Thank you Captain Smith:
Is the City Forgetting A Hero?
Dennis Duggan - Newsday
All of the 59 days that Connie Smith spent watching her badly burned husband fighting in vain to stay alive were bad ones, but one of the worst was the day doctors amputated Captain Wayne Smith's left hand.
Smith had been an outstanding left-handed pitcher at St. John's University and dreamed of a major league baseball career. It wasn't meant to be and so he became a firefighter. The amputation was an ominous sign to Connie Smith that her husband might never return home to her and their two children, Ashley and Dylan.
I often visited her at the famed New York Hospital-Cornell Medical Center's burn unit. Doctors tried to prepare her for the worst, telling her that her husband's condition was "incompatible with existence." A vivid reminder of those pain-filled days will surface in a Queens courthouse today when Smith files a motion to counter the city's rejection of her lawsuit seeking compensation for her husband's death.
On one of my visits to the hospital she told me that "I can't even talk to him and he can't talk to me. I think he is screaming but no one can hear him." It was a chilling description of the pain Connie Smith felt day after long day in the summer and fall of 1994. No one, of course, knew how much pain her husband felt but descriptions from other firefighters who had been burned were frightening.
"I am numb," she once said. "Some days I can barely make it into his room." She often wore a floral print dress Smith had bought for her when she was pregnant with their second child Dylan, who was three months old when his father was hospitalized.
"When he gave it to me, he said that he hoped I could fit into it after I gave birth. He has never seen me in it and I wear it when I come to the hospital." Smith, 37, had gone into the "kitchen"-the word firefighters use for fire-once too often. He suffered burns over 40 percent of his body trying to combat a fire in a Jackson Heights apartment building in early August 1994.
At his funeral in October, then-Fire Commissioner Howard Safir called Smith a "brave and dedicated hero, who gave his life attempting to save others." Safir piled accolade upon accolade on the "gentle giant," as Smith was called by his fellow firefighters in Ladder Company 136 in Elmhurst, some of whom wore T-shirts lettered "Wayne's World" to show their affection for Smith.
"He was a real leader in the firehouse," Safir told mourners. "No one was surprised that Wayne led his men into this fire and was right in front." But that was then. This "hero" is now just another litigious bum as far as this city and its fire department is concerned, and it wants a suit bought by Smith's widow seeking $30 million thrown out.
Smith's lawyers, led by Peter James Johnson, have filed a cross motion in which they say the "city has acted irrationally once again in deciding to abandon a hero...who was burned over 40 percent of his body by the unconscionable conduct of the City [and other defendants]..." That motion cites a defective fire truck with a leaking water tank and corroded fittings, as well as lack of modern safety gear and a defective fire hydrant. It also notes the city's "failure" to meet state and federal laws relating to rescue teams for firefighters in trouble.
A written decision from Judge Phyliss Flug will be handed down but is not expected for several months.
I talked yesterday afternoon to Connie Smith by phone from her home in Tampa, where she moved to be close to her parents.
"I am living a quiet and uneventful life here with my two children," she said.
Her daughter Ashley is in the sixth grade and often draws pictures of her father. "She misses him," said Smith, whose mother lives with her in Florida.
Her father died four months ago.
"I bring the children to New York several times a year to visit Wayne's parents, who live in College Point," she said.
She said that firefighters kidded her for giving her children "soap opera" names. "Well, with a last name like Smith, what would I call them," she would reply.
She misses the man who dropped into her life one summer day at Jones Beach.
"Mind if I sit on your blanket?" he asked.
"We were joined at the hip after that," she said. "He was my best friend as well as the love of my life." She said his phone calls home to her always began, "This is Wayne, your loving husband." "It will be seven years on Aug. 7," she said, "and this doesn't get any easier for me. I think of him every day. My son Dylan doesn't have a father to play with, and when I see husbands and wives with their children the pain is sometimes unbearable."
http://www.nydailynews.com/archives/news/1995/06/29/1995-06-29_faulty_gear_killed_firefight.html