you’re my brother.” That made me feel good then—and now, too, so many years after 9/11. I said, “Just get in the car. Do you know what time it is?”

  By now it was after midnight, so it was now 9/11. I drove to my girlfriend’s house, gave Andre the keys, and said, “Be safe.” And I added, “You know, you owe me a dinner.” And he laughed, and said, “No problem.” That’s the last time I saw him.

  The next morning I was in bed with my girlfriend. I did not even know what had happened. I had had a good sleep, a great sleep. Everyone remembers that day. It was so beautiful and warm, not a cloud in the sky. And I began to hear sirens—must be something going on. Turn the TV on, and I’m like, What the . . . ? Andre calls me, “Yo, get to work man. They have a full recall, all off-duty personnel, everyone. A plane went into the World Trade Center.” And I’m, “Get out of here.” He said, “Zack, I’m not dicking you: A plane went into the World Trade Center.”

  My girlfriend at the time was a cop who was working downtown by Alphabet City. She was getting calls too, for off-duty personnel to report. So we got in the car and started in. The second plane hadn’t hit yet, but I could see the smoke billowing, and I’m thinking, Oh my God. I knew my company was going to respond because Ladder 15 and Engine 4 were just a few blocks away. First thing I thought was, How the fuck are we going to put this out? I said as much to my girlfriend. An interior attack, way up there? This is going to be worse than any basement job I’ve ever been in—if we can even get up there. We might have to walk it. ’Cause who’s to say about the elevators?

  Andre was the type to fly in, no hesitation—which made him great for a rescue company. If he were a cop he’d shoot first and ask questions later. I was totally different. I felt, Wait a minute. How are we going to attack this problem? I actually started thinking then: If this thing burns to compromise the structure, part of it could collapse, and then the second plane hit.

  So I told my girlfriend, “Just go across the bridge, put the blinkers on, and hit the horn.” We had our badges and IDs out. There were police cars all over. They had closed the Brooklyn Bridge. I said to the police, “I’ve got to get to work. I’m at that firehouse right over there.” He looked at our badges and said, “Go ahead.” While crossing the Brooklyn Bridge I remember looking at the speedometer. I didn’t realize I was going over ninety. That’s when the first building fell.

  In the firehouse I got my gear to make sure everything was good. Firemen from other areas were going to any firehouse available, grabbing coats and helmets off the rack, because this was a unique, once-in-a-lifetime emergency. I made sure I put mine to the side and waited for orders. Ladder 17 from the Bronx was relocated to cover my firehouse, and I went on a few alarms with them, which is when the South Tower fell. God. Then I was back in my firehouse, and a captain from another house came by, and said, “You’re going to come with me—we’re going down to the command post at the scene.” So we started walking toward the World Trade Center. The sky was dark with smoke. By Hanover Square, thinking about the brothers, “I said to the captain, ‘You know what? We have tons of extra air bottles [for the breathing masks]. Let me go back to the firehouse for them.’ When I got back about eight minutes had passed, and the captain and I headed down Dey Street.

  We then began to hear the rumbling of the North Tower falling. We were close, and it was the loudest thing I’ve heard in my life. We jumped into a building alcove—myself, the captain, and four cops in riot gear. When we saw all the debris, that huge cloud rolling our way, we just looked at each other bug eyed. We grabbed at each other, not even thinking; we just grabbed each other. We folded on top of each other and let everything pass by. If we hadn’t moved fast, we would have been hit by the shrapnel and probably would have been dead. We were just a short block and a half away. If I had not gone for those air bottles. we would have been in the North Tower. We would have been dead. No ifs, ands, or buts. I know we would have been dead.

  After the building came down, I was so glad I had my hood and a mask [a surgical filter-type mask]. It was as if time stood still. It was like a dream. I remember, I thought I was in a dream. Everything was in slow motion. Looking around, saying to myself, This can’t be real. We went up Church Street, and I saw Engine Squad 252. Everything on the front of the truck burned to nothing, but everything on the back end was still there, though pretty beat up. I said to myself, Nah, that can’t be 252. That can’t be a fire engine. I mean, this is not real. I said to myself, My God, this is unbelievable. We then passed a car on fire. The captain saw a hose hooked up to a hydrant and said, “Open up the hydrant; do what you can with that car fire.” I started spraying water, and I began to say to myself, Why am I fighting a car fire? Putting this out ain’t going to do anything. Also, the pressure on the hydrants had completely dropped, so it was basically just pissing a trickle. So I’m like, The hell with this. I’m not doing this. I gotta look for my brother.

  I knew Rescue was there. When we were coming in, my brother hit me up on the two-way walkie-talkie instant communications. “Rescue 5,” he said, “is about to go through the Verrazano Bridge tolls.” They were weaving their way in and out of all the traffic. Andre told me to get down to my firehouse and that he would meet me down there. I said, “Andre, I know you. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t try to be a hero on this one. I’ll see you there. I’ll hook up with you.” That was the last time I spoke with him.

  After the South Tower collapsed I joined other firemen and did a search of the surrounding areas. The carbon monoxide level was extremely high, to the point that, even though I had a mask on to filter out a lot of stuff, it didn’t filter the carbon monoxide. I knew that area and remembered large open spaces, and I was looking for those spaces, but it was all solid now, a mountain of debris. I remember thinking too that if they were in that pile there was no way that we would be getting them out. They were dead. I was
getting a little overcome with the carbon monoxide, and I thought, I can’t stay here, because I didn’t have the right mask on. I needed a self-contained one. And then we were told to group up and to meet at the quarters of Engine 7 and Ladder 1 on Duane Street. They were first-alarm companies, and it’s amazing how a firehouse that was so close, and one of the first at the World Trade Center, didn’t lose anybody. I was just so happy for them. Some of the guys there saw me, and because my company works with them a lot, two of them came over and hugged me, like, “Man, good to see you.”

  I walked around looking for Andre, or anybody from Rescue 5. I saw Rescue 1’s rig, but where was Rescue 5? Ground Zero was too big, and there was so much debris around.

  A chief came, and after taking a roll call sent most of us back to our respective quarters. More off-duty personnel were already at my firehouse. I got cleaned up; I was full of soot: My ears were totally covered, my nose, and that smell. It’s the worst feeling, as if you’d gotten slimed.

  I didn’t think that I’d lost Andre. I said to myself, To have any hope you have to have a positive mental attitude. I kept saying to myself, Don’t get negative. Positive mental attitude. If anybody had a chance, it would be those guys in Rescue. They are trained for that. It’s the Rescue guys who end up pulling firemen out when they get in trouble, so they must have known how to get themselves out. I was not thinking that they could have died instantly. I was just in a daze, almost on autopilot. My first priority right now was to accept that this happened. That’s what we’re trained for. It can happen; I can’t do anything to change it. But what can we do to alleviate any of the suffering? We can at least save some lives.

  Nobody said anything specific to me, but people were talking: “Man, seventy percent of SOC was decimated. They were working, and they’re not here anymore, and nobody’s heard from them.” Not that they were dead, but nobody’s heard from them. That’s when people started thinking negatively.

  When I got home, people were there waiting—some friends of mine, cops in Freeport and Nassau County, making sure Mom and Dad were okay. They hugged me, and they were like, “He’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay.” “You heard from him?” “No.” “Okay,” “Don’t worry about it.” And I guess it was just their positive attitude, so I said, “Okay, probably it’s going to be fine.” I was in denial.

  But you know, when I saw the damage, when I was doing a quick search, the mountain of broken concrete and steel, I knew there was no way that anyone was going to find any survivors. But there’s denial, wishful thinking. No, no, no, they weren’t in that pile. They are going to be okay.

  Every day my mother would ask, “Did you hear anything?” She was real upbeat. Dad was too. I said,“No, but, you know, they are Rescue guys, they’re fine.”

  A week or so later they began sending people to make formal announcements. They would send a chief. I was at work in front of my firehouse, and a chief came up to me and said, “We haven’t heard anything from them. He didn’t make it.” And I said, “What do you mean, he didn’t make it? Nobody knows anything yet. I refuse to believe that. I refuse to believe that. As a matter of fact, get out of my face.”

  He understood the way I was feeling, and I went on, “No, he’s fine. He’s in Rescue. They’re fine. It’s up to us to find them. They rescue us all this time, when we’re in trouble.” I said, “Now it’s our turn for those of us who made it to go after them. He’s fine.”

  I told my parents that they were saying that he was dead, and I told them that I didn’t believe it, that I believed that we were going to find him. My mother said, “Yeah, we’re going to find him. We’ll find him, honey.” I held on to that. I honestly believed that he could have been wounded, or gotten amnesia. Ten years later, ever though I don’t believe it anymore, there’s still a small portion at the back of my mind that says there’s still a possibility. Because nothing was ever found of him.

  Over at Bellevue they still have a lot of body parts but just don’t have the DNA technology to positively identify them. Some of those parts are so badly damaged that it’s going to take some future form of testing to assess them. And so, until I get that confirmation, I’m not going to 100 percent believe that he’s dead.

  The professional fireman in me tells me that he’s not coming back. I’ve accepted that, and that’s what’s helped me move on. A lot of the things that I’ve gone through and that I’ve strived to become are not just for me anymore, but for both of us. I’m living for both of us. It’s one thing to be brothers and siblings; it’s another to be twins. Twins often feel the same thing. But when the North Tower fell, I didn’t feel anything—there was no feeling of separation. That’s why I still hold on to that little hope.

  Out at the Fort Totten Counseling Unit, we had the brothers’ meeting, for all the guys on the job who had lost brothers. Right after 9/11 a captain said, “Hey, Zack, do you want to take a leave?” I said no; I thought I was just sad. I lost a twin brother, but people were like, Don’t worry, we can handle it without you. I was supposed to have my vacation that October, but I kept putting it off. My captain kept saying, “Why don’t you take a leave?” I kept saying, “No, I want to stay and continue to do this, to find Andre.” He finally made me go out on vacation—I was on that high of working on autopilot. Even when I finally went on leave I was spending time at the site. I don’t think I am very sick from working there, except for a little cough every now and then. What protected me was that I knew when the federal government was telling us the air was fine to breathe, they were lying, and so whenever I was down at the pile, I wore the respirator mask, as uncomfortable as it was.

  When I officially returned to work after 9/11 and after my vacation time, I started to have anxiety attacks, and I’m like, “What’s going on with me?” Lieutenant John Violi, one of my best friends, said, “Hey, Zack, you okay?” I said, “I don’t know what’s wrong, but for whatever reason, I’m having anxiety attacks, dizzy, panting, feeling weird whenever we’d pass the site.” He said, “Zack, I’m putting you out, and I want you to call counseling.” So I went on special leave for counseling. At first I didn’t even tell them that I was still going down to the site, but I had to continue to be part of this situation, the recovery at Ground Zero. In the long run the counseling helped, but I was going crazy at home not doing anything, so in August or September of 2002 I went back to work, after nine months in counseling.

  Andre and I never worked jobs together, because we worked in different boroughs. But on Father’s Day in 2001, Harry Ford, John Downing, and Brian Fahey were killed in a collapse at a hardware store fire. Andre and I went to the funerals, and I remember at Harry Ford’s I said to him, “You have to promise me something: If anything ever happens to me, or if I die doing this job that we love, you’re close with Britney.” That’s my daughter, and Britney looked up to my brother as a second father. I said, “Promise me you’ll take care of her as if she was your own daughter.” And Andre looked at me and said, “Absolutely.” But he added, “Then you have to promise me something too. If anything ever happens to me, promise me that you’ll take care of my son, Blair, as if he were your own.” I said, “Without a doubt, absolutely.”

  For Andre’s service, I was supposed to lead the eulogy, but my sister-in-law didn’t want me to do that. That devastated me. I pretty much lost it, and Dad had to hold me away from her. Since then there has been a dispute over visitation rights of my brother’s family, and I’ve only seen Blair three times. But I’m not going to kill myself worrying about this—I’m not. I hope he’ll come to realize what’s going on. But it’s tough on my mother, who prays about it every day, besides having to deal with 9/11. I don’t even get to see my own kids, because I’m going through a control issue with my children’s mother. It’s tough, and that’s the hardest thing for my parents. My mom has not been able to see Blair, her oldest grandchild, the only boy, and now my two daughters. Mom just turned eighty, and her own blood is not able to pay respects to their gr
andparents.

  But I keep going, and try to do positive things. One thing that I take great pride in is that I’m one of the main post advisers for the Fire Department Post of New York Explorers, the one in Queens. [The Exploring program, which is operated with the Boy Scouts of America, gives fourteen- to twenty-year-olds a chance to work with firefighters.] I took it over, and it’s given me purpose. I was a Boy Scout, and Andre was too. As a matter of fact, when Chief Cassano, now commissioner, found out, he was very honored. He said, “I have to come by and check out your post. You’re doing a good job. Keep it up.” It gives me a lot of satisfaction when I do community service. Twice a month we also do Meals-on-Wheels with the Explorers, and POTS, Part of the Solution, a community soup kitchen in the South Bronx. I know I’m not going to be able to change every single one of these kids; it’s just not going to happen. But if I can turn just one kid’s life around and help him to see that there’s something better out there, it’s all worth it.

  I think I learned a lot about giving from the New York Fire Department. Our unselfishness. Our commitment. Our desire to always be there and never give up. Our bravery. Our courage. But more than anything, our unselfishness. I think that’s probably the key word. I find all firemen are like that, the world over. I used to play with the Fire Department football team, The Bravest, and when we went out to Los Angeles County, the LA firefighters said to us more than once, We don’t know what it is, but it seems that you in New York City have a bond and a love for each other that is not matched anywhere. The firefighters in New York City know who we are, and know what we want to be, and the other firefighters around the world want to be just like New York City firefighters.