A LITTLE BOY’S DREAM

I remember one day at a fire in Brooklyn after our company was relieved, I sat on some steps a couple of buildings down to take a breather and heard this squeaky tricycle coming toward me. I turned and said to the kid, “Hi, buddy”. He didn’t say anything. He just kept staring at me, somewhat mesmerized. I remembered when I was his age and rode up the block to Union Turnpike on my tricycle whenever I heard the sirens, so I could wave to the firemen. My little legs would be peddling a mile a minute and I’d be making siren sounds. I wanted to be one of them.

THE LIEUTENANT AND THE PROBIE

When a new probie goes into a fire for the first time, it is quite an experience. The lieutenant says, “ Don’t you dare leave my side”, because it is easy to get lost in the heavy smoke. Of course, the smoke is so thick and black you wouldn’t really be able to see these guys. I had to use some artistic license here. The old “salty” lieutenant shows the probie the way. Eventually the probie develops skills and confidence and one day he’ll show a new probie the way.

PECK SLIP COLLAPSE

For many years there had been some old abandoned buildings by the South Street Seaport. Many were re-vitalized during the 1980's and the seaport area started booming as a tourist attraction. This building, however, was boarded up and when the company arrived it was already fully involved, most likely the result of arson. No one was hurt.

IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST

The members of my company split up to search the underground garage after the World Trade Center bombing in February of 1993. I came upon this gaping crater and it was an incredibly intense scene at the time. Cars were on fire and several floors had been blown out from the explosion. There was a real concern that the building would come down on top of us. A man was calling for help, his voice echoing from somewhere out in the crater. Captain Bill Cetto, who was covering in Engine 18 at the time, had come from a different direction in search of a standpipe for his company to hook their hose line up to. We debated on how to get out to the man who, we learned, was wedged between two slabs of concrete suspended on a horizontal beam about forty feet above the concourse level. The captain led the way down a cluster of pipes that jutted out into the crater and we jumped across an opening and onto the slabs. The man’s ankle was pulverized. The captain pushed the man from below, supporting him on his shoulders and I pulled from above while straddling the slab. Together we tediously struggled to get the man out. With some additional muscle from Tim McNamara of Engine 18 who had seen us struggling and worked his way down to help, we finally got the man to safety. All three of us received medals for the effort. The man was Mr. Michael Rapp, of Queens, New York. This is what it looked like. Of course, the scene pales in comparison to September 11th, 2001. Little did we know what was to come in the near future.

ALFREDO’S FRUIT STAND

There were touches of days-gone-by in lower Manhattan such as this fruit stand on Catherine street in what was once an old Italian neighborhood. There was a brick oven bread place around the corner from this scene where we would get fresh baked bread for sandwiches. My favorite was the famous Bill Bresnan sandwich in which we would slice the individual loaves down the middle, put bacon and thin sliced tomatoes on the open-faced sandwich, then layer it with Muenster cheese and place it in the oven ‘til the edges of the bread browned and the cheese melted. Not particularly good for you, but man, what a tasty sandwich. We always bought our fruit and vegetables from Alfredo, who owned the fruit stand. He has since passed away. So has Trevor, for that matter. Trevor came from Trinidad and was a very loveable guy. We all enjoyed his Trinidadian accent. He died of a heart attack at forty eight years of age while talking to his sister on the phone. They had rented a limo that day and planned to see his son’s opening night as ringmaster of the Ringling Brothers’ Barnum and Bailey circus (He was the first African-American ever to fill that spot). But God had other plans for Trevor.

EIGHT LIVES TO GO

Gil Schweiger had rescued a cat from a smoke filled burning building in Chinatown. The cat was hiding in a corner, trembling and succumbing to the smoke. When Gil got the feline creature outside, he purged his air mask over the cat’s face to help revive him. I decided to do this painting in a Norman Rockwell style with no background. The kids are my niece Jenny and nephew Vincent. They never met Gil. I photographed them separately, then sketched and painted them into the scene. Jenny is now married and Vincent is a doctor. Gil has since passed away.

WHITE SOCKS AT ROLL CALL

We had to comply with the rules and regulations of the F.D.N.Y. Some of the rules seemed a bit petty and probably are, but it’s a semi-military organization and we’re supposed to wear black or blue socks. Different officers had different pet peeves and for a few, the sight of white socks made them ballistic. I wanted to mischievously poke fun at this little segment of firehouse life and the brothers were kind enough to pose for me. Tommy Tobin has a look on his face as if to say, “Uh-oh, I’ve got ‘em on too, and I’m next” Captain Borello, the officer in charge, had worked his way up the ranks and retired as a Deputy Chief and who, by the way, always wore white socks

HANGING OUT IN THE FIREHOUSE KITCHEN

When I think back about all those years around the kitchen table, I realize how special those memories are. Like they say, when a family sits together at the kitchen table it brings them closer together. Although we’ve had a few “wars” at the kitchen table we shared a lot of good stories and had quite a few laughs, not to mention the hearty meals. We were brothers and there was a lot of love, sometimes painful love. We solved the world’s problems here, put each other in our places here, told fire stories here. Tommy Kelly, the guy playing chess with his arms crossed, was killed on September 11th. He was a funny character with a biting sarcastic humor. I put myself in this painting (bottom right, looking out of the painting). Tommy would say to me, “If you stopped putting yourself in your paintings, maybe somebody would buy them” He also said that I gave myself bigger arms. You see, when you’re an artist you don’t have to work out with weights, you can just paint yourself a better physique. I cherish the memories and I really miss Tommy Kelly.

A SECOND CHANCE

A fireman rescuing a baby and returning it to the mother has always been the ultimate moment in firefighting. Few of us get that opportunity. For those of us who have, where both the mother and child are re-united and unharmed, the reward and self-satisfaction for that firefighter is beyond any other achievement in his life. The baby in this painting went on to be an army ranger who served in Iraq.

Note: This painting is offered only as a signed and numbered giclee print or canvas reproduction. There are no posters available.

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FIRE ON LEONARD STREET

There are many loft buildings on the lower west side of Manhattan, many of which feature some very interesting architecture. This particular one was fully involved on arrival, requiring the use of high-caliber streams from tower ladders. I was intrigued by the orange flame through the arches revealing only the silhouette of the columns that support the floors. One firefighter in the bucket of the tower ladder directs the stream of the Stang nozzle while the other uses the joystick to operate the bucket. You can catch a glimpse of firefighters on the fire escape of the adjacent building as they check for extension into that building.

FIREMAN ON HOUSEWATCH

This painting is dear to my heart as it captures a bittersweet memory of a lonely time in the fire service, the late watch. Some interesting details reveal the way alarms were dispatched throughout the years, from the bells to voice alarm to teleprinter. This particular guy is Leon Pollinger who served in Ladder 9 on Great Jones Street. He was a rugged, salty character and a great firefighter. Toward the end of my career, alarms were dispatched via computer.

THE GIANTS FAN

This has nothing to do with firefighting but I thought I would include it anyway. Besides, it features others who protect us, namely our state troopers. Very often they protect us from ourselves and prevent us from hurting others. The fans can sometimes overdo the tailgate festivities. Here’s a moment from the Meadowlands parking lot at Giants Stadium. The trooper is my friend Drew and the other guy is my friend Jon, who ironically does not drink. Jon and Drew agreed to pose. Jon has been a tremendous baseball coach in south Jersey for many years and has been a powerful and positive influence in the lives of many aspiring young athletes. Go Giants!