The Lost Heroes of Engine 23
by Bowen Smith
September 20, 2001

Engine 23 isn't much different than any of the other fire companies in Manhattan. Dwarfed by the looming apartment blocks of Central Park South, its 19th-century brick and granite house sits on 58th St., just west of 7th Ave., with the piano stores and St. Thomas Choir School that serve New York's musical community. Tony Bennett lives just around the corner, steps away from Carnegie Hall.

My wife and I live right across the street. We've become used to the siren and air horn blasting every few hours. Our two-year old son, Conor, recognized the sound before he was even born. He does a great impression if you ask… or if you don't. The boys from 23 always have a wave and a smile for him and let him climb on the truck when they're pulling a relaxing duty in the park on a Saturday morning. They're his idols.

But, we've never really made the effort to get to know them better, as people. How foolish. So many of us fawn over politicians and actors and other pretenders while real giants pass amongst us unnoticed. Alienation from others is a way of life in our big cities. We mumble into our cell phones and avoid eye contact or conversation with strangers. It's our sad way of coping with the crowds and the unnatural scale of the place. We're excited and frightened all at once. Welcome to New York. Welcome to Progress.

On Tuesday morning with the fifth alarm, the morning shift piled onto Engine 23 and raced downtown into oblivion. (Conor sang with the siren.) Their fate, of course, was no different than that of hundreds of others from companies in Manhattan and Brooklyn, but we've finally learned their names: Robert McPadden, Kevin Bracken, James Pappageorge, Mark Whitford, John Marshall and Hector Tirado, Jr. They're all gone.

You've probably heard some of the stories of how they spent their final hour. Maybe you've even seen some of the blurry pictures of them sprinting up the fire stairs as thousands rushed out, or read of whole companies kneeling to receive the Last Rites from their Catholic Chaplain before hurrying to their death. Perhaps you've even thought about Christianity in a new and ancient way.

The men of Engine 23 didn't sacrifice themselves for the Emirs of Kuwait or Israeli squatters in the West Bank or Exxon or the glory of the Empire. They simply gave everything for their neighbors and their brothers in the department. Their patriotism was of the purest, unaffected kind: It required no war and no foreign enemy to rouse it, just love of Home.

On Wednesday morning, this little bit of New York redefined itself, relocated itself around Engine 23. The flowers and candles and Mass cards and letters began to pile up outside the house. The sign from the Choir School read "God Bless the Lost Heroes of Engine 23, Their Families and the FDNY."My wife and I took the time to stop and introduce ourselves to the survivors of the company and the new replacements. Soon, Conor will know them all by name.