You never come empty-handed to a firehouse. So when I got relieved at 8:30 that morning, I stopped by Dunkin’ Donuts before heading to the 252 in Bushwick, my old firehouse. The night before, my friend told me he’d gotten engaged, so I was going over to congratulate him in person. As I pulled up, they were heading out the door, all of those guys. The second plane must have just hit. I was in flip-flops and shorts. They told me what happened, and then they were on the truck and gone. I shut the door for them. All of those guys died, including my friend.
The whole thing had such a huge effect on me and on my life. I lost a ton of friends, and my whole world changed. I guess it changed for everybody. I’d always liked to be around the guys who were good at fighting fires, but this threw me into a different realm. Like, it cemented it as part of my identity. A lot of firemen got tattoos to remember 9/11. My wife didn’t want me to get one. So I ended up using a small piece of steel from when I was working at Ground Zero in the months after—along with the gold from my father’s wedding ring—to make this. I wear it around my neck. The “343,” that’s the number of firefighters who died that day.
I had a difficult relationship with my father at times, but, you know, he was a person of integrity. His integrity… and the firefighters’ commitment and sacrifice… the pride they took in their work… it just gives me something to aspire to, a reminder of what others have done. It’s weird to talk about it, even now. The feelings were so amorphous, just floating around. Maybe after I wear it the rest of my life, I’ll have a better idea of what it means to me.
~ Larry Tompkins, captain (retired), New York City Fire Department, New York, NY