Firefighters Quarterly - Independent FDNY Magazine and Awards Dinner

Firefighters Quarterly Magazine
Winter 2006 Issue >> Contents >> Editor's Note

Your New York-My New York

So my father and I are walking down Madison Avenue, when we pass him. We'd just flown into LaGuardia a few hours earlier, under a brilliant blue sky. I'll never forget that first view of the skyline as we approached NYC-easily one of the most exciting and magnificent visions I've ever encountered.

It was April 1st, 1977, and I was such a huge fan of the city at age 14 that my parents figured they'd better take me for a visit, or else I might run away and try it on my own.

So there's my father and I heading toward the offices of Marvel Comics (my boyhood Mecca) on a pilgrimage to try and meet Stan Lee, famed creator of SpiderMan, the Incredible Hulk, and other superheroes. Suddenly, we notice one particular passerby-a slight little guy with white hair and baby blue glasses. We follow him, eventually catching up with him.

It turns out to be Andy Warhol, pop artist and professional celebrity-watcher. Surprisingly, he's extremely down to earth. He chats with us for about five minutes, before signing a copy of his Interview magazine, the cover of which remains in a frame on my wall. Within a half hour, we also meet Stan Lee, stopping him as he exits the Marvel elevator upon his return from lunch. Needless to say, it's a pretty memorable day for a kid from the sticks.

And that's the way New York's always been for me-a place of pure magic and heady atmosphere. My pulse quickens at the mere thought of being there. I've always had the feeling that even though the Vegas strip may contain plenty of light bulbs, New York City remains the most electric place on earth. Other cities have their charms, but New York has it all.

I have one other souvenir from that first trip. It's a poster bearing the heading "It's hard to be down when you're up." Underneath is a globe-like view of the earth, zooming in on the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. I purchased the poster when Mom, Dad and I made the trek up to the top floor (the Observation Deck was closed, due to strong winds). Even from the 110th floor, though, the view was astounding-offering perspectives on four separate states. For a kid from small-town North Carolina, it wasn't just a different world. It was bigger than that.

Twelve years later, I was back in town during a brief business trip, when I stayed in a hotel in one of the towers (a Hilton, I believe). I remember standing at my window that night in 1989, looking out from that mighty fortress of a building, and feeling incredibly safe and secure-as if I were lodged inside a huge and impenetrable mountain. It was one of the best night's sleep I ever had.

And then a dozen more years passed. I was editing a magazine called National Fire & Rescue, and got a call one Tuesday morning from an associate. When informed that an aircraft had struck one of the towers, I first assumed it was a small private plane, horribly off-course. Then came the revelation that it was a large passenger jet. And then followed that sinister moment when the second jet hit the South Tower, when everyone had to realize that neither crash had been accidental.

So much has been said already about 9/11, and none of you need a refresher course in the awful events that played out that day four years ago. My goal in talking about it now is not to dredge up the pain of the past-a hurt whose magnitude an admitted outsider can't really begin to fathom. However, I do want you to know how personally I took those attacks, despite the fact that I've never lived in New York City.

Part of my heart's always been in New York, and that part was broken on that beautiful September morning in 2001. Six months earlier, we had lost Mom to a 15-year bout with cancer. To think that the towers we happily visited together in '77 had been reduced to rubble was almost too much to bear-a pound of salt on my still-fresh emotional wounds.

I couldn't even begin to contemplate the emotional carnage suffered by the families of the amazing FDNY firefighters who fought and died to save those trapped in the towers. The mental image of those heroes receiving last rites before entering the doomed structure struck a real nerve with me, reminding me of the American infantrymen headed toward Normandy Beach on D-Day. They knew it was going to be bad-they went anyway. I felt humbled by the bravery shown by so many members of the FDNY, and still do. And I never felt more connected to the city.

I guess my point in all this is that a little piece of New York City belongs to me-belongs to everybody-even people who don't inhabit the place. After 9/11, many news reporters made comments to the effect that "Now the FDNY belongs to everyone...to all Americans." But that's not altogether true. The FDNY is a cherished and important part of New York. So, in a sense, the FDNY (like the city) belongs to everybody, and always has-and not just since 9/11.

The terrorist bastards who attacked that day four years ago knew exactly what they were doing when they targeted New York. They understood that New York City is still the focal point of the modern world, as it has been for more than a century. They knew that for freedom-loving people everywhere-not just in the five boroughs-that NYC remains the repository for the American dream. One of the great themes of this country involves opportunity, and no place represents that ideal better than the city you serve.

I hope you will allow me the opportunity to serve you here at Firefighters Quarterly, by putting together a magazine that accurately captures the FDNY experience and shines a light on the crucial work that you do, day in and day out. We will try to do our job as well as you've always done yours.

Thank you for protecting your New York...and mine.

God Bless and Keep the FDNY! FQ

Phill Powell
Editor, Firefighters Quarterly