FDNY and NYC Firehouses and Fire Companies - 2nd Section

68jk09

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In the photo a few above showing SQ*3 with 105 & 110 at a job (I believe on Flushing Ave) the Bronze "3" on the side of their Pumper is one of the "3's from the LAD*133 lettering on the old Qtrs of ENG*206 that were placed there when the old FH was built (of course 133 was never organized there or anywhere else except with ENG*275 in 1998).
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


SQUAD 3 MEDAL


PETER J. CUSUMANO FF. SQD. 3 JAN. 11, 1972 1973 DOUGHERTY

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LODD PETER J. CUSUMANO FF. SQD. 3 JAN. 11, 1972

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MEDAL DAY 1973


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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

1261Truckie

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I know I've told this story before, but I'll risk telling it again as part of 235's legacy. Sometime in the winter of 1970/1971 there was a multiple fatality fire somewhere around Sumner and Greene (I think box 682). That night was bitter cold. 132 normally was 3rd or 4th alarm truck but was special called to augment the assignment as the 1st and 2nd due trucks both went sick due to making multiple rescues and attempted rescues.
While operating at the location, 235's MPO (Tommy Ryan) took pity on me shivering in the cold and invited me into 235's cab where their heater as on. God Bless you, Tommy!
At some point during the overhaul, the Chief told 235 to take up and they left the scene. When they went back to quarters, they brewed up several pots of coffee, found a bakery that was preparing its daily fare and purchased a variety of goodies.
As they were coming down the block, returning to the scene and we all could see it was a Engine Company, the Chief asked his Aide: "Did we special call any additional companies?". When 235 pulled up, they announced coffee and pastries for all and they would not accept any payment for the goodies.
Great house and great guys. You can bet whenever they needed a hand everyone pitched in to help them out.
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


SQUAD 3 MEDAL


RICHARD C. OCHMANN FF. SQD. 3 L-119 DEC. 2, 1973 1973 1974 PULASKI


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mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


ENGINE 235 LODD


FIREFIGHTER JAMES W. ROBERTSON ENGINE 235 July 8, 1975



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Fireman James W. Robertson of Engine 235 suffered a heart attack on July 8, 1975 while operating at a second alarm Fire at 1190 Fulton Street.


RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


ENGINE 235 LODD


LIEUTENANT STEVEN BATES ENGINE 235 September 11, 2001

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9/11 Always Remember

Lt. Steven J. Bates 42 years old New York Fire Department, firefighter Glendale NY United States World Trade Center

FAMILY IN FIRE DEPARTMENT

Although Stephen J. Bates liked the solitude of athletic competitions like running, swimming and bicycling, he was a team player. Period. That was why he worked for 18 years as a New York City firefighter. The lieutenant liked the way firefighters relied on one another while sticking to their vows to save lives and put out fires.

Most of all, Lieutenant Bates liked the automatic brotherhood of the job. It gave him the family he always wanted. His mother died when he was 15, and he was estranged from his father, said his girlfriend, Joan Puwalski. He frequently took family- style dinners with the firefighters at his stationhouse, Engine Company 235 in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. He liked cooking family dinners for the gang; sauerbraten was his best dish.

The other members of his family were two big dogs who lived in the home that he shared with Ms. Puwalski in Glendale, Queens: Samantha, 8, a 105-pound yellow Laborador retriever, and Norton, 8, an 85- pound mutt.

“He called them his babies,” Ms. Puwalski said. “Sometimes the four of us would sleep together in our queen-size bed.” That was a squeeze, considering that Lieutenant Bates, 42, was a big man, standing exactly 6 feet and weighing 235 pounds.

Steven J. Bates‚ 42‚ lieutenant‚ FDNY‚ Engine 235. An 18-year FDNY veteran‚ he had been studying for the captain’s exam. Bates was an avid golfer and athlete who often competed in triathlons and marathons. He also liked to cook at the firehouse – sauerbraten was his specialty. He loved his dogs and they shared his life with Joan.

https://911alwaysremember.wordpress.com/2018/07/27/280-lt-steven-j-bates-wtc-133-firefighter/



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In Memoriam Sept 11


November 23, 2019 ·

Today is the birthday of FDNY Lt. Steven Bates. He was born on November 23, 1958 and would have been 61 years old today. We will never forget the ultimate sacrifice that he made on September 11, 2001.

Happy heavenly birthday hero!

His friends remember Steven Bates as a big man who was tough on the outside and soft on the inside. A lieutenant with Engine Company 235 in Brooklyn, Bates was an 18-year veteran of the New York Fire Department when he died Sept. 11, 2001.

Bob Carberry and John Cullen — also lieutenants with the department — remember spending time with their friend on and off the job.

"There are certain people we enjoy seeing when we show up at work, and he was definitely one of them," Carberry says.

Bates got Carberry to join him in competing in triathlons. The two "fat, balding firemen," certainly didn't look the part of triathletes, Carberry says.

"I have a picture in my basement of him and I with our bellies sticking out of our wetsuits, with these bathing caps on, ready to do the triathlon," he says. "I look at that and I just go hysterical. I always do that specific triathlon in memory of him."

"You know, he was a perfect person to be a firefighter," Carberry says, "and I think Stevie would want to be remembered as a caring guy."



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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


ENGINE 235 LODD



FIREFIGHTER NICHOLAS CHIOFALO ENGINE 235 September 11, 2001

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Tunnel To Towers Brockport

June 26, 2019

Firefighter Nicholas Chiofalo Engine 235


Nicholas Chiofalo - firehouse cook, prankster, family man - had just ended a 24-hour shift when he called his wife, Joan, to say he was needed in Manhattan, he would call when he could and he loved her. That was the last his family heard from him.

He grew up in Bay Shore, with a brother and two sisters, and "found light in everything," Chiofalo-Maggiore said of her third-born. "He took everything lightly, he turned everything around."

Chiofalo's son, Nicholas Jr., was 13 when his father died, "and he feels that he was very wronged," Chiofalo-Maggiore said. "Both of us feel that my son Nicholas was fighting a war he didn't know was a war yet."

Chiofalo was a captain at the Selden volunteer fire department and was memorialized, with two others, at the fire station last Sept. 11. It was one of four memorials his mother attended, and the most special. "They did a shadow box with all Nicky's personal belongings and it's hanging behind Nick's truck, engine number one. That one was very special."

She's seen photos of the new memorial at Ground Zero, but it doesn't ease her pain. "Probably in person they're still more wonderful, but I want my son. No matter what anybody promises, it won't get easier."

Chiofalo's father, Ben, died in 1996 (his mother remarried six years later). Chiofalo-Maggiore said her last words every night are those of a prayer: "Eternal rest grant onto both Ben and Nick, oh Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them in the mercy of Christ. Amen."




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Firefighter Nicholas Chiofalo

Nicholas Chiofalo, 39, loved to work. Besides the FDNY, he was also the Fire Chief at the volunteer department in Selden, NY. And he had a side job as a pyrotechnics engineer with Grucci, the company that sets off the 4th of July fireworks for NYC. He was hired to that position because of the quality of the condolence letter he sent the company after a fireworks accident killed several employees. 
Chiofalo had just finished his 24-hour shift that Tuesday morning but did have a chance to call his wife to say he was going in to Manhattan. “When he called me that morning and said he was going I knew he wasn’t coming back,” she said. “He loved being a fireman. He loved saving lives. This is what he did.” The men of Engine 235 entered the South Tower and were never seen again.
 Chiofalo left behind one son, 13.

http://betterangels911.com/firefighter-nicholas-chiofalo/


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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

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mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


ENGINE 235 LODD



FIREFIGHTER LEE FEHLING ENGINE 235 September 11, 2001

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ROLL OF HONOR

Lee S. Fehling
Firefighter
Fire Department City of New York
New York
Age: 28
Year of Death: 2001

Lee was born 10/1/72. He was a member of the Wantagh Volunteer Fire Department for 10 years. He loved to play the bagpipes and was a member of the Wantagh American Legion Pipe Band for six years. He also loved NASCAR and collecting fire department memorabilia.

He was a kind‚ loving and giving man. He would help anyone at anytime.

Lee was a NYC police officer for 5 years before joining the FDNY. He loved being a firefighter. It was his dream. He had a great sense of humor and loved life. He also liked to play practical jokes. He was a wonderful husband and outstanding father.

He is survived by his wife Danielle‚ daughter Kaitlin‚ and daughter Megan. Lee never met Megan as she was born 10/18/01. Lee died doing the job he loved and for that his family is grateful.

https://www.firehero.org/fallen-firefighter/lee-s-fehling/


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Our 9/11 Bravest ॥ Never Forget

October 1

Today is the birthday of FDNY firefighter Lee Fehling. He was born on October 1, 1972, and would have been 48 years old today. We will never forget the ultimate sacrifice that he made on September 11, 2001.

Lee Fehling of Wantagh, was a New York City firefighter assigned to Engine Co. 235 in Bedford Stuyvesant. He was last seen heading toward the south tower. A brother, James Fehling, also a firefighter, was in Florida on vacation that day.

If visitors to the National September 11 Memorial Museum in lower Manhattan happen to see Lee Fehling's picture, his widow, Danielle, and his mother, Joan Bischoff, hope they will pause for a moment and say thank you.

"I want my son to be remembered as the ordinary guy who did the extraordinary thing that day," Lee's mother said.

His family will remember Lee for that and many other reasons. A middle child, he loved to pull pranks, tell jokes and make people laugh, his mother said.

"I used to tell people he came out laughing ... And he never stopped laughing his entire life," Bischoff said.

The day Lee died, his mother said she was done living. But then, a month after Sept. 11, Lee's second daughter, Megan Lee, was born. All her grandchildren have made it easier for Joan Bischoff to go on.

"There was new life coming into this very sad life we were living," said Joan Bischoff, of Wantagh.

For Danielle Fehling, the parenting responsibilities fell squarely on her shoulders. She missed Lee the most at night. That's when she used to call him at work during one of his 24-hour shifts and they'd talk about their days.

"It was tough to learn how to live alone again," Danielle said.

However, the welfare of her newborn and that of their elder daughter, Kaitlin, then almost 4, helped Danielle.

"They really helped me move forward. You kind of learn to deal with it," Danielle said. "You just learn to live with the loss."

Although Danielle never thought it would be possible to love another man, eventually she did. In 2005, with Lee's mother's blessings, Danielle remarried.

"You have my support," Joan told Danielle. "Lee's not coming back. Life goes on." - New York Newsday, 2011




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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


ENGINE 235 LODD


FIREFIGHTER FRANCIS ESPOSITO ENGINE 235 September 11, 2001

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Francis Esposito, 32, firefighter never froze under pressure

Date of Death 9/11/2001
By David Andreatta
Advance staff writer
Tuesday, 10/30/2001

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. — No task was too great for Francis "Frankie" Esposito, whether it was barging into a burning building or repairing a sinking boat. To put it simply, he knew a lot about everything and never froze under pressure.
On Labor Day, as he and his wife were sailing in New York Harbor, Mr. Esposito sensed something wasn't quite right and calmly assessed the situation.

"He said to me, 'Hold the wheel a minute. We're sinking and I have to fix something,' " said his wife, the former Dawn Ambrosini. "Never for a minute did I worry because Frankie could handle any situation. I always felt safe with him."

So did his colleagues at Engine Co. 235 in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn. It's what made the 32-year-old Tottenville man a great firefighter. But he also had a passion for his profession, having waited seven long years for his chance to become a New York City firefighter. When he got the call to duty just weeks before his wedding in 1999, Mr. Esposito was already so committed to the job that he postponed his honeymoon.

He began his career with Ladder Co. 79 in West Brighton, but was transferred to Engine Co. 235 in January. Now, Mr. Esposito is among the missing in the World Trade Center catastrophe.

"Everyone looked up to him and he is deeply missed," Mrs. Esposito said. "He left us bravely, proudly and much loved."

Born in Brooklyn, Mr. Esposito considered himself a native of Staten Island. He was brought to Eltingville as an infant and moved to Tottenville shortly after marrying.

As a boy, he worked with his father to build the family's Eltingville home, which became the locale for many Fourth of July celebrations. He and his brothers planned the annual bashes for months beforehand, promising friends and relatives an even better party with each passing year.

There wasn't much the Espositos didn't do together. They were a tight-knit family, as close as they come.

The men constructed another family home in upstate Deposit, where Mr. Esposito would often retreat to go hunting and ride his dirt bike. Mr. Esposito and his father and brothers, all accomplished pool players, also teamed up to win the Staten Island Eight Ball League division championship two years in a row. Winning shouldn't come as any surprise to anyone who knew Mr. Esposito. Before being called to the Fire Department, he was a drywall finisher with Local 1976 of the Drywall, Tapers & Finishers Union, where he was known as a fastidious worker who never settled for anything less than perfection.

It was one of the qualities that earned him respect among co-workers, admiration from friends and the love of his wife. He was also known for his great sense of humor, especially his one-liners.

A graduate of Tottenville High School, Mr. Esposito had known Mrs. Esposito all his life. The couple dated for nine years before marrying and looked forward to walking through life together.

The couple loved to travel and try new restaurants. They also spent many lazy days of summer at the helm of their boat, "Dawn Marie."

Within one month in 1999, Mr. Esposito achieved three of his lifelong dreams -- marrying the woman he loved, being called to the New York City Fire Department and getting a new Harley Davidson motorcycle.

He kept his Harley in immaculate condition. Friends used to tease Mr. Esposito about how much affection he displayed toward that motorcycle -- always taking the time to wipe fingerprints from the gas tank and spit-shining the chrome. He was the same way with his house in Tottenville, which he proudly refurbished on his own.

"He knew a lot about everything and there was nothing he was less than great at," Mrs. Esposito said. "He would work for hours on many different projects, sometimes forgetting to eat."

Except when it came to crab. There was never enough crab for Mr. Esposito, who used to catch his own in Raritan Bay. He also enjoyed watching thunderstorms. Mr. Esposito was a parishioner of Holy Child R.C. Church, Eltingville.

In addition to his wife, Dawn, surviving are his parents, Michael and Dorothy; four brothers, Dominick, Richard, Vincent and Michael, and a sister, Catherine Esposito.


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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

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mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


ENGINE 235 LODD



FIREFIGHTER LAWRENCE VELING ENGINE 235 September 11, 2001

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Firefighter Lawrence Veling
Engine 235

Memorial Service was held
on December 1, 2001.


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Father's 'Blue' Period

It can be surprising what latent talents fathers discover when they want to make their kids happy. Last Christmas, Lawrence Veling found he had a knack for drawing characters from the Nickelodeon show "Blue's Clues." He had never sketched or doodled, and couldn't draw anything else. But for his 2-year-old son Kevin, he could churn out remarkable likenesses of Blue, Mr. Salt, Mrs. Pepper, Slippery Soap and Tickety Tock in rapid succession as Kevin cried "More!" Even the neighbors were impressed when they saw Mr. Veling's chalk drawings on the sidewalk. Mr. Veling, 44, worked two jobs ‹ one as a fireman with Engine 235 in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, and one as a high school custodian in Manhattan ‹ so his scarce time at home was devoted to his three children, Ryan, 7, Cynthia, 6, and Kevin. He colored in coloring books. He played Junior Monopoly. He went to school in his full uniform for fire safety week. "I knew my kids would grow up to be great adults because they had a great father," said Dianne Veling, his wife. Mrs. Veling says her own sketches of Blue's Clues characters are inconsistent. "A couple of times I was impressed with myself, but I forgot how I did it.




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His Company Cap Hangs at Firehouse September 21, 2001 In the absence of firefighter Larry Veling, his brethren at Engine Co. 235 in Bedford-Stuyvesant are quick with a story reflective of the 15-year veteran's outgoing personality. He is always bringing cookies for the guys, they said, or playing host to the neighborhood children. He also loves a good practical joke and is never without a hat, they said. Veling could switch from his fire helmet to a baseball cap - usually one adorned with "Engine Co. 235" - at the bat of an eye. More than that, Veling is an aggressive firefighter who loves his job and gained the admiration of senior as well as junior firefighters. Firefighter Steve Gregory, his voice sometimes choking with emotion, recalls a seemingly run-of-the-mill brownstone fire last spring. "We thought we had it knocked down," Gregory said, "but then a window broke and, with the oxygen coming in, we quickly had a fire rolling over our heads. Larry had the nozzle and just stayed there. He kept the fire [back] so the guys in the hallway could get to safe haven." Veling, 44, had the nozzle again last week at the World Trade Center, only this time he didn't make it out - nor did four others on the truck: Lt. Steven Bates and firefighters Nicholas Chiofalo, Francis Esposito and Lee Fehling. Firefighter Phil Scarfi, who was the driver that day and made sure the hoses got hooked up, remembers his buddies taking one last look back at the truck before entering Tower Two, shortly after the second hijacked airliner had hit. "They all knew what they were going into," Scarfi said. "They all knew they were marching into a battle that would have pretty serious ramifications. I find my strength in their courage." Also missing is Battalion 57 chief Dennis Cross, who rode to the tower in a separate car. "They're all the epitome of what a fireman should be," said Capt. John Bevacqua. Since the Sept. 11 attacks, members of Engine Co. 235 have been in constant contact with the families of the missing firefighters, including Veling's wife, Diane, and their three children, Ryan, 8, Cynthia, 6, and Kevin, 3. Veling, who lives in Gerritsen Beach and co-owned a deli for years, had recently started a new job - cleaning and repairing buildings for the Board of Education - to help pay for a new home. His company baseball cap, meanwhile, awaits him in the firehouse.


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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

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mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


ENGINE 235 LODD


BATTALION CHIEF DENNIS A. CROSS BATTALION 57 September 11, 2001


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9/11 Always Remember

Dennis A. Cross – Battalion Chief Battalion 57 NYFD – South Tower
60 years old New York Fire Department, battalion chief Battalion 57 Islip Terrace NY United States World Trade Center

RUNNING FOR A MEMORY

The race seemed more important than ever. For 18 years, on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Dennis Cross competed in the Turkey Trot, a 5- kilometer race held in Flushing Meadows, Queens, where firefighters ran for charity. Now he would be absent.

His wife, JoAnn, used to operate a fitness studio and induced him to run with her. But once the children arrived, she stopped running. That was 15 years ago.

Yet she felt an unshakable need to have a Cross in the Turkey Trot to honor her husband, a battalion chief of Battalion 57 in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. So she concluded she would be that Cross. And she would recruit additional firefighters to run, too, in honor of all the firefighters lost in the attack.

Chief Cross, 60, known as Captain Fearless, lived with his wife in Islip Terrace, N.Y. His favorite saying was, “Take care of the men and the men will take care of you.” Mrs. Cross was going to take care of his memory. She vowed she would finish this race and then begin an annual memorial run for her husband next April 27, the anniversary of the day they met.

For nine weeks, she trained, building up endurance. Race day came. She ran, as did her four children. She finished in 29 minutes. “I thought I was going to do it in 45 minutes,” she said. “I was proud of myself.”

At age 60, Dennis Cross had spent nearly two-thirds of his life as a firefighter in New York City.

And retirement wasn’t on his calendar anytime soon.

“He wanted to be the first to put in 50 years on the job,” said JoAnn Cross, his wife of 37 years.

Along with so many of his brethren, Cross’ career was cut short Sept. 11. The battalion chief for Battalion 57, based in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, was killed when the south tower of the World Trade Center collapsed.

His body wasn’t recovered until a week later.

“The first three days it was more than hell,” said his wife. “When they found him on the seventh day, that was such a relief because we could bring him home. So many of our friends haven’t been able to do that.”

As is common in the profession, fighting fires was a family affair. Cross’ father, Charles, was a New York firefighter, as is his only son, Brian.

Cross joined the department in 1963 after returning home from a two-year tour in Vietnam, where he served in an Army communications unit, JoAnn Cross said.

In the department, Cross was widely admired as a gutsy firefighter and, later, as a respected leader.

“He was a quiet guy, but powerful,” JoAnn Cross said. “When he made captain, they called him Captain Fearless.”

He was promoted to battalion chief in 1993.

A frequent runner who kept himself in excellent shape, Cross was looking forward to competing in an annual 5K race around the Thanksgiving holiday in Flushing Meadows, Queens. Now, JoAnn Cross hopes to turn the race into a fundraiser for a local charity that aids burn victims.

https://911alwaysremember.wordpress...attalion-chief-battalion-57-nyfd-south-tower/



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B.C. Dennis Cross
Posted on January 13, 2015 by Dawn Siebel

Now we move to Battalion 57 in Brooklyn. They lost 21 men. Battalion Chief Dennis Cross, 60, went from a 2-year tour in Vietnam into the FDNY in 1964. He was following a family tradition. His father had been an FDNY firefighter, as is his son. His nickname was “Captain Fearless.”

An incredibly experienced firefighter, Cross was assigned by the Commissioner to help draft new firefighter regulations. He was a mentor to new chiefs. Promoted to Battalion Chief in 1990, he was assigned to Battalion 57 in Bed-Stuy. He never put in for department chief because he wouldn’t have had as many chances to go into burning buildings any more, and he would have been one more step removed from the men. His favorite adage was “Take care of men and men will take care of you.” His wife was watching the day unfold on tv and when the towers came down, she knew he was gone too. He would always go into the fire as far as anyone. She considered it a “miracle” when his body was found in the rubble at the end of the first week. He rode in to the site with Captain Timothy Stackpole.

http://betterangels911.com/b-c-dennis-cross/



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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

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mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


LODD SQUAD 3


FIREFIGHTER ERNEST J. MARQUART SQUAD 3 June 26, 1964

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Fireman Ernest J. Marquart of Squad 3 died from injuries he received while operating at Brooklyn Box 670, located at the corner of Myrtle Avenue and Walworth Street, on June 26, 1964.

Fireman Ernest J. Marquart of Squad 3 lost his life while fighting a four-alarm fire in an abandoned school. The three-story brick building that was built in 1856 and was abandoned by the Board of Education in 1960. The members of Squad 3, on the third floor, were pulling ceilings down when a large section of it collapsed, trapping them. Fireman Marquart was pinned under the ceiling. He was pulled out and a doctor performed an emergency tracheotomy on him before he was taken to the hospital where he was pronounced dead. Fireman Marguart was thirty-three years old and lived at 109-41 115th Street, Richmond Hill, Queens. -from "The Last Alarm”


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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


WTC-RELATED DEATH ENGINE 235


CAPTAIN VINCENT ROCCO UNGARO ENGINE 235 CAPTAIN October 1, 2016

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WTC-RELATED DEATHS

ROLL OF HONOR

Vincent Ungaro

Captain
Fire Department City of New York
New York
Age: 60
Year of Death: 2016

Vincent Rocco Ungaro was born on August 18, 1956, to Vincent P. and Susan (Cenicola) Ungaro. He was the second of three children, with his older sister, Rose, and his younger sister, Angela. Once he began wrestling for Brentwood Junior High and High School, he found something that became a part of how he would identify himself for the rest of his life. He went on to be a Suffolk County champion and an All-State wrestler.

On September 2, 1979, Vincent married the love of his life, Dianne Stark, and his father-in-law, Frank Stark, encouraged him to take the test for the FDNY. Vincent became a probie in the FDNY in July 1981, and in the fire department he found the same type of camaraderie and dedication to higher purpose that he had missed since giving up wrestling. His first assignment was to Engine 214/Ladder 111, “The Nut House.”

On October 19, 1984, Vincent and Dianne welcomed their first child, Vincent Frank Ungaro; thirteen months later, Jessica Dyan Ungaro was born on November 22, 1985. Eventually Vincent was promoted to lieutenant and moved into Ladder 8 in lower Manhattan. When Squad Company 288 opened in Maspeth Queens, he took a transfer and was working there during 9/11.

Vincent spent the next nine months heading into Ground Zero to work when not taking his regular shifts at Squad 288. The mental toll was difficult as each day workers spent time trying to clear debris and find the remains of their friends. Unfortunately for many, Vincent included, the physical toll remained hidden for years.

After search and rescue at Ground Zero was completed, Vincent was promoted to captain and took charge of Engine 235 in Brooklyn. After being diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia, he remained on the job until he had 30 years in before retiring. After retiring, he was able to see his son marry Kristine Myer and his grandchildren Maureen Katherine and Vincent James be born. He traveled with Dianne and spent more time doing what he loved, helping others.

Once he was admitted to the hospital for the last time and his time was growing shorter, he held hands with his daughter, Jessica, as she married Michael Panico in his ICU room while a family friend and fellow FDNY brother performed the ceremony. His last wishes were granted, and he came home and held his grandchildren and puppy for the first time in months. He passed on October 1, 2016, surrounded by loved ones. In the last few weeks of his life, he repeatedly told those around him that he had no regrets, wouldn’t want to change anything, and was tremendously grateful for everything.

https://www.firehero.org/fallen-firefighter/vincent-ungaro/

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RIP. NEVER FORGET.
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


FIRES/EVENTS


1899 BRAVE ACT

1899 BRAVE ACT.jpg


1906 FIRE W/INJURIES

1906 KANE.jpg


1907 CAPTAIN DEATH

1907 CAPTAIN DEATH.jpg


1908 COLLISION

1908 ACCIDENT.jpg


1908 MEMBER WEDDING

1908 WEDDING.jpg
 

68jk09

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^^^^^^ Great SQ*288 picture above showing extreme left Lou Rufrano & 3rd from left Kevin Kubler both the Hosts of "Gettin Salty Podcast's"....the FF with the glasses on is John Walters who after transferring to R*1 lost a leg in an on duty incident....John is the fellow who just made a Parachute Jump on this Veterans Day representing the FDNY in the War On Terror along with a Veteran from each War....Vinny Ungaro is on the extreme right.....Continued Rest In Peace Vinny.
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


FIRES/EVENTS


1909 FIRE W/RESCUES

1909 FIRE.jpg


1911 LT. DEATH

1911 KANE.jpg

Note - LT Kane was seriously injured by Naphtha explosion at 1906 fire.


1912 CAPTAIN PROMOTION TO BATTALION CHIEF

1912 CHIEF PROMOTION.jpg


1923 FUEL TRUCK ASSIGNED ENGINE 235

1923 FUEL TRUCK.jpg
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


FIRES/EVENTS



1925 CELLER FIRE W/INJURIES (SMOKE)


1925 FIRE.jpg


1930 CAPTAIN DEATH

1930 LYON DEATH.jpg



1935 MEMBER DEATH

1935 MEMBER DEATH.jpg


1938 COLLISION

1938 ACCIDENT.jpg


1938 MEMBER DEATH

1938 HAMILTON DEATH.jpg
Note - FF Hamilton died in quarters.
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


FIRES/EVENTS


1940 MEMBER RESCUED AT FIRE

1940 MEMBER RESCUED.jpg


1941 CELLAR FIRE W/INJURIES (SMOKE)

1941 FIRE.jpg


1942 CELLAR FIRE W/INJURIES (SMOKE)

1942 FIRE.jpg


1948 FALSE ALARM

1948 FALSE ALARM.jpg
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


FIRES/EVENTS


1951 2ND ALARM W/INJURIES (SMOKE)

1951 FIRE.jpg


1954 STORE FIRE W/INJURIES (SMOKE)

1954 FIRE.jpg



1968 FIRE ADVANCING LINE

1968 1 (2).jpg

1968 2.jpg
 

mack

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ENGINE 235/BATTALION 57 FIREHOUSE 206 MONROE STREET BEDFORD STUYVESANT, BROOKLYN DIVISION 11, BATTALION 57 "THE EYE OF BED STY"


CORONAVIRUS


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“Dead on Arrival”: A N.Y. Fire Chief’s COVID Journal

As New York firefighters respond to coronavirus emergency calls, an FDNY battalion chief and 9/11 survivor confronts the city’s latest mass tragedy.


by ProPublica
April 5, 12:50 p.m. EDT

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Simon Ressner is a battalion chief with the Fire Department of New York based in central Brooklyn. Twenty-five years ago, the department, nicknamed New York’s Bravest, took on the added role and responsibility of responding to emergency medical calls. Today, firefighters make some 300,000 runs a year.

Last week, we asked Ressner, 60, to keep an informal diary of his latest 24-hour shift, a tour of duty that began at 9 a.m. on Friday, April 3.

“10-37 Code 1.”


It’s fire department shorthand for “dead on arrival.” Word of such tough calls crackles over the citywide radio in bursts.

One of my engines just returned from a 10-37 Code 1, and a firefighter is at my office door. He hands me what’s called an “alarm ticket,” and asks for a new supply of protective masks.

“Need four,” he says, as if asking for some money for candy.


I ask about the run. “She had a fever, I reached out and touched her head and she was so hot.”

I hand him four N95 masks, grab a disinfected pencil from my desk and mark on the inventory sheet: “Engine 235, Box location 431, Madison Street between Nostrand Avenue and Bedford Avenue.”

It’s around the corner from the firehouse, and so close that I can walk to my office’s rear windows and see the building. Inside, an 83-year-old woman with family nearby just died. Just outside my window.

While I’m attempting to get that to register, I hear several more 10-37 Code 1 signals come in. As I’m writing this, yet another one. The tone of the officer on the radio reporting the signal is matter-of-fact — not detached, more along the lines of, “Yep, another one.”

10-37 Code 1. Another one a minute later.

I begin my shift at 9 a.m. I grab the bleach wipe from the canister, wipe down the computer keyboard, mouse, phone, desk and 20 other places where I can imagine anyone has put their hands.

I am working as chief in Battalion 57 of the FDNY, located in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. Bed-Stuy is a historically African-American neighborhood that saw its population grow during the time when huge numbers of Southern blacks migrated north, leaving agriculture work for ostensibly better jobs. In the last few years, it has undergone major gentrification, but it still remains culturally and demographically an African-American neighborhood with a history of both hard times and cultural richness. Since almost all the country’s past traumas have always hit the poor neighborhoods worst, I wonder what this worst situation, COVID-19, is going to entail and for how long.

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I was a fireman here 25 years ago and now have returned as chief towards the end of my career. I thought that surviving Sept. 11, 2001, would be the part of history I would tell grandchildren, but COVID has clearly surmounted even that disastrous and heartbreaking day. The department lost 343; at least 50 of them were people I knew, including my chief, Dennis Cross. He taught me how to fight fires, but also how to sail a boat, and after his death his widow gave me use of his 25-foot Catalina.

I am focused on my work of supervising the four engine companies and two ladder companies of the 57, but I also have a ritual of checking the numbers: New York City Department of Health daily statistics; the Johns Hopkins website for worldwide information on COVID cases and deaths. I quickly calculate the death percentages, taking comfort when I find the rate under 2% somewhere. But this morning the world figures show a rate of 5.23%, so I try and convince myself that it will drop because of the anomalies of Italy and Spain.

But the truth is that it is here in the U.S. where the percentages are climbing, and here in New York City where the numbers are headed toward the unfathomable. Every day I read the obituaries in The New York Times to remind myself of the pain that the families endure in a way that calculating the percentages can’t. But I am waiting. I want to see those bars in the graphs get dramatically shorter

Yesterday, I was tasked with approving hospital and nursing home requests to use the streets around their buildings to construct tents for overflow patients. Around 11 a.m., I received the first request of several to use the streets for refrigerated trailers to store the accumulating bodies. In the moment, I can be detached enough to do the work of looking at street dimensions, trailer sizes, locations of hydrants and entrances to buildings in order to make it work. It takes me five minutes to look at that information and email back, “FDNY has no objection.” And then a few more requests for more trailers. “FDNY has no objection.”

Simple as that, we have approved the refrigerated storage on public streets of someone’s relative.

I spend a good part of Friday morning rebalancing staffing in the fire companies in the battalion as well as the 31 Battalion in Downtown Brooklyn. Staffing has become a challenge because, as of this morning, there are 1,056 firefighters, 686 EMS workers and 115 FDNY civilians suspected of COVID-19 infection; 241 Fire personnel, 74 EMS and 23 civilians have been confirmed. Fire companies that normally have 20 people on their roster are down to 11, and so we move people from companies that have fared better to those companies that are depleted. Even now, there is still a fair amount of tangled paperwork to deal with.

After, I head down to the Chief’s Vehicle and start the next disinfecting ritual. The firefighters assure me that it has been done, but they are young and I am not. And they clearly haven’t grasped the genuine risk we are facing with each contact with each other and each response for fires and emergencies.

I try to transmit a “10-18” as fast as I can when engines or trucks are responding to a fire. That signal allows me to hold one engine company and one ladder company at the scene and relieve the remaining three or four companies and get them back to their houses. I do this to limit the amount of time the firefighters hang out with each other talking, catching up, all typically done elbow to elbow. The faster I get the “18” out, the quicker I can keep them separated.

The Sirens Speak

Around noon, I watch Gov. Andrew Cuomo’s daily briefing on my computer. I haven’t yet had a fire call, but I can hear the ambulance sirens regularly. People ask how I can tell what kind of siren it is, and I realize that I have to think about that: It’s the absence of the air horns (the blasting trumpetlike sound) of our trucks and the absence of the “rumbler” that the New York Police Department uses. I definitely can tell. Another siren off in the distance — no air horn, no rumbler. It’s EMS.

When you work 24-hour shifts, it’s often easy to be confused about what day of the week it is. But with COVID, I realize that there is no rhythm for anyone anywhere. I stop myself when I ask my wife, “What’s going on this weekend?” There is no weekend, no beginning of the week. What does TGIF mean anymore?

For my wife, Moy, the load is devastating. She is an accountant for an urban planning firm, and like all her colleagues has been working from home. It is her job to get everything needed for a new PPP (Payroll Protection Plan). The faster they get the money the more likely her firm can survive. She does all this while caring for her 91-year-old mother, who lives with us and suffers from advanced dementia.

In the aftermath of 9/11, she attended every funeral from my company, six in all. And in “normal” years, she has endured all of the isolation, fear and hardship that a family member of an active-duty firefighter can deal with. I never imagined in our lifetime we would be facing what is essentially an international plague. As late as February, we still couldn’t imagine a world where the streets of New York are empty during rush hour. Or a world where — years after having to worry about infections because of damage my lungs had suffered on 9/11 — I would once again have fear that I could die of a virus! by going to work.

My nose starts itching. DON’T TOUCH YOUR FACE!!


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Up until recently, the Fire Department was able to switch and swap shifts in a way that led to different people working together in a random but ordered way. But with the department’s response to COVID, we were organized into four platoons — A, B,C and D. Everyone in each group would work with the same people each time their letter came up on the calendar. The idea was that if there was a person positive for COVID in one particular group, it would only affect that particular group as opposed to infecting everyone in the company.

At the beginning of the outbreak, if someone tested positive and had been in close contact with other members, those members were directed to quarantine. Quickly that changed since the number of people testing positive was increasing rapidly. Within a week, the department revised the protocols and directed that members who were in contact with a suspected or known positive colleague should continue to work unless they exhibited symptoms. If symptoms came on, they would be placed on medical leave. During the “earlier” days of the pandemic, we all believed that you were only contagious if you had symptoms. And although we now know that is not the case, the manpower needs are such that without positive testing we continue to work until we have symptoms or if we have prolonged close contact with someone who has a positive test.

The Interim Lifesavers

The Fire Department started taking on medical calls in 1995 in order to help improve response time to serious medical emergencies by providing lifesaving care from a fire crew while awaiting transport and more advanced medical care by EMS. As a result, all firefighters are trained to provide some degree of emergency medical care, including the use of a defibrillator. But several hundred current firefighters are former EMS personnel who had transferred to the fire protection side of the department. With the number of COVID cases accelerating daily, some of those more highly trained firefighters have been brought back to supplement EMS.

On medical runs, the firefighter’s role is to provide patient evaluation, basic life support and first aid, and if needed perform CPR until better trained help arrives. They wear protective gloves, and administer only what’s called BVM resuscitation efforts: bag, valve, mask, basically hand compressions and a device to get oxygen into lungs. Fire companies do not transport people to the hospital.

Those lifesaving protocols were shifted approximately a week ago. We always attempt to revive a patient and perform CPR, and still do. But now, our efforts are limited to 20 minutes, and so if there is no spontaneous pulse or defibrillation is unsuccessful, we cease. The exception is for what is called “obvious death,” like rigor mortis, decomposition, dismemberment.

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In the afternoon, I get a phone call from Fire Operations Command Center, “How many N95 masks you have in stock, Chief? We’re doing the daily tally.” I tell him the truth — 84 — and a cheerful voice says, “Great, you’re in good shape then. Stay safe out there.”

We all say it, we all mean it, but I know that it is, as the president would say, “aspirational.” A month ago I was thinking about how to surprise my wife for our 30th anniversary. Perhaps San Francisco or London. How quaint. On April 7, my anniversary, I will return for my next 24-hour shift.

Another siren: no air horn, no rumbler. EMS. Lunch is ready.

In emergency work, if your mind, or at least your behavior, can’t adjust to what is actually happening and to deal with that as it is, you simply cannot help anyone. So the regular rhythm of 10-37 Code 1 mostly registers as a clear-eyed reminder of what is being confronted. Firefighters make this adjustment at lots of incidents: fires, car accidents, falls, construction accidents and so on. But then there is a shift back to a world that is not tragic every day or even every week.

In 2019 there were 66 people who died in fires in all of NYC — in a year! So you deal with the fire, steel your emotions, revel in the action, recognize the loss, but then there is what seems to be a respite. I’m pretty sure that by the end of my 24 hours this shift, there will be at least 66 calls that I hear on the radio for COVID-related deaths.

Isn’t there a quote about the banality of evil? The radio goes off again: ‘10-37.’

At lunch, for all my desire to isolate from everyone, I stay longer than I should have because the laughter was soothing. Five young men, with some fear but mainly strength and youth on their psychological side.

Soon, the young firefighter who had got masks from me earlier was back. “I need four.” I ask him if the patient was an elderly person. “Yes, and he was really thin,” he tells me. I say that maybe it was a cancer patient, and sure enough, he hands me the dispatch ticket and right there it says, “Patient has Cancer.”

My questions are in part meant to maintain my sense of empathy and in part to soothe my fear. I’ll be OK even though I’m over 60. I’ll be OK because I don’t have cancer.

“10-37 Code 1.” I have truly lost count. At one point, while watching Norah O’Donnell’s newscast, I hear several 10-37s. It feels like when it snows into your eyes, a little sting, a blink, a little sting.

The Daunting Curve

The message from New York State’s health commissioner plays for the 50th time. Mild mannered, even bland, he espouses the social distancing as if he’s telling young kids to share their toys in the sandbox.

Returning from a fire run, we see a double-size city bus sailing down Nostrand Avenue. There are people seated throughout, and many sitting directly next to each other. That’s one bus with 25 people who may infect 40 who then may infect 80 more. I’m a trained engineer as well as a firefighter, and my mind pictures the exponential curve from math class: mercilessly steep and ever steeper over time.

When I got to Bedford-Stuyvesant more than two decades ago, it was considered a tough and dangerous place. And it was a tough and dangerous place. Murders were through the roof. But it was a place we all wanted to be. Everyone who worked here, in fact, had to know someone in order to be assigned — “a hook,” someone who can pull a string or two.

Firefighters want to be where the action is, not because they are unfeeling or reckless but because we know that you can’t be good at this without actually doing it. Over time, dealing with fires is something that combines art, science and the deepest psychophysiology of human performance under stress. It was exciting to be here in the ‘90s, it was a great place to learn this job, but I don’t remember ever feeling this sense of looming menace. A dangerous neighborhood filled with beautiful brownstones, weary frame houses, and blocks and blocks of public housing is something your consciousness can quantify and manage. COVID is too big and too dynamic. Even 24-hour news can’t give a sense of time passing. The numbers I saw before dinner were up by several hundred by the time I walked by the apple pie and went upstairs.

This isn’t firefighting, this feels more like the crew on a sinking ship desperately trying to load the boats while the water gets ever closer.

I wish I had taken a piece of pie.

https://www.propublica.org/article/dead-on-arrival-a-ny-fire-chiefs-covid-journal
 
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