My FDNY/Ladder 118 t-shirt is fading, it's torn, it's tattered. I hardly wear it any more. You see this shirt was given to me by a true American hero and I can't let it go. I know it's a piece of history, my history, our history. And as it fades, it saddens me. I notice that my receding memories of 9/11 seem to parallel the decline of Pete's t-shirt, and for this I feel guilty.
Pete Vega, Ladder 118, literally gave me this shirt, off his back. A group of us were vacationing on Block Island the summer of 2000. We were getting ready to go to the beach and I walked into Pete and Regan's room. I noticed he had on a long sleeve, navy blue, FDNY shirt complete with the Ladder 118 logo and the fire department's Maltese Cross. Figuring a lot of guys asked Pete for shirts, I never did. I knew firemen didn't make much money and I was sure giving away all those shirts could set you back a bit. Plus back then, it seemed kind of "girlie" to wear a FDNY shirt. Especially if you weren't really on the job. Most of the time it seemed the shirts were worn by wives or girlfriends kind of like an old hockey jersey. But this shirt was impressive, you know long sleeves and all. So without thinking I said, "Man that's a nice shirt Pete." Without blinking, he pulled it over his big head (Pete was known to have a big head) and tossed it across the room to me. "You want it Jimmy, it's yours."
Pete Vega, Ladder 118, literally gave me this shirt, off his back. A group of us were vacationing on Block Island the summer of 2000. We were getting ready to go to the beach and I walked into Pete and Regan's room. I noticed he had on a long sleeve, navy blue, FDNY shirt complete with the Ladder 118 logo and the fire department's Maltese Cross. Figuring a lot of guys asked Pete for shirts, I never did. I knew firemen didn't make much money and I was sure giving away all those shirts could set you back a bit. Plus back then, it seemed kind of "girlie" to wear a FDNY shirt. Especially if you weren't really on the job. Most of the time it seemed the shirts were worn by wives or girlfriends kind of like an old hockey jersey. But this shirt was impressive, you know long sleeves and all. So without thinking I said, "Man that's a nice shirt Pete." Without blinking, he pulled it over his big head (Pete was known to have a big head) and tossed it across the room to me. "You want it Jimmy, it's yours."
Wearing that shirt before 9/11, if someone came up to me on the beach and said, "Are you a fireman?" I'd lie, I'd say yes. It seemed kind of fun, pulling the wool over some unsuspecting rube's eyes. I'd use the terminology that I had picked up over the years living in an Irish neighborhood. "Sure I'm on the job. 118 truck. Been there since '85, almost got my 20 in." Kira, my wife, would get all flustered, looking back and forth nervously during the conversation. Embarrassed by my fibs. She would clearly break under questioning. After the conversation, as my straight man walked down the beach, I would always hear, "Why do you do that? You're not a firefighter." "No I'm not. But when I wear my Michigan t-shirt I also tell people I went to Michigan. It's just more fun. My life's just not that interesting I guess."
In our post 9/11 world, wearing my shirt in tribute to Pete and his 342 fallen comrades, when someone asks me if I am a fireman I say, "No." As you can imagine, it doesn't feel right to lie; to take credit for all that those men sacrificed. Instead, if the time is right, I use the
occasion to say, "No, this shirt was given to me by my friend Pete Vega, Ladder 118. His house is also known as Fire Under the Bridge. Ladder 118/Engine 205 is on Middagh Street, at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge." I tell people to Google "Pete Vega" or Ladder 118 FDNY and they will find a wealth of stories about how brave he and the other guys from 118 truck were on that fateful Tuesday. I add that a number of survivors, in an article in the Daily News, talked about how they were... "Guided through the lobby of The Vista Hotel to safety by a bunch of really tall guys with the number 118 on their helmets." That was Pete and his crew, none of whom made it out alive. I might add how the Daily News showed a picture of 118 truck crossing the bridge as the towers burned. And how the paper featured Regan, his widow, in a series of articles as she shared her grief with the rest of New York and in doing so helped us all get through that national tragedy.Now, 9/11 is starting to feel like history. I know, we know, that at some point in the distant future, it's going to take it's place alongside Pearl Harbor Day. Eventually, 9/11 will be a sad day that fewer and fewer people really remember. How many of us really give pause on December 7th? In an effort to forestall that or to assuage my own guilt, I thought it might be nice to once again take a minute to remember Pete and some of the other heroes of this sad day from our not so distant past.
This is the right blog topic at the right time. At the 1st anniversary, I recall your story about this friend, then sharing my 2nd hand story re:Aramark Corp. Setting up makeshift kitchens to feed rescue workers. Keep this history alive.
ReplyDeleteWe still have the newspaper printed on 9/12/01 that says "United We Stand" hanging on our wall. To know someone who actually lost their life serving as a Firefighter on 9/11 is just amazing. You can be sure your friend Pete, his widow and all those that were touched personally by those horrific events will be in my thoughts all day tomorrow. As you said, it is easy to forget -- when we went back east with the kids in 2007 we took them to Ground Zero. By then it was full of new construction, and they had only been 8 and 5 when 9/11 happened, but to Robert and me it was so moving. We actually went to the World Trade Center on our honeymoon back in 1990 -- went up to the top and looked down (ok, Robert looked down, I get dizzy looking down one flight of stairs!). Now, for it to be gone, is so sad. Thanks for your excellent blog, again.
ReplyDeleteI am up late on a night of volunteering (a refuge for the 1:10 unemployed). I saw this earlier in the day and had to come back to read it. Jim, your ability to tell historical tales in a personaly touching manner is uncanny. I was shaking as I got to the end.
ReplyDeleteHere is the piece I will share here, and maybe later at the SLY group site.
in 1985 I did not work at our SLY camp. I lived on Long Island with my new college boyfriend, John. It was a strange summer. His Italian heritage dominated the experience, and I must have gained 20 pounds :) His little sister was a gem of a girl. I felt she was like my own sister by the end of the summer. His Dad drove the ladder (after many years as an NYC police officer) for an east BKLYN Fire House.
Next summer, 1986, I said "let's go work at my SLY camp this summer." I knew his sister could get a scholarship to attend summer camp for the first time, and at a helpful discount.
I ran the CIT program, with an awesome co-director that year. Sadly, my Long Island John broke my heart early in the summer and fell for another girl. LIFE. I pulled through with the help of MANY friends. And as the years pased and my pain faded I wondered, "What ever became of John?" I really liked him! Aside from our early 20's romantic mess-ups, he was a good man.
Then 9/11. In my gut I thought he must have fllowed his Dad's footsteps and ended up a firefighter. I silently poured over the names of victims, always oddly "happy" to not find his name, but still convinced he must have "been there."
Pan ahead - early 2008. I get an email. "I Googled you...will you talk?" An incredibly graceful, thoughtful apology for "breaking my heart" (which he did) followed. And I felt a melting HUGE sigh of relief!
He wasn't dead. Many of his friends were, though. Many. John HAD become a firefighter. And he was there. And I was proud to know him for that!
Jim - Thanks for this. I will think of Pete today and his buddies on truck 118. I was here at my same job on that day, watching it all unfold on TV. I had moved out of Manhattan in 1996 after 12 years there. It was hard watching my beloved city suffering. I was not close to anyone who died that day, but had so many friends in the city bewildered and in shock and terrified. I also have so many many memories of being on the top of the trade towers when I was about 8, 9 and 10 years old. My father was obsessed with the towers and would take us there often, and if anyone visited from afar, whre would we go? The top of the twin towers of course! I will think of all these things today. Thanks again, Jim, for sharing your memory of Pete. - Moira
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