One day, on the way to Walmart, I was caught off-guard while waiting behind a fire engine at a red light. On the back of truck was a bold sign. STAY BACK 343 FEET. Puzzled, I wondered if I was already breaking the law, as I was waiting about three feet from the truck’s back bumper. I’d never paid attention to the signs on the back of a fire truck, immediately wondering how the number was chosen the. Three hundred forty three feet is quite a distance to stay back.
As it turns out, many firehouses have a similar sign on their trucks. 343 is the number of fireman lost on 9-11. THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY THREE BRAVE YOUNG SOULS. This is a small way of honoring and memorializing the kind of men that run towards danger while assisting those in harm’s way to run from it. On that fateful Tuesday in September, 343 of them dashed into the World Trade Center to help others, only to be taken away far too soon.
The morning of September 11, 2020, I chose to REMEMBER with my town’s fire fighters at their station. Everything was in tip top shape, as the doors were opened to visitors for the program put on by our local Veteran’s association. The floor was so clean you could see your reflection. Everyone was in starched dress uniforms. Our local high school cadets guided elders to their seats and handed out programs. They also took temperatures of those entering the firehouse, which was the custom a year ago.
Our state governor, who isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, had ordered that all 9-11 remembrances be canceled due to Covid. Thank goodness for a Fire Chief that didn’t listen to the governor, but rather held his remembrance for the town. A Day of Remembrance can’t be cancelled because it is inconvenient or named a super-spreader event. Thank goodness some people haven’t forgotten. There are those of us that will NEVER forget. An hour’s worth of time to bow our heads in prayer for what we’ve lost isn’t a lot to ask.
That morning, the firetrucks were out front with lights flashing. The two largest rigs had their ladders extended with the biggest, brightest, and newest American Flag ever. As it waved softly between the two trucks, it spoke to the love of country felt by our dusty little town at a wide spot in the road. It made me proud to be living in such a beautiful little town.
During the program, solemn and quiet in nature, it became clear that our young local firefighters had lost older brothers. Maybe they hadn’t met in this life, but brothers they were. Grown men shed tears as they talked about friends that succumbed to cancers years after working the pit. In fact, the best friend of our local fire chief was in hospice care, waiting to put down his hatchet and gear in exchange for a halo and wings. One of the firemen sang “Amazing Grace” a cappella. Again, tears fell.
They spoke of the bravery of the brotherhood that took trucks from all over the country to New York City, providing help in any way they could. American men and women dropped everything to support those in need in any way possible. Distance doesn’t matter to true heroes during a disaster.
Last year, there were about 343 of us town folk that showed up. Just a guess, but I bet that number was close. I’d expect this year, there’ll be three times that many, because it’s the 20th anniversary. The doors open at 8 AM for a program that will start at 10 AM.
Wherever you live, there’s a local firehouse. These brave people give up family life to work long shifts. Sometimes just waiting around is the hardest work of all. When an unplanned illness strikes, it’s often the EMS from your fire department that run to help. They save lives and property. They miss many family events, as their shifts are often a string of 24 hour duty days away from home. They help in community events. They are silent watchers, keeping us safe. Face it, we all love firemen and they love us.
On Saturday, we need to remember the families of these brave men and women who died trying to save others. We need to remember and honor the firefighters that lived and worked through unspeakable horror trying to find and save victims. Those that lived through the funerals of their friends, day after day. Those that struggle with nightmares and illnesses they suffer through now.
STAY BACK 343 FEET. Remember those who ran those 343 feet and more on a beautiful September day.
The next time you are in a restaurant where first responders eat, through a $20 at their meal. Take a cake or cookies to a local fire station. Wave at their bright red truck on a day YOU are lucky enough to be enjoying normalcy. On Saturday, please give a prayer for these 343 American angels. Our world would’ve been a better place if we could’ve just kept them around longer.