Richie the Rat

“’Mrs. K…’, we regret to inform you that your husband ‘Lt. K…’ Brooklyn Division 15, who responded to the Mariott Hotel today 11 Sept 2001, has died a as a result of a floor collapse at the Mariott while saving many patrons at the hotel….we are so sorry.” “Hell No, not Richie, go back and bring me his body, when I see him dead I’ll believe you” said Mrs. K…” It was early afternoon, smoke billowed and the Mariott still burned.

“Rescue one five do you copy over”…as he struggled to fight his way from under the debris that had come down on him after saving a few of the hotel patrons from certain death, Fireman ‘Richie the Rat’ (nickname given for crawling into and out of anything) got to a window. Through the choking stench of burning flesh and furniture Richie waited at the gaping hole that was a hotel picture window. His oxygen tank was empty.

When the ladder came down on the window it came down on top of him while flames followed him to the open air of that same window. As he was pulled out from the burning wreckage his fellow firefighters cheered and cried, one of his crew said, “you can’t kill a rat, and that rat bastard proved it.”

Richie called his wife, “Honey, I’m all right”, Mrs. K… slowly responded, “did you think that hearing you were dead would get you off my shit list? Get your ass home!” I last saw Richie in 2003 after my Dad had died. I last saw him after the doors closed on the ‘Firehouse Pub’ in Oceanside. Richie was a basket case, he still could fight fire and save lives, its everyday life he had a problem with, Richie was always crazy, 9/11 made him even crazier. Alcohol made it feel better (as usual).

I had always asked around, checking with folks that Richie and I knew in common over the years, no one heard from him, no one saw him. I concluded about a year ago that he was killed off or had died and no one told me. Wednesday Night, I came out in the rain to meet with Candy at ‘On the Rocks’ for a drink and to catch up on life. (Candy’s doing O.K. and still keeps me on edge).

It was nearing about 10:00 and I wanted to get going as the rain came down. The bar was full of rowdy loud-mouthed assholes that started playing ‘rap’ and crap. Then out of the dimly lit bar came a shout above the din of voices and music. “Oh Shit, I thought they got rid of you! It’s been what…5 – 10 years. You non hacking son of a gun, you forgot who I am didn’t you?”
I nearly spilled my beer as I looked at this grey bearded mid 50’s guy who’s eyes were on fire.

“RICHIE, THAT CAN’T BE YOU!” I walked over to him to make sure I wasn’t I looking at a ghost or under the influence of a hallucinogen. I hugged the man and laughed uncontrollably, it was like finding a long lost brother or a partner in crime, and sure enough it was “Richie the Rat.” “You still look the same, you look good, the years haven’t punked you yet RJ.” “You look like a Confederate General Richie, were the hell you been hiding?”

“I’ve been getting my head back together. They retired me you know…they said that I’ve gone crazy.” ‘They didn’t know that when they hired you.’ Richie’s voice trembled, “RJ I went back to work but nothing was the same. I tried to talk about my buddies who are still down there in the wreckage, tell the brass what my buddies been telling me for the last few years. Even though they’re bodies in the wreckage they tell me about the Mariott, they tell me they came back for me.”

Candy looked at him with both compassion and understanding, and the look of absolute belief in every word the Rat was saying. “The Brass sent me to see several shrinks, all of them slimy cunts needed to be in rubber rooms, not me,….but they said I was anti-social and sociopathic. I don’t know what that really means except that the Chief said it means that I’m totally nuts. They retired me ‘RJ’.” I could hear the sadness and anger in his voice. He was born a fireman.

Richie started talking about his wife, his kids and his grandkids when he lost his chain of thought and started hitting on Candy. “RJ, I moved to South Carolina, I got a whole lotta property out in the sticks and I love it, I got a huge house with at least 4 bedrooms, bring Candy down with you and stay with me a while.” Candy laughed as he continued to describe his property and how much his wife would like to meet her,…. about then I broke out the blackberry and called Bear.

Candy looked at me like she needed a break, so I put him on the phone with Bear. As they swapped insults and proceeded to curse each other out I thought about the old days at the Firehouse Pub, the women we danced with, the bands, the brotherhood of firefighters, cops and sanitation workers who hung out there from afternoon till dawn telling stories, chasing women and drinking. We always had a good time and Richie was always starting something.

“Bear, you stupid fuck, why don’t you come to see me in South Carolina. Bring Star, RJ and Candy with you!” The Rat had the phone to his ear and smiled at Bear’s reply. “Fuck you Bear, I love you Bro...” After Richie got off the phone with Bear he broke out his phone and showed me pictures of his Grandkid. He then remembered something and made a call, “tell Heckle and Jeckle not to mess up my tank…don’t let them near the grandkid got it.”

Richie said “Candy you are so freakin beautiful, if I wasn’t married I’d kidnap your ass right now and take you away with me.” After hearing that Candy got up and left for a cigarette break (I wondered if she was going to come back). I asked Richie the Rat who the hell are Heckle and Jeckle. “My lizards, they talk to me like I’m a fuckin servant, they tell me how they want things arranged, that they own the house, that they’ll screw where they want – they got problems.”

So how are you doing now after all these years Richie, is dealing with the loss of your brother firemen getting any easier? His eyes watered up, “They all still talk to me RJ, they’re all still here, but I do things to help me relax, I put the images I see in my mind on canvas and the wife tells me they don’t look to bad.” ‘Painting on canvas? Let me get this right, you paint?” “Yeah, I do oil painting, I took pictures of some of my paintings.” Richie breaks out his cell phone again to show me photos of his oil paintings.

The paintings, even in the cell phone picts were awesome. Everything from landscapes, birds, people with extreme expressions, the images were provocative, exciting and some were disturbing. “Richie, how long did it take for you to get this good?” “Not long about a month, I could always draw but when I paint I get help from one of the guys.” Some firemen turned art teacher? “No, my bro’s from Brooklyn 15, from 9/11. The Rat got serious, “RJ I hear them, we talk, I listen, and they help me.”

We had a few more beers and I asked Richie how did he like his little backwoods town in South Carolina. “Its great, they love me there. They have a little volunteer fire department and asked my opinion about a few things, they seemed to like what I had to say.” The women down there love me RJ and they are all so damn polite and courteous, I love it.” We talked about the Firehouse Pub, the ladies, the good times and noticed it was going on 1:00 AM.

Candy had snuck back in and was talking to the bartender who had stopped playing rap and headbanging crap and played at least a solid hour of 60’s and 70’s rock and soul. We tallied up and left the bar. Richie rode around with a neighbor while I talked to Candy outside in the rain. As we were taking off Richie came back. “RJ, I can’t find my van, I think someone might have stole it.” Where was the last time you saw the van. Candy told me to call her; I took Richie with me to find his Van.

“RJ, I spent my entire adult life saving peoples lives, running into death and danger, I took care of people, now it seems that God is taking care of me. I don’t know what I’m gonna do from now on, I don’t want to sit still but a lot of my friends say I’m still sick and need time to heal, what do you think.”

‘Man, do what’s on your heart and don’t let anybody marginalize you! You are absolutely crazy but you are the real deal, an American Hero, a veteran NYFD firefighter who served with honor and distinction, don’t let anyone put you down. You were always a hero, 9/11 made everyone in America see that.’ After about 10 minuets we found Richie’s van parked behind the bar. “RJ, e-mail me or call me, don’t fuckin disappear for 5 years.” I hugged him with a heavy heart.

I drove off and played a song by Kansas, I couldn’t get it out of my head after catching up with the Old Rat. The lyrics echoed on “Carry on my wayward son, they’ll be peace when you are done…. lay your weary head to rest…. don’t you cry no more.”

RJ