September 11 has Meaning

As a retired law enforcement officer and firefighter, this day has a lot of deep meaning.

As I lay here, on the eve of the anniversary of the day this nation lost almost 3000 souls at the behest of terrorist, it has me doing a lot of deep thinking. It has me thinking about the 347 firefighters who were lost in the twin towers. It has me thinking about those firefighters who, even with families, rushed into those two buildings to climb over 60 flights of stairs to get where the planes had struck the buildings.

A lot of people I have spoken with over the years have had the attitude that “oh well, it was their job to go into those buildings.” You know what, that’s absolutely true. It WAS their jobs. It is what they were trained to do. It was answering the calling they had to become firefighters.

When I first joined the fire department in the City of Cayce, South Carolina, it was the early 70s. I’ll be the first to admit that things are a hell of a lot different now. Training is much more intense, equipment is a lot better than it was back then, and probably a lot lighter. I spent almost 7 years there as a firefighter and law enforcement officer before moving to the eastern part of the state. It was some of the best years of my life.

I was able to gain a promotion to Engineer of my pumper, and become a state training officer in firefighting as well as law enforcement. I went through over 1000 hours of training to be able to do those two jobs, which I might add was all volunteer. I wanted the training. I wanted to be able to instruct recruits, or potential recruits, in the field of firefighting. It was something I wanted to do. Just exactly like the firefighters in New York who responded to the Twin Towers that September 11th morning when they received the alarm, or walked outside their homes and saw the smoke rising from the towers. It’s what they were trained to do.

Every one of those men which had families had kissed their wives and children before they went to work, told them they loved them, and headed out the door to their jobs, their calling. Every one of them hoped that at the end of their shifts they would be returning home. Every one of their wives worried that their husbands might not be returning home, ever again.

Every year, I think about these 347 brave men and women who went into those buildings and perished. I think about their families, their children they left behind, and their legacy. These 347 brave firefighters will never be forgotten. Not by any firefighter in this nation, ever.

That’s one thing we will never, ever, do!