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Notice any difference between the two photos? (Besides the flag)
Hint; check out over the bay doors.
Hint; check out over the bay doors.
GLORY DAYS
- Thread starter JohnnyGage
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82 and 31 are on both sides of the engine and truck in the older pic, in newer pic 82 and 31 are only on one side? From 82 engine 82, to 82 engine. Is there a reason why?
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Did they take the numbers off the house to mount them on the front of the rig?
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I have the Code 3 house and both sets of apparatus, sure hasn't changed much according to the color picture.
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I don't have the answer, I happened to notice looking at the photos. 82 and 31 did not use the numbers from firehouse on their rig as far as I know. Mystery!FDNYSTATENISLAND said:
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‘LADDER 31: DAYS OF RIDING’ P 1
Finally the day has come, for today I will be going with “Uncle Jack” to Ladder 31 and spending the day with him at the firehouse again. Uncle Jack is Fireman Jack Mayne, my Dad’s longtime childhood friend that I respectfully call Uncle Jack. I had made plans for this visit a few weeks ago and numbered my calendar counting down the days with anticipation. I have done this routine about half a dozen times starting back in 1970. Today is April 2, 1972 and I’m enjoying the Spring recess from sophomore year at High School.
It’s a bright sunny springtime morning. Last night I stayed over at ‘Uncle Jack’s and Aunt Irenes’ house so that I can be ready to leave with Jack in the morning when he heads into his Bronx firehouse to work. Jack and Irene have a very nice two and a half story home that was built in the early 1900’s and is well maintained, the roof is barn shaped. Their house sits prominently on ground higher than the surrounding houses off a dead end street in Westchester County.
I had a little trouble falling asleep with anticipation for the big day tomorrow, but finally morning comes. I’m up before anyone else and jump into the shower, brush my teeth and make the bed. I sit quietly on the corner of it waiting to hear Jack while the rest of his family sleeps. Soon, I hear Jack coming towards me, he enters the bedroom quietly and we exchange morning greetings then Jack hands me a blue tee shirt to wear today and says he will meet me downstairs for breakfast. I love the tee shirt. It was the type all the guys I saw wearing during my previous visits, it has a St. Florian cross over the left chest and the top leaf says LADDER, in the middle circle a 31 and bottom leaf F.D.N.Y. I already feel part of the team.
All dressed and ready to go, I sit across from Jack at his breakfast table, this morning it is just him and I, the rest of Jack's family is still sleeping upstairs, it’s about 7:00 a.m. Jack is having toast and tea, works for me, too. He is glancing at the day’s Daily News newspaper. Sitting opposite him I noticed the back page, the headline is about former Mets manager Gil Hodges who died yesterday. After glancing at the paper, Jack gets up and strolls over to the kitchen counter and brings back a small metal index card file. When Jack works he usually is the chef and now he is thumbing through the card file to come up with an idea for lunch. He picks up a card, looks it over and replaces it, satisfied, he’s got something in mind for the troops at noon, sounds like a nice sandwich and a large pot of soup.
We left his house and walked to his 65 Light Blue Buick Skylark parked alongside the curb on the dead end street, he is carrying a shoebox full of study cards for the next lieutenant exam and places the box on the bench seat between us and explains them to me. After reading any fire department manual he writes questions on the front side to himself, flip the card over and the answer on the back, I think it’s a great idea. He tells me about the upcoming lieutenants exam and dedicates as much time as he can to study for it. He explains that the exams generally roll around about every two to three years. At this point Jack has sixteen years on the back step and is looking to advance his career to the next level.
With each trip to Intervale Avenue I made mental notes of incredible surrounding sights that I was not accustomed to. Jack's car rumbles over the cobblestone streets and the South Bronx grittiness starts to come alive, making the turn onto Home Street, I knew we were getting close to the firehouse. Just about every corner we pass has a large puddle from an open hydrant with rubbish floating and ringing it, blocks and blocks are filled with hollowed out apartment buildings, some streets resemble a ghost town, a moonscape void of life. There are no vibrant colors, everything looks either gray or brown and nothing shines. Right now, the neighborhood seems quiet and empty but it is still early and soon the populace will come alive.
As Jack and I head southwest on Home Street the suspense begins to build as I eagerly wait for the first view of the big red doors. Home Street is one of seven streets that intersect Intervale Avenue and 169th Street like a spoked wheel, the firehouse sits slightly off the corner about two doors north on Intervale from 169th Street. But, blocking my view is Mother Walls Zion Church, a community fixture that stood throughout the ‘War Years’ sits opposite the firehouse.
At last, the firehouse comes into view and the two red doors are open, they appear welcoming. Inside the door shadow of the firehouse I can see the glimmering chrome bumper and headlight trim from Ladder 31, something shines! E 82 is set back further in the house and difficult to see, finally I can see the two rigs now as we get a little closer, the two “War Horses” taking a breather.
Approaching the front of quarters Jack mentions E 82 and L 31 had a ‘nice job’ the other day while he was off-duty on Prospect Avenue near Freeman Street. Since we have some extra time, He suggests “why don’t we go check it out?” Jack makes a left onto Intervale, and a quick right onto 169th Street, travels two blocks and makes a right turn onto Prospect. Almost immediately coming into view on Prospect Avenue we see the burned out windows on the top floor of an apartment building, the building doesn’t look good. It must have been a good job.
We pull up in front of E 82 and L 31 quarters where Jack triple parks his car. There is a car parked on the sidewalk, one alongside the curb and then Jacks alongside that car. He locks the car and we walk into the firehouse through the open bay door. It’s a little after 8:00 am, I say hello to the fireman on the housewatch and greets me with a smile. I have not met him before, he looks tired and sips coffee. Meanwhile, rip-roaring laughter emanates from the kitchen in the rear, Jack and I enter the kitchen and he introduces me to the guys back there. Some I have met before including Mel Hazel. Mel and I would maintain a friendship to this very day.
When I first met Mel during my very first full day visit with Jack, Mel had just completed probation, he is friendly, warm, lean and tall. He showed me around the firehouse back then and a friendship was born. On other occasions when I came in with Jack to ride, Mel would come in on his day off to visit me and we would shoot pool down in the basement between the runs.
I didn’t wander around the firehouse, never thought about going above or below the apparatus floor unless invited. Generally, my position would be standing or leaning in front of quarters taking in the everyday nuance of a South Bronx lifestyle, enamoured by it. With the seven streets intersecting in front of quarters there was always some sort of action taking place, colorful Gypsey cabs zipping by, a green and white patrol car cruising, or one of the crazy yellow tow trucks screeching past.
Every now and then I caught a glimpse of a “low rider” ambling pass. My location was a good spot to catch fire apparatus responding or returning to their quarters, many times E 85 or L 59 would pass by returning to their temporary tin firehouse on Boston Road. Anytime they drove by, the guys and officer on the rig would give a big, full arm wave of hello to me and whoever was standing alongside the apparatus door. Hanging out at that front door was an exhilarating learning experience, a front seat observing a gripping social culture I was not familiar with back in the suburbs of Long Island.
I remember the first time entering this firehouse, it was actually the first time I had entered ANY firehouse and being introduced to the firehouse culture. Guys were walking around with shoes untied, fire poles shined and the smell of diesel fumes and smokey gear was permeating. Looking around I noticed fire gear tossed loosely on the back hosebed of E 82 with still more gear hanging off door handles, at all the positions were rubber boots folded over and standing next to the side of the rig. In the kitchen I couldn’t get over the large well worn pots and frying pans hanging from racks. There was always something interesting to see.
Jack heads upstairs to the locker room to put on his work duty uniform. I remain in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, the guys are still joking and the laughing is relentless. The television is on, but nobody is paying any attention to it, there are news stories about Gil Hodges death and the War in Vietnam. I give up watching the news, and just enjoy the back and forth friendly banter, every now and then a dig comes my way, it usually starts with “Did Uncle Jack tell you about…”. I’m enjoying the good natured razzing..
The bells ring eleven times announcing the day shift has begun. The laughter has subsided and the guys head to different parts of the firehouse to clean and tidy up. I’d attempt to help clean the kitchen and of course get chased out. There I would head over to the American LaFrance rig and chat with the day's LCC, most of the time it was Charlie McCarthy. and see if I could help out somehow. It was rousing standing next to this idle “Big Red Machine”. A red sign with white lettering is mounted over the tiller windshield; “La Casa Grande”, THE BIG HOUSE. This place was Magical, and we hadn't even started running yet.
Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading.... KMG 365
(My photo, crappy little 110 instamatic camera. L 31 on left in quarters, E 82 centered, Squad 2 in quarters on right. Note cobblestone street in front of firehouse)
Finally the day has come, for today I will be going with “Uncle Jack” to Ladder 31 and spending the day with him at the firehouse again. Uncle Jack is Fireman Jack Mayne, my Dad’s longtime childhood friend that I respectfully call Uncle Jack. I had made plans for this visit a few weeks ago and numbered my calendar counting down the days with anticipation. I have done this routine about half a dozen times starting back in 1970. Today is April 2, 1972 and I’m enjoying the Spring recess from sophomore year at High School.
It’s a bright sunny springtime morning. Last night I stayed over at ‘Uncle Jack’s and Aunt Irenes’ house so that I can be ready to leave with Jack in the morning when he heads into his Bronx firehouse to work. Jack and Irene have a very nice two and a half story home that was built in the early 1900’s and is well maintained, the roof is barn shaped. Their house sits prominently on ground higher than the surrounding houses off a dead end street in Westchester County.
I had a little trouble falling asleep with anticipation for the big day tomorrow, but finally morning comes. I’m up before anyone else and jump into the shower, brush my teeth and make the bed. I sit quietly on the corner of it waiting to hear Jack while the rest of his family sleeps. Soon, I hear Jack coming towards me, he enters the bedroom quietly and we exchange morning greetings then Jack hands me a blue tee shirt to wear today and says he will meet me downstairs for breakfast. I love the tee shirt. It was the type all the guys I saw wearing during my previous visits, it has a St. Florian cross over the left chest and the top leaf says LADDER, in the middle circle a 31 and bottom leaf F.D.N.Y. I already feel part of the team.
All dressed and ready to go, I sit across from Jack at his breakfast table, this morning it is just him and I, the rest of Jack's family is still sleeping upstairs, it’s about 7:00 a.m. Jack is having toast and tea, works for me, too. He is glancing at the day’s Daily News newspaper. Sitting opposite him I noticed the back page, the headline is about former Mets manager Gil Hodges who died yesterday. After glancing at the paper, Jack gets up and strolls over to the kitchen counter and brings back a small metal index card file. When Jack works he usually is the chef and now he is thumbing through the card file to come up with an idea for lunch. He picks up a card, looks it over and replaces it, satisfied, he’s got something in mind for the troops at noon, sounds like a nice sandwich and a large pot of soup.
We left his house and walked to his 65 Light Blue Buick Skylark parked alongside the curb on the dead end street, he is carrying a shoebox full of study cards for the next lieutenant exam and places the box on the bench seat between us and explains them to me. After reading any fire department manual he writes questions on the front side to himself, flip the card over and the answer on the back, I think it’s a great idea. He tells me about the upcoming lieutenants exam and dedicates as much time as he can to study for it. He explains that the exams generally roll around about every two to three years. At this point Jack has sixteen years on the back step and is looking to advance his career to the next level.
With each trip to Intervale Avenue I made mental notes of incredible surrounding sights that I was not accustomed to. Jack's car rumbles over the cobblestone streets and the South Bronx grittiness starts to come alive, making the turn onto Home Street, I knew we were getting close to the firehouse. Just about every corner we pass has a large puddle from an open hydrant with rubbish floating and ringing it, blocks and blocks are filled with hollowed out apartment buildings, some streets resemble a ghost town, a moonscape void of life. There are no vibrant colors, everything looks either gray or brown and nothing shines. Right now, the neighborhood seems quiet and empty but it is still early and soon the populace will come alive.
As Jack and I head southwest on Home Street the suspense begins to build as I eagerly wait for the first view of the big red doors. Home Street is one of seven streets that intersect Intervale Avenue and 169th Street like a spoked wheel, the firehouse sits slightly off the corner about two doors north on Intervale from 169th Street. But, blocking my view is Mother Walls Zion Church, a community fixture that stood throughout the ‘War Years’ sits opposite the firehouse.
At last, the firehouse comes into view and the two red doors are open, they appear welcoming. Inside the door shadow of the firehouse I can see the glimmering chrome bumper and headlight trim from Ladder 31, something shines! E 82 is set back further in the house and difficult to see, finally I can see the two rigs now as we get a little closer, the two “War Horses” taking a breather.
Approaching the front of quarters Jack mentions E 82 and L 31 had a ‘nice job’ the other day while he was off-duty on Prospect Avenue near Freeman Street. Since we have some extra time, He suggests “why don’t we go check it out?” Jack makes a left onto Intervale, and a quick right onto 169th Street, travels two blocks and makes a right turn onto Prospect. Almost immediately coming into view on Prospect Avenue we see the burned out windows on the top floor of an apartment building, the building doesn’t look good. It must have been a good job.
We pull up in front of E 82 and L 31 quarters where Jack triple parks his car. There is a car parked on the sidewalk, one alongside the curb and then Jacks alongside that car. He locks the car and we walk into the firehouse through the open bay door. It’s a little after 8:00 am, I say hello to the fireman on the housewatch and greets me with a smile. I have not met him before, he looks tired and sips coffee. Meanwhile, rip-roaring laughter emanates from the kitchen in the rear, Jack and I enter the kitchen and he introduces me to the guys back there. Some I have met before including Mel Hazel. Mel and I would maintain a friendship to this very day.
When I first met Mel during my very first full day visit with Jack, Mel had just completed probation, he is friendly, warm, lean and tall. He showed me around the firehouse back then and a friendship was born. On other occasions when I came in with Jack to ride, Mel would come in on his day off to visit me and we would shoot pool down in the basement between the runs.
I didn’t wander around the firehouse, never thought about going above or below the apparatus floor unless invited. Generally, my position would be standing or leaning in front of quarters taking in the everyday nuance of a South Bronx lifestyle, enamoured by it. With the seven streets intersecting in front of quarters there was always some sort of action taking place, colorful Gypsey cabs zipping by, a green and white patrol car cruising, or one of the crazy yellow tow trucks screeching past.
Every now and then I caught a glimpse of a “low rider” ambling pass. My location was a good spot to catch fire apparatus responding or returning to their quarters, many times E 85 or L 59 would pass by returning to their temporary tin firehouse on Boston Road. Anytime they drove by, the guys and officer on the rig would give a big, full arm wave of hello to me and whoever was standing alongside the apparatus door. Hanging out at that front door was an exhilarating learning experience, a front seat observing a gripping social culture I was not familiar with back in the suburbs of Long Island.
I remember the first time entering this firehouse, it was actually the first time I had entered ANY firehouse and being introduced to the firehouse culture. Guys were walking around with shoes untied, fire poles shined and the smell of diesel fumes and smokey gear was permeating. Looking around I noticed fire gear tossed loosely on the back hosebed of E 82 with still more gear hanging off door handles, at all the positions were rubber boots folded over and standing next to the side of the rig. In the kitchen I couldn’t get over the large well worn pots and frying pans hanging from racks. There was always something interesting to see.
Jack heads upstairs to the locker room to put on his work duty uniform. I remain in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, the guys are still joking and the laughing is relentless. The television is on, but nobody is paying any attention to it, there are news stories about Gil Hodges death and the War in Vietnam. I give up watching the news, and just enjoy the back and forth friendly banter, every now and then a dig comes my way, it usually starts with “Did Uncle Jack tell you about…”. I’m enjoying the good natured razzing..
The bells ring eleven times announcing the day shift has begun. The laughter has subsided and the guys head to different parts of the firehouse to clean and tidy up. I’d attempt to help clean the kitchen and of course get chased out. There I would head over to the American LaFrance rig and chat with the day's LCC, most of the time it was Charlie McCarthy. and see if I could help out somehow. It was rousing standing next to this idle “Big Red Machine”. A red sign with white lettering is mounted over the tiller windshield; “La Casa Grande”, THE BIG HOUSE. This place was Magical, and we hadn't even started running yet.
Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading.... KMG 365
(My photo, crappy little 110 instamatic camera. L 31 on left in quarters, E 82 centered, Squad 2 in quarters on right. Note cobblestone street in front of firehouse)
Last edited:
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"Johnny", it was 11-11 on the bells. 0900 & 1800.
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Thank you Charlie, much appreciated! ....I was a little foggy on that.
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I had a 65 Buick Special, 4 door and blue green. 65 MPH downhill!
The Bronx - 1970s:
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=youtube+bronx+1970&docid=608034455966581464&mid=4B2FD8F581E4FA44D9B64B2FD8F581E4FA44D9B6&view=detail&FORM=V
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=youtube+bronx+1970&docid=607990316588797771&mid=19D5CC40C797445E31ED19D5CC40C797445E31ED&view=detail&FORM=VIRE
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=youtube+bronx+1970&docid=608034455966581464&mid=4B2FD8F581E4FA44D9B64B2FD8F581E4FA44D9B6&view=detail&FORM=V
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=youtube+bronx+1970&docid=607990316588797771&mid=19D5CC40C797445E31ED19D5CC40C797445E31ED&view=detail&FORM=VIRE
Dan, in reading your story in reply #168, "LADDER 31 - Days of Riding" Part 1, the details you give brings me (and a few of my buddies) right back to that Intervale Ave firehouse some 50 years ago.
I've told a few of those buff buddies of mine to check out these "Glory Days" stories and of course #168 makes it all seem to come alive again.
John Bendick, retired FDNY captain, administrator of this site was there too, riding with Squad 2. They spent every third night at that firehouse. The other nights with 73/42 and 85/59.
I am sure, without a doubt in my mind, that we had all met up some time in those streets, we just didn't know it. Other guys too like Mike Dick, aka mikeindabronx.
Dan, as a buff, I could also relate to the anticipation of my next buff trip. It seemed the more I got, the more I wanted. I was drawn to it like a magnet.
Of course, it's kind of tough to tell somebody now, how it was then.
But who would ever think that 50 years later, a couple of guys like us would become good friends and the majority of the time, whenever we meet up, generally the conversation is about: "The Glory Days".
I've told a few of those buff buddies of mine to check out these "Glory Days" stories and of course #168 makes it all seem to come alive again.
John Bendick, retired FDNY captain, administrator of this site was there too, riding with Squad 2. They spent every third night at that firehouse. The other nights with 73/42 and 85/59.
I am sure, without a doubt in my mind, that we had all met up some time in those streets, we just didn't know it. Other guys too like Mike Dick, aka mikeindabronx.
Dan, as a buff, I could also relate to the anticipation of my next buff trip. It seemed the more I got, the more I wanted. I was drawn to it like a magnet.
Of course, it's kind of tough to tell somebody now, how it was then.
But who would ever think that 50 years later, a couple of guys like us would become good friends and the majority of the time, whenever we meet up, generally the conversation is about: "The Glory Days".
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I grew up about a block away from 280/132, so when I wanted to buff there, I just walked to the house and there I was, no car ride from the suburbs or elsewhere. There was also no sense of change from a suburban neighborhood to an inner city neighborhood. To me the area where I lived was the same area where the firehouse was located. I used to pass the firehouse 4 times a day: on the way to school (St. Teresa of Avila); on the way home for lunch; going back to school after lunch and on the way home after school, so I would see the men frequently and they always seemed a friendly bunch of guys. After a while, and if the doors were open, I would stop off and ask questions about the rigs or about the job itself. The men always answered my questions. After a while, some of the men would say, if the doors are closed, knock and we'll let you in. On those days I would stand by the housewatch desk, ask questions or listen to the Department radio. After a while, I would run errands for the guys or do little things they'd ask. By the time I turned 18 and joined the Auxiliaries I knew most (if not all the guys) and was accepted as a house buff. Nevertheless, like Johnny Gage and Bill said, there was a real anticipation of what was to come whenever I walked down the street to the house to ride with them. As the neighborhood changed and the runs and workload increased for 132 there was even more anticipation that any night could be a busy night (and they usually were). I was also lucky, in that, not only did I ride with the company but also got invited to events like promotion parties, retirement parties, annual company parties and picnics. All in all, it was a great time in my life and I would not trade that experience for anything.
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If I'm not mistaken, that house watch photo is from the quarters of E273/L129. The eyeballs aren't as keen as they were but it looks like a plethora of 4400 boxes and their house watch was on the right side of the apparatus floor if you were looking in from the street.mack said:The Bells - Telegraph Alarm System Preliminary Signals
Telegraph alarms noted on housewatch blackboard - Station and Time
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^^^^^^Charlie, I took a second gander at the alarm box board, tune into the lower right hand section, looks like the top billing says "WORLDS FAIR TRUCK ONLY" .
nfd2004 said:
Another member of this site who was also a part of that 1970s Era - Engine 82, Ladder 31, Squad 2, was Retired Chief Bob M., aka *******,. He was the captain of Engine 82 during those very busy days that "JohnnyGage" has talked about and that TRUE Magazine wrote about.
As most of us know, Chief Bob M., has been a frequent contributor to this site who talks about his days working out of Engine 82 in the South Bronx. On this site, in the History section we can find the thread he started called: "Remembrance", plus he has also contributed to other threads here that talk about those days, such as "My Younger Buff Days".
Chief, I must apologize to you for leaving you out when it comes to that firehouse on Intervale Ave.
Although "Glory Days" is the focus of members of the FDNY who served during such a special time. Also, as we have seen here, it has drawn buffs who can tell their own personnel stories about the same time frame, in those same neighborhoods.