Came across this the other day.
"War Years" FDNY by Anthony O'Brien
Sit down now and I"ll tell you a story. A story of Urban Hero"s and Glory
The story"s of a war so cruel and deranged, about the men who fought and the lives they"ve changed.
But these soldiers of war fight for no foreign shore, a world half way around.
For the soldiers are firefighters, their home is their battleground.
No guns in their palms, no hate in their mind. Just the will to help everyone of every kind.
The Station sits still with the bay doors wide awake. The sounds of chaos are free from this place.
The nine to fiver, the kids on the street, all mix in unison in the city like a beat.
Then for a half a second, a sound stops all life. The single clang of a bell cuts the air like a knife.
The house now shows bustle as the phone starts to ring, the watchman picks up with a mixed type of fling.
"Engine, Truck - You"re Out" is the call suddenly told. the station erupts as a job soon unfolds.
Helmets and coats all burnt and battered, soon feel the warmth of those who matter.
Lights on, siren goes, the sound is echoed like the sound of woes.
The smell in the air is perfectly clear, wood, plaster and paint, that burns with great fear.
The signs in the sky show greater dispare, getting closer now they see smoke in the air.
"Ready Lads", the Cap calls out, For today he knows there is work, no doubt.
Turning the corner crowds gather fast, the block seems to turn to an ocean so fast.
Rooftops become forts and tools of great carnage, off them comes molotov"s, bricks and garbage.
"Why do they hate us" is sometimes the question, but the job goes on, no need for instruction.
Two story brownstone, fully involved. All just another mystery to be solved.
For here today, another arsonist will prevail.But for most, it"s just another Bronx Tale.
These men are divided yet all closely bonded. Working together as smooth as a feather.
Some men work with water, others with steel. They ride different rigs but arrive with the same feel.
We"ll start with the Truckie, for he risks the most. Risking it all but never a boast.
With iron in hand and can over shoulder, he mutters today "I"ll grow a bit bolder".
Crawling down halls against searing heat, forces so great to knock a man off his feet.
Cutting vents in the roof with tools and saw, so the others below can stretch without flaw.
With tears from the smoke he stretches til done, knowing that life will not be lost on this run.
His partner the engineman fights with no ladder or can, out with water every ember that he can.
The elements are extreme and dangerously near, he battles so close flames whisper in his ears.
Telling and showing tall tales of fear, a fear those men know will soon be clear.
The flames show no mercy, but the nozzles wet diminishing flames in the blink of an eye.
He batters and beats and curses the devil, bringing it down past his very level.
Fighting his way past each burning floor, until the flames can hurt no one, no more.
The smoke soon clears blackness to white, and hero"s emerge after their fight.
Through the smoke on the street they appear one by one, the warmth on the street is perfect from the mid summer sun.
The miles of hose could circle a state, twisting and turning like spaghetti on a plate.
The pavement now covered from end to end, hoses,ash, and timber mix to blend.
The story of this day will soon be forgotten, lost yet again and clearly forgotten.
The War Years dragged on in a city of enmies, fires that raged in the 60s and 70s.
Consumed city blocks and families abroad, were saved by these hero's never thanked or applaud.
For NewYorkers had it hard in those trying years, for their brothers in L.A. and D.C. shed the same tears.
One calm day all had come to an end, but the firefighters looked on ready to defend.
By Anthony O"Brien
so it didn't take long for it to get into this job.
