Posted on 09/19/2001 10:09:32 PM PDT by Utah Girl
Edited on 09/03/2002 4:49:19 AM PDT by Jim Robinson. [history]
Firefighters are easy to love. They don't give out tickets, or make arrests, or pump too many bullets into vestibules. They are dashing, in those sloped helmets and suspenders, and they are good-natured. But in this town, anyway, they have now become the ultimate celebrities, the model of what makes a hero, and the measure of what's admirable and desirable.
(Excerpt) Read more at washingtonpost.com ...
A rescue worker sleeps on a pew in St. Paul's Episcopal Chapel near ground zero in New York.
Steve Schlopak, steward of Chumley's, a fireman's bar in Manhattan's west village, lost many of his customers to the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks.
A 12-story mural titled '9-11' by artist Mike McNeilly, featuring images of a New York firefighter amid images of the Sept. 11 terrorist destruction of the World Trade Center, the American flag and the Statue of Liberty, adorns the side of a building Tuesday, Sept. 18, 2001, in the Westwood district of Los Angeles. Firefighters across the country have reported a huge surge of appreciation since the attacks that killed some 300 New York police officers and firefighters and thousands of other victims.
Erick Robertson, of Oakhurst, Calif., pets Porkchop, a one-year-old search and rescue dog as he receives a dehydration intravenous treatment, Wednesday, Sept. 19, 2001, at the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals mobile clinic just outside ground zero in New York. Robertson and Porkchop have been working at the World Trade Center attack site since Sunday.
I would urge everyone to take the time to read the entire thing rather than just the excerpts you are allowed to post here ..... it's very touching and inspiring.
Last Saturday night four firefighters walked into the White Horse Tavern, an old Greenwich Village bar. The firefighters wore turnout coats smeared with grime, and swoop-brimmed helmets and ash-caked boots. As they moved past the button-down brokers and bearded intellectuals sitting at tables on the sidewalk, a wave of cheers began. By the time they reached the bar, the crowd was screaming, pounding on the scarred wooden tables, chanting, "USA! USA!" A waitress danced with them, and asked for pictures. "Kiss me," one firefighter said.
Thanks!
BTTT
For 15 years Paula Spector walked by the Houston Street firehouse to and from work, and often she would nod to John Santore, a handsome firefighter with a handlebar mustache, who lounged in the garage. It was sort of a thing they had. She liked to think it was an unspoken, winking kind of flirtation. The other day she was walking by the firehouse, and there he was again -- on a poster. He was among those lost.
Excuse me while I grab a tissue.
One of the firemen told us the ground where it is smoldering still is so hot they cannot stand on it too long at one time or their shoes melt . There are so many things that they are having to see and do and they sure are heroes.
Thank you again for the article my friend.
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