During my Sirius Radio days in NYC, I walked past this station every morning from Port Authority.
It was dark outside, as I was on my way to the gym before work. There were usually a couple of firefighters standing out front, talking. I never spoke to them. Until one winter morning.
As I passed them, my slippery loafers caught a patch of ice in front of the fire station, and I went down on my ass like Stan Laurel. Two guys came trotting over to make sure I was okay, and immediately christened me with the nickname, “Slick.” From there on out, no matter who was standing out front, they’d make a smart comment about “Slick.” I loved it. Sometimes, they handed me a cup of coffee.
Early February of 2001, I passed by them for the last time and told them I was moving to Arizona. They proceeded to tell me I was nuts and why would I move? When I told them it was for love, they nodded and told me to stop by when I was in the city. “Don’t forget us!” one guy named Brian called out as I walked away.
On 9/11, Engine 54, Ladder 4, Battalion 9 lost 15 men at the World Trade Center – their entire shift. Theirs was the company that lost the most men that day. I hadn’t had the chance to stop by and say “Hi,” but I’ll never forget them.
