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CONTRIBUTE BLOGS
04/02/2009 18:22
by Marcia Stepanek
When in Britain last week at
the Skoll World Forum, I was
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03/02/2009 22:35
by Marcia Stepanek
As the recent copyright woes
of Obama poster artist Shepard
Fairey show, there's a war
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02/16/2009 07:24
by Marcia Stepanek
I just finished reading an
advance copy of "The Blue
Sweater: Bridging the Gap
Between Rich and Poor in an
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People
Rescue Mission: Charlie Flood
Taking the long road home—but getting closer,
via P.S. 5 in the Bronx
Charlie Flood at Engine 73 in the Bronx. (PHOTO: Dan Demetriad)
It was the kind of day that made Charlie Flood think there’s no better life than being a firefighter at Engine 73 in the Bronx. The century-old NYFD station on Prospect Avenue was gleaming after a multimilliondollar renovation, a mix of the traditional firehouse and the latest technology. The entire fire department was there for a big party and rededication ceremony, from top brass down to the rookies. Even the mayor came. It was September 10, 2001. And it was the last happy day for years to come for Charlie Flood, one of the many New York City firefighters still trying to recover, six years later, from the aftermath of the attacks on the World Trade Center that killed 343 of their colleagues.
Charlie Flood came late to the idea of being a fireman. He was from a big happy family in the suburbs, the sixth of seven kids, who followed his father into working on Broadway as a stagehand. Flood had his bumps in the road growing up, and quit drinking after getting a drunk-driving conviction in 1981, when he was 23. Several of the guys in his 12-step group were firefighters, and they urged him to take the test. He got 98 on the written and 100 on the physical and became a fireman in the Bronx in 1985. He loved the life, from the camaraderie of the firehouse to the actual firefighting: working as a team, getting people out safely, dragging in hoses and putting out flames. “It sounds simple, but it’s not easy,” he says. “It’s an adrenaline rush, and there’s nothing like it.” He and his girlfriend Kathleen married, and had two boys, Logan and Gilly. He spent most of his nonworking hours with his family, or playing softball. The morning after the rededication, September 11, Flood was on vacation. The phone rang, and it was one of his firehouse buddies, telling him he had to come in to work; every off-duty firefighter had to report. “It’s a total recall,” the buddy said. The guy was a known prankster, and Flood hung up. The guy called right back and told him to turn on the TV. Flood found his older son Logan, then nine, watching. “He was totally terrified,” Flood recalls. “He came and sat on my lap. I had to go, but I had to be a dad first.” They talked, quietly, watching the terrible images on the TV screen. “Dad,” the boy asked, “why do they hate us?” Flood doesn’t remember exactly what he said, but he talked about how people from different countries and cultures can still be friends even if their governments disagree. Logan said he understood, and they hugged goodbye. Months later, Logan had to write and perform a monologue at summer camp. He spoke about 9/11, and about how his friend Mohammed had been vilified by some of the other kids at school. But Logan stuck by him, despite his name and ethnic background and religion. “He’s my friend,” Logan said. In the audience, Flood felt the tears roll down his face. “I was so proud of him,” he says. That day six years ago, Flood raced to his firehouse in the Bronx. He and his coworkers were sent to Ground Zero. They spent a lot of time in the days and weeks that followed “on the pile,” picking through the rubble by hand, passing buckets out to trucks to haul it away. He can’t remember all the times he encountered body parts, and doesn’t want to. He does remember, however, the many small acts of compassion and kindness by volunteers — water, food, a shoulder massage, eyewash, an encouraging word of thanks. He still carries a small silver crucifix that a stranger handed him. When he’d come off the pile, exhausted, wheezing, trying to sleep, he couldn’t shut out the images of what might have happened to the friends who perished. The days turned into weeks, then months. Flood felt numb. He moved to the landfill on Staten Island. “I was floating, just putting one foot in front of the other,” he says. “It was a horrible daily grind — either working, or if not working, going to a wake or a funeral.” He was sad, bewildered and angry. Kathleen was sympathetic, but the strain on their marriage led them to separate. They tried to reconcile, then separated for good. “I went into a deep depression for a few years,” Flood says. “I was going through the motions of living.” He reminded himself that many firefighters and their families had suffered more, but he continued to withdraw. He quit playing softball. He stopped going to his 12-step meetings, but somehow clung to his sobriety. “One of my biggest accomplishments was that I didn’t start drinking again,” he says. He developed a serious sugar jones, wolfing down donuts and anything else that wasn’t good for him. “That became one of the ways I dealt with the whole thing,” he says. He gained 50 pounds. He still couldn’t sleep, and when he did, he had nightmares. “The events of that day were caught in a loop in my head,” he says. He tried to act normally with his sons, but they could feel the gloom that encompassed him. He was diagnosed with sarcoidosis, a respiratory ailment that left him short of breath and caused brief coughing fits. Out of shape, he was no longer the first one into a fire. Instead, he drove the fire engine. He tried a number of therapies, some traditional, some new, and they helped. He realized he needed structure and goals. He signed up for a series of self-help seminars that forced him to create a daily plan, and then stick to it. “It got me out of the abyss,” he says. “Gradually, I started accomplishing things.” He joined Overeaters Anonymous, and rejoined his 12-step alcoholism group. He began having fun with his kids again. He and Kathleen agreed to divorce, but amicably; the other day he helped her shop for a new car. One of Flood’s self-help assignments was a community service project. He went to P.S. 5, the elementary school near his firehouse in the Bronx, and asked if he could come in and read to the kids. Like so many volunteers, he quickly realized that he got more out of it than they did. He came back to the firehouse buzzing with good spirits, and the other firemen noticed. Flood came up with an idea for one of those June school days when not much is going on: he would bring in a few other firefighters, and they would all read to the kids. Twenty-two firefighters, all men, signed up. Some brought their own kids’ books from home. A few went out and bought books. More than a few were nervous. “It was funny,” Flood says. “Here are these tough guys, firefighters, not afraid to run into a burning building, and they were scared to go read to a bunch of first graders.” But they did read, and more. Charlie Flood’s little reading experiment turned into an informal Fireman’s Day at the school. Several firemen joined a ballroom dancing class in the gym. Others put on an impromptu fire safety demonstration. Still others fielded questions from the older students, fourth- and fifth-graders. “Have you suffered since 9/11?” one kid asked. Yes, Charlie Flood said. Yes, the other firefighters said. The kids asked more questions, and listened as the firefighters talked to them about duty and loyalty and pain and loss, and doing what you have to do even when it seems like you can’t. “In this inner-city school, every kid was riveted,” Flood says. “I felt like we really made a difference that day. And all the guys who did it said it was one of the best things they had ever done.” Today, Flood is volunteering as a coach for kids’ sports. He has started playing ice hockey. He and his kids have taken up fishing, and they are planning some skiing this winter. “Even my posture has changed,” he says. “I feel like a leader again.” He has lost 14 pounds, with more to go. He is working out to regain his strength and his wind so that he can do more than drive the rig to the fire. He’s instituted a “firehouse fitness” program; a number of the guys are buying into his goals of eating right and mixing cardio workouts with stretching. And he’s planning more reading sessions on his own at P.S. 5, along with another Fireman’s Day at the school with his buddies. “It’s been a long time in a dark place,” Flood says. “But I’m coming back.”
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