No replacing 6 who went down together

Those left behind know men of Ladder 118 were side by side
By MICHELE McPHEE DAILY NEWS POLICE BUREAU CHIEF

Firefighter Jesse Vitucci looks at photos from another time posted at Ladder 118's stationhouse. Just before his last run Dec. 1, 1984, firefighter Philip D'Adamo flipped the clock in Ladder Co. 118's kitchen upside down in the type of prank that had become his calling card. He never had a chance to right it. That clock — stained a leathery brown from two decades of cigarette smoke and dust from countless jobs — remains untouched in Ladder 118/Engine 205's kitchen, a shrine to D'Adamo, who died that night at age 34 while battling a blaze at a Brooklyn school. But now the clock has come to symbolize much more for the "Fire Under the Bridge" house in Brooklyn Heights, where life will forever be upside down. "Everything has changed," said Engine 205 Firefighter Chris Murray. "This job will never be the same." On Sept. 11, six of Ladder 118's firefighters probably glanced at the old clock, registering the instant — 9:02 a.m. — when shrill bells summoned them to the World Trade Center, where a second plane had crashed into the towers. Captured on film As they sped toward calamity, someone from atop the Jehovah's Witness' Watchtower Building snapped a picture of their rig racing over the Brooklyn Bridge. The photograph captured six men who were about to die, an image memorialized on page 1 of the Oct. 5 Daily News. The five men aboard Engine 205 escaped the fate of their brethren only by chance. They had responded to the Trade Center nearly 20 minutes before Ladder 118 and were headed into the south tower when Firefighter Daniel Suhr was struck by a falling body and became the first FDNY fatality that day. Members of Engine 205 and other firefighters carried Suhr to an ambulance parked a block away — and saved their lives in the process. At 10 a.m., the south tower collapsed in a blinding miasma of pulverized glass and concrete. In the cloud of gray, they could see nothing and could hear only the beeps of firefighters' PASS — Personal Alert Safety System — alarms, a signal that a member is in distress. Engine 205 members tried to raise their brethren on the radio. "We kept calling, '118, 118, 118,' on the radios, and we got no response," Firefighter John Sorrentino remembered. "I always felt the guys were indestructible. I didn't think even two towers falling on top of them could kill them. But, deep down, I knew, even though I was hoping for a miracle." Slow recovery The Ladder 118 truck was recovered within days of the attack — its windows broken, its cab filled with twisted steel. There would be no miracle. The body of Scott (The Dog) Davidson, 33, so nicknamed because of his frequently disheveled appearance, was recovered in late November. On Dec. 28, Vernon (Mo) Cherry's turnout coat was found. Cherry, 49, a 28-year veteran and the official FDNY singer, was also known for his culinary skills. His trademark "Vernon-Mo-Lasagmo" was the envy of other firehouse cooks. The next day, the remains of Joey (Bells) Agnello, 35, were recovered. In his first days with Ladder 118, Agnello rang the wrong bells and thereafter carried the good-natured nickname. The following morning, the body of Peter (Big Head) Vega was carried off The Pile. Vega, 36, was the firehouse politician. On the afternoon of New Year's Day, firefighters recovered the body of the company's leader, Lt. Robert Regan. He was identified through a gold medallion of St. Florian, the patron saint of firefighters. The back of the medallion was inscribed by his family, "We love you, Caitlin, Brendan and Donna," and bore a date — 12/10/85 — the day he became a firefighter. The rig's driver, Leon (Express) Smith, got his name by always being the first at a fire during his 19-year career. This time, he would become the last man out: His body has not been found. Two other firefighters from the house, Lt. Robert Wallace and Capt. Martin Egan, also were lost but had been working in other companies. "From the first day, we always dug on West St., right where we found our guys," Sorrentino said last week. "Why? I don't know. But that's where we spent all our time, we were drawn there." Held their ground It would soon become clear, at least to the firefighters who have come to rely on spiritual answers, why they were drawn to that spot. Robert Graff, an elevator mechanic who helped evacuate the Marriott World Trade Center Hotel, called the firehouse to report: "Tall firefighters with the numbers 118 on their helmets saved hundreds of people that day." The hotel had stood near the spot where Sorrentino and fellow firefighters spent months digging. The scene at the hotel was chaotic, Graff remembered. A swimming pool cracked on the 22nd floor, flooding elevator shafts and trapping panicked guests between floors. Graff pried open elevator doors and was soon joined by firefighters he was later able to identify as Agnello and Vega. "Joey helped me bring handicapped people down from the 19th floor in the elevator. Pete and I went up to the 12th floor, where people were screaming, and brought them down," Graff said. "The last thing I remember, Bob Regan got a call on his radio and his face totally changed. He started yelling, 'Get out! Get out! Get out!' "Bob and the other guys used their bodies like a brace, like a riot squad, directing the people out," he said. "They knew what was coming, but they stayed where they were. I'll never forget that." Graff, along with 920 guests and scores of Marriott employees, made it out of the doomed hotel. "Sometimes I wonder why I made it," he said. "Their faces still haunt me." The men of Ladder 118 died side by side, and Agnello, Vega, and Cherry share the same grave on a grassy hillside in Brooklyn's Green-Wood Cemetery. The grave is still unmarked; the three widows, all mothers, have been reluctant to pick out a headstone. "I don't need to go there and talk to a stone. Part of the reason why I chose to bury him is so that he could be with Pete and Vernon," Vinnie Carla Agnello said last week. "He loved Brooklyn and sunsets, and now that's where he is, in Sunset Park." Agnello does not plan to attend ceremonies at Ground Zero on Wednesday because she is keeping a vow she made to her husband. She and the couple's two toddler boys will remember in private. "Joey made me promise that if something happened to him on the job, I would move forward. I just kind of humored him and gave him my word. Now I'm honoring it," she said. Ladder 118's widows are not the only ones trying to move forward. Moving forward There are five new officers and nine probationary firefighters at the firehouse. They pass time at the same round tables with mismatched chairs, under the old upside-down clock that now shares space with photographs of the lost men. Four firefighters have married since Sept. 11. Tim Julian, who was aboard Engine 205, married Sept. 28 but never celebrated the occasion. His wife's brother, Lt. Vincent Giammona, was killed Sept. 11, as were Patrick Lyons and Durrell Pearsal, two members of the FDNY Emerald Society bagpipe band, who were to perform at the wedding. Mo Cherry also was scheduled to celebrate the nuptials with his soaring voice. Julian returned to full duty only last month, after treatment for a small tumor on his throat, an ailment he believes he developed at Ground Zero. "It's a different house," Julian said. "We have a new rig. A new crew. It's like starting all over." But Jarrett Murphy, a probationary firefighter, said he has literally felt the spirit of the lost men. Earlier this year, the senior men in the house told Murphy to leave them alone with their memories. He went to the bunk room upstairs and woke up to what he believes was a ghost. "I opened my eyes, and right at the foot of the bed, there was a figure, kind of translucent and quiet, not moving, just looking down at me," Murphy said. "I didn't want to say it was the ghost of anybody, but all I can say is that it looked like pictures of Leon [Smith]. "I'm not alone," Murphy added. "There are guys around here who see things and hear things and feel things." Engine 205 Firefighter Paul DiPaolo has an explanation. "Leon is still looking out for the new guy," he said.

 

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