Useful Citizen

Post 9/11, an excerpt.

As we made the turn into the lot, I stared out the window with sleep but widened eyes. At this end of the shopping center was a Subway sandwich shop. No smoke or fire could be seen but this is where we needed to connect to the sprinkler connection before entering the basement under the two story strip mall.
At the door we had no signs of smoke. I hesitated with my air mask, not sure if we needed to start breathing air now or save it until we had confirmed fire in front of us. The building we entered was a long strip mall with a basement made up of two long hallways lined with offices. As we made our way into the dark hallway, I noticed most of the offices were vacant. More importantly, the offices were also missing signs of smoke or fire. We pushed on, hurrying, searching for what would be the source of the smoke reported visible by officers outside. We hustled down this hallway so far we ran out of hose. With over half of the basement still to check, we called for additional hose to extend the length of the one we were pulling deep into the building. After an additional length of hose was attached, we continued until we came to the end of the hallway, and entered a room that had some sort of stage like a small theater. This is where we finally came across smoke and flames underneath the stage. Just as I began opening the hose line, the incident command came over the scratchy radio. I continued to knock down the flames as my partner stepped away to get better radio reception.
Within seconds my partner returned pulling off his air mask and yelling toward me…
“Let’s go! Drop that, c’mon! We’re leaving!”
His voice was insistent and urgent, leaving no questions asked. I stood straight up, grabbed my tools and followed him to the door leading to the long hallway.
“We’re evacuating!” My partner shouted back. “Here gimme that!” He said snatching the tools from my hands. We picked up the pace as we made our way along the hose line. I did everything in my power to keep up with my partner, and not panic. I knew something was wrong. I knew we were told to evacuate immediately, much like the firefighters in the World Trade Center not long before. My mind was racing. I didn’t know why, but for some reason we had to get out of this sh*tty basement and for what seemed like an eternity, we hustled down this dark hallway. When we finally reached the cement steps and stepped out into fresh air the building was now bathed in a red glow from the many red lights filling the parking lot.
As I pulled my air tank off my back, my partner filled me in…
“Command advised that the Police responded right before we did for a bomb threat. They think there is a bomb in the building set by the person who set this fire.”.
My heart skipped a beat, chin dropped and eyes widened. I slipped off one of my gloves so I could dial a cell phone. I wanted to call home and let them know I was safely outside, just in case something spectacular would happen and make the morning news.
For quite some time firefighters and EMTs were more cautious than usual following the World Trade Center attacks. We now knew, yes, the unexpected really could happen here.
For more of the stories following 9/11 check out Useful Citizen available on Amazon!

Useful Citizen: My Story from Braces to Bunkers Useful Citizen: My Story from Braces to Bunkers

My earliest trips to the big city.
From USEFUL CITIZEN by Patrick Finucane.
https://a.co/d/17PRqTV

I was only one year old when I was introduced to the Myelomeningocele Clinic at CHOP. I would attend this clinic as well as the PT Clinic quite regularly. My mother, never becoming a licensed driver, and I would make our way from the suburbs of Philadelphia into center city until we reached our place in line inside the walls of the hospital. The trip would start with an early morning drop off at the local train station. We would wait with other commuters along the platform peering up and down the tracks looking for those silver train cars to approach. The ticket taker inside the station office always smiled and tried to get me to laugh, typically unsuccessfully.
I would get excited as the train cars would sneak up on us with a sudden rush of air. Mom would have to pick me up and place me on the steps as I grabbed the handrail and climbed the metal stairs into the train. I would hustle ahead of her, usually wearing leg braces up to my hip, occasionally in a leg cast. I would select an empty seat and slide in against the large window. I’ll never forget the sights of the city alleyways and the colorful graffiti most buildings were bathed in.
Once we reached the city train station, mom would grip my hand and lead me through the bustling concourse. Either I kept wonderful time hobbling through the station in my orthopedic shoes, or mom slowed her usual pace and faked it well. We would make our way through the large cement building with ceilings that seemed an eternity away until my mom pushed open the grass framed doors and we’d emerge into the city’s fresh air. In front of us was always a snaking line of yellow taxis. We would approach the first car in line and mom would open the rear door. “Children’s Hospital?” Mom would yell into the driver. Moments later I was hurried into the backseat and the familiar squeak of the seat began as we pulled away from the curb to begin the race through the city streets.

Useful Citizen: My Story from Braces to Bunkers Useful Citizen: My Story from Braces to Bunkers

Let’s not jump to conclusions too fast…

My parents had been told by doctors at CHOP and since settled for the fact that I wasn’t expected to walk. It was a great relief that I had survived the first spinal surgery at all, and the thoughts of having a son who would be confined to a wheelchair was slowly becoming a reality my parents and three siblings were coming to grips with. That is, until someone noticed that casted up child in the playpen in front of the television, pulling himself up and standing along the sides trying to peek up at his new wide eyed family. Not only was he standing with a death grip on the cushioned sides of the playpen, he was making his way from one corner to the other, barely wearing nothing but a diaper and two leg casts.
This was the first time standing, but it would become enough of a habit that the casts began to break down at the heels. My mother was stunned. Her fourth child, the one who wasn’t supposed to walk at all, was taking strides at his first steps at eleven months. This was earlier than any of her other children, hence setting the tone for future sibling rivalry.
For the rest of the story…
https://a.co/d/17PRqTV