By Paul J. Condra
Sounds like Sept. 11, but it wasn't. Fahey, an East Rockaway resident and father of three, died three months earlier, on June 17, along with two other firefighters who were battling a hardware store blaze in Astoria, Queens.
Indeed, 2001 has been the year of the firefighter, as the three deaths on that Father's Day, along with the 343 firefighters who died on Sept. 11, have made painfully clear. So when it came time to pick the Herald's Person of the Year, it wasn't difficult to identify the group of men and women who have lost their lives helping others as particularly deserving of the title.
But remembering Fahey, and the other two firefighters who died that day, John Downing and Harry Ford, is made more prescient as Americans inch closer toward putting some sort of meaningful stamp on the events of Sept. 11. For Fahey's death reminds us that the dangers facing firefighters have always been there, even if we weren't as quick to recognize them. Before June 17, the last time three U.S. firefighters were killed on duty was in Keokuk, IA., on Dec. 22, 1999, two weeks after a Massachusetts blaze killed six firefighters.
Fahey is a symbol of the silent heroes among whom we have always lived, a hero who even in times of peace was willing to risk his life on a daily basis for the safety of his community. His death helps in our collective understanding of why so many firefighters had to die three months later: because they did their job.
Brian Fahey, 46, was a family man and jovial friend dedicated to his work as a firefighter. A 14-year veteran of Rescue 4 in Queens, Fahey was the former chief of the Hempstead Volunteer Fire Department, where he grew up, and an instructor at the City Fire Academy and the Nassau Fire Service Academy. He was married to Mary, and he was the father of Brendan, 8, and 3-year-old twins, Patrick and James.
Fahey coached Brendan's Little League team, and earned the endearing nickname, Chubby, from friends who used to chide the stout Irish-American man, who in turn would display a warm smile and laugh from underneath his handlebar mustache.
On June 17, Father's Day, while Fahey's family was preparing to barbecue for a celebration that night, two boys ages 13 and 15 were spray-painting graffiti outside a hardware store in Queens. When one of them knocked over a gas can, the flammable liquid flowed under a doorway of the hardware store where it was eventually ignited by the pilot flame of a water heater.
The flames were noticed by neighbors who called the fire department, but by the time firefighters arrived, fumes from propane tanks and paint cans had created a volatile explosive of the two-story building at 12-16 Astoria Blvd.
Of the some 350 firefighters and 70 rescue units called to the scene, Fahey was one of the first to enter the building, while Harry Ford, also of Rescue Co. 4 and John Downing, of Ladder Co. 163 were working from outside to open windows and ventilate the structure. That's when the explosion, which rescue workers likened to a war zone, caused the facade of the building to collapse on Ford and Downing, and Fahey to fall through to the basement of the building.
Crackling over his radio, Rescue 4 Captain Brian Hickey heard Fahey's Mayday call that he was stuck under the stairs. But while officials said firefighters clawed crazily to get to him, the blaze, which took about 12 hours to put out, was too much of an obstacle. Fahey was trapped, and died from burns and smoke.
The June 21 funeral for Fahey was a spectacular affair, and followed Ford's, which took place in Long Beach earlier that day. Attendance estimates ranged from 8,000 to 10,000 and firefighters flooded the streets from as far away as Ireland, Quebec and all across the Eastern United States to pay their respects. In addition, New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani and Gov. George Pataki were among the 650 who filled St. Raymond's R. C. Church in East Rockaway.
The firefighters worked and worked and tried and tried to rescue [Fahey], and when they extricated him, they saluted him and we all salute him, and salute him forever, Giuliani said at the funeral. The Mayor then asked for a standing ovation to honor Fahey that could be heard by his children.
Others commended Fahey for his work as a fire educator. For the next five, 10, 15 years, firefighters will emerge from dangerous situations because of something Brian taught them. Skills that could not save himself will save you, said Parish Priest Msgr. Thomas Candreva.
Nowhere is the stark contrast of life before and after Sept. 11 more apparent than in the countless articles written about Fahey's death and the aftermath. Reviewing them now is like opening a time capsule into a world where the events of Sept. 11 remain unfathomable. Take this excerpt from a story that appeared on June 22 in the New York Times:
There were two funerals that day and some in the fire department wondered how they could manage. The skies had darkened. The prospect of a second funeral was hard on the firefighters.
