I was nineteen years old on September 11, 2001. I was sleeping in the bunk room after a long night shift. My driver and I had made four, 40 minute round trips to the 'local' Emergency Room that night. No serious patients, but everyone gets a ride to the hospital just in case and if they don't refuse care altogether. After a night like that, sleep is a much desired commodity and except for another call and bitching from the Captain, there is little to keep a Firefighter/EMT from his bunk.

I couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour but I was woken by the sound of the house telephone, a digital recording of an old school ringing phone, distinctly different than the physical bell mounted to the wall in the bunk room and engine bay used to wake us up when someone had an emergency. It works very well. I drifted in and out of sleep as the phone rang again and again. I figured they'd leave a message if it was important enough and if not, no big deal. The phone never stopped ringing. I finally rolled out of bed and picked up the receiver. My father had been frantically calling for about fifteen minutes trying to get in contact with me. I answered with the standard firehouse greeting although still three quarters asleep. Calmly he said that I needed to turn on "Chicken Noodle News." Of course, I asked him why and he replied that he simply couldn't explain it and that I'd have to watch the news for myself. My father has always been the kind to over-explain any subject of which he was knowledgeable. I knew from this and the tone in his voice that something bad has happened.

I turned on the t.v. in the lounge and pulled over a chair from the table in the kitchenette. Sitting down I began flipping through the stations and most if not all were splashed with "Breaking News" in random fonts and combinations of red, white, and blue. An airplane had hit one of the World Trade Center buildings. The building was smoking and depending on the shot, you could see some flames coming from a few of the floors. I went and woke up my driver. He joined me in the lounge.

We began speculating at just how something like this could have happened. Pilot error, mechanical error, the strongest gust of wind ever seen on the planet? Terrorism or a hijacking never crossed our minds. Then the second plane hit and everything changed. As the duty officer, I immediately call the Fire Chief and had much the same conversion that I had with my father. "Turn on the news, you won't believe this. New York might be under attack." I vaguely remember my words, but I remember him saying okay and that he'd be down to the station as soon as possible. He asked me to call the other line officers and scrambling through the phone list with the t.v. volume from the other room as loud as it could go, I did.

The lounge began to populate as other firefighters, some with their wives, filled the lounge, their mouths gaped in awe in disbelief, and some quite possibly fear at the image of two towering skyscrapers both alight as if they were cigar matches made of concrete, steel, and glass. We sat and watched, occasionally flipping through the channels to find more information. Then the first tower fell.

We just sat there. What the fuck just happened. I looked around and nearly everyone was in shock as CNN played the video again, the anchor dumbfounded. I met eye with Captain in charge of the Engine half of the station and we slowly got up and walked out to the engine bay. We didn't say anything to each other. We just began checking over each piece of apparatus, making sure they had full tanks of fuel, the air tanks were full, all gear was checked off, etc. We re-checked each piece just as we do every shift, but this time we made sure nothing was missed and anything deficient was corrected. This took some time but other joined in to help as we went along.

After we checked our equipment, I grabbed my turnout gear and helmet and sat them next to the driver door of our Rapid Response vehicle, a Chevy Suburban kitted with a couple SCBA's, Scne management gear, a Mass casualty kit, EMS supplies, and a medium sized HAZMAT response kit. Grabbing a cart, I went into the kitchen storage area and loaded up three cases of bottled water and began wheeling them back to the engine bay. The Chief stopped me in the hall way and others pocked their heads around the corner and stood in the doorway to listen. He asked me what I was doing and I told him that I was going to New York City. He asked me if I was going to ask permission. I said that if I thought he would have said no, then I would have asked. The old man was a hard ass but he knew what was up. Three other guys volunteered and we loaded up the Suburban with more SCBA bottles (two for each person), more EMS supplies we raided from our storage closet, any any other tools we may need including a set of irons, and a high angle rescue kit for the two of us who were certified. Luckily we had just purchased a new engine that wasn't in service yet and we took as much gear from it as we would need. During this time, the second tower fell and our hearts sank again. We knew that our brothers in New York were in trouble. We knew they needed our help. The Chief had spoken to the Mayor and he gave us his blessing/permission to go. To be honest, I would have taken my own vehicle if he had said no.

After prepping the Suburban we all left the station to pack a small bag. An extra pair of clothes, t-shirts, hygiene kits, boots, and iPods, etc. Basically, we packed for a three day trip knowing full well we may be there for a week or more. Creature comforts weren't a priority. I spoke to my mom and gave her a hug. She told me to be safe and be careful. We all met up back at the station, and began making final preps. The Chief gave us a station credit card for fuel and food. He asked for receipts. We loaded up, and I hit the button to open the bay door. The sun was shining and it was bright compared to the dark gray and maroon of the station engine bay. I tuned the radio to a news broadcast.

About an hour into our trip, President Bush made the announcement that so many fire and rescue personnel had responded to NYC, Pennsylvania and Arlington that any more would likely be to the detriment of services and actually impede rescues. He asked that fire and rescue personnel refrain from driving to the main locations and stay in their service areas to provide emergency coverage in their primary response areas. We turned around at the next exit and drove home.

A large part of me wanted to continue on, but then again, I was relieved. I was mentally and physically prepared to my job, but at the same time I was terrified of the prospect of what I would see and how great the devastation was. I knew the video and images from the news broadcasts were no comparison to actually being there and witnessing it all first hand.

For those who did respond, well done. You made the rest of the fire and rescue community very proud and it is an honor to have been a Firefighter/EMT.

By March of 2003, I was enlisted in the U.S. Army as a 91W Combat Medic. I was 21 years old and one of the oldest soldiers in my BASIC Training company. As I recount September 11, 2001 many emotions come back to me, as I am sure they do for many others. I did not know anyone who was killed on that day, nor did I, ultimately, help in any direct way (I gave blood a few times as allowed), but I have met so many people who's lives have been impacted at great measure by this fateful day and I can say without hesitation that my heart still breaks for them.