Innocents trapped in the building,
the upper floors ablaze –
rescuers rush to their aid,
only to be entombed
when suddenly the structure crumbles,
burying victim and savior alike.
The grief is widespread, unbearable.

All this on the fourth of July,
in a New Jersey town,
three little sisters encircled
by the blaze in their row house.
Firemen try to breach the inferno,
before the whole building collapses on itself.
The girls, and three firefighters, die.

The town, the area, is stricken.
Shock, tears, honorable words.
One fireman just proposed to his girlfriend
the night before.
One was expecting his first child.
Pictures of the little girls appear,
over and over, on the evening news.

It seems a microcosmic replay
of what happened in New York
the September before,
politics aside.
Yet what stood out in both places
was courage, selflessness.

That same week, a local fire department
celebrates its 250th anniversary.
The oldest active fire company in
the United States.
The newspaper has pictures
of memorabilia,
an antique fireman’s hat,
in the familiar style:
hard composition, peaked crown,
wide brim all around,
longer brim in back,
to keep debris and cinders off the head.
Faded, but still emblazoned
on the front is the shield-shaped emblem:
Fire Company number 1.

How many of us would do a job
that put our lives on the line every day?
They’ve done it for two and a half centuries.
Even in defeat, we honor them.
Even in victory, we pray against the fire.

07/15/2002

Posted on 07/15/2002
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt