Hi Bob, My Father was Max Rutter. He retired about the time you started. I remember him going to visit often, taking the subway, like work from Far Rockaway until we moved to Long island in 1985. His life was his family but the firehouse was his identity . He used to tell us many stories of in general terms. One of the greatest treats of having a Father who was a NYC fire fighter, never a fireman, was coming to the house, to pick him up after a tour of duty & touring the house. The house on Broome Street is most in my memories because of Dad's length of time stationed there. Sliding down the pole with my Father behind us hugging us close to the brass pole for that short quick trip down to the trucks was like any amusement park ride. We went on the trucks, sat in the ladder's seat, rang the bells & when the bells rang for a run we knew to get out of the way quickly. He lived on Delancey Street until he married my Mom, so the Lower Eastside was his neighborhood. Everyone knew him & vice versa. Shopping with him or walking the neighborhood we were stopped with many greetings. A lot of shop keepers, people knew me as Little Maxie. Your praises are a tribute to his dedication & my Cousin sent this testimony to us & I in turn sent it to my siblings. We had my Dad until February 23, 2001 & he is truly missed. His stories of the old days were always spiced with plenty of "not politically correct witticisms". Thank you again on behalf of the Rutter & extended clan for your fine words. David I. Rutter P.S. His gravestone has an engraving in the stone of his badge.
