It was a beautiful end-of-summer morning on Long Island. Not scheduled to be at the firehouse, I was catching up on some writing in my upstairs home-office. At about ten to nine the phone rang, and with muffled panic in her voice, Kim explained to me exactly what just happened. A plane, she wasn't sure what kind, just slammed into The World Trade Center.
Born and raised in Brooklyn, directly across the Narrows from downtown Manhattan, I knew the buildings well. I'd also worked as a lieutenant on several occasions in the firehouse right across the street from the Towers, so I also knew that a fire in a waste paper basket could present a complex operation in a hundred and ten-story building.
I clicked on the television, and was frozen in my tracks, as I watched a ball of fire engulf the top third of Tower Two. Floors and floors of flame, and thick black smoke bellowed, and I was horrified at the pain and suffering hundreds of innocent workers must have been experiencing at that very moment, but my immediate thought was for my brothers, who I knew were climbing up the stairs. My mind raced as I worked out dozens of scenarios. Everyone below the fire would be fine.
In an unprecedented situation such as this, I knew every available resource the FDNY could muster, would be committed to saving life and controlling the fire. Initially, our main concern would be to allow as many people to evacuate as possible from above and below the fire, not actual extinguishment. The collapse of hi-rise building was not considered possible, especially so early in an operation, so we would be racing to save as many lives as possible.
When the second plane hit, I threw together some clothes and jumped into my Jeep. I was twenty-five miles from my assigned firehouse, and could make it there in about a half an hour. Backing out of my driveway, I put on the radio and prayed, but the unspeakable happened -Tower One came crashing down. Beside the thousands of civilians who would perish, hundreds of my brothers were probably still racing up the stairs as the skyscraper fell out from under them.
The second tower followed, and rained down on the second wave of rescuers and those desperately fleeing the scene. Prayer was all I had now, and I prayed for a miracle. We'd need to perform two mass evacuations in minutes, and that just wasn't possible. I was already numb, I couldn't process these horrendous events. I tried to focus on getting myself safely to work, where I knew it would be chaos.
As a captain, I'd been transferred to Division 14 in Corona, and at the present time, I assist four Deputy Chiefs, who are in command of all fire department units in the northern half of the borough of Queens. We have a staff of about fifteen firefighters, handling much of the logistics and administration over some fifty fire companies, as well as hundreds of firefighters. When I walked into the office it was already abuzz with activity. Two of our chiefs and their drivers were at the scene, and as of yet we hadn't heard from them.
The job issued a total recall of all personnel. Every firefighter was called to report to their assigned unit. Racing from the five boroughs, upstate New York and Long Island, the men showed their undying loyalty to the city of New York by continuing to run toward danger, while everyone else headed for safety.
A priority of my office would be to properly utilize this manpower, and mobilize the troops with whatever equipment and resources we could muster from within, or using outside resources. The fire department needed to continue operations at the World Trade Center, and also maintain and adequate level of fire protection across the city.
An hour or so after the initial strike, reports began to trickle in. I had the sensation of never having woken up that morning as it was reported the Chief of Department was killed, along with possibly hundreds of other firefighters. I refused to believe this. The pain the entire job would experience when losing one was overwhelming. Loss of hundreds didn't seem to make sense. It was like trying to believe one plus one equals three.
Charlie Kasper was my first cousin, but more than that he was a legend on the New York City Fire Department, and my mentor. A true hero, as well as a charismatic leader of men, he'd worked in all the busiest units and had been one of the chiefs running the fire department's elite Special Operations Command. The moment Charlie crossed my mind, I knew he'd gotten to the scene. I dialed his firehouse, a firefighter identified himself, voice crackling. He went on to say that all four Special Operations chiefs were reported missing. I cried silently at my desk, swallowed it down, and got back to work.
Firemen are special guys. Routinely underestimating the level of danger we put ourselves in, we somehow manage to stay out of harms way against unthinkable odds almost every time. Almost... but tragedy does strike. Prior to September 11, 2001, the New York City Fire Department had lost 779 men in more than a hundred years. On that one day it lost 343, and changed forever.
Captain Michael Stefano
FDNY
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