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OT... in memorium
During the last two weeks, I’ve been asked by friends and co-workers if I had shot any video of what has happened here in Worcester, Massachusetts, USA. My response has been that I’ll leave that to the journalists.
Six firefighters were killed in a fire less than one mile from my house on Friday evening, December 3, 1999. The building is one I drive by every day on my short commute to work. A little further along my commute, I go by the main Fire Station in downtown Worcester, where two of the men worked out of. At the end of my commute, I take a right into the parking lot opposite another fire station on Grove Street, where the other four men worked out of. This has all happened right in the middle of where I work and live.
A week ago Thursday, I clocked out of work, went out front, and stood across from the Grove Street fire station to pay my respects, to simply be there during the procession leading to the memorial service at the Centrum that day. For two hours I watched an unending river of living heroes march past the fire station opposite me. Standing on the other side of the street were the firefighters on duty that day, saluting every honor guard that marched past with a flag, for over two hours. At one point, I glanced up to see Air Force One banking around to land at the Worcester Airport, bringing President Clinton. But for the sound of that jet, and the ever present sound of news helicopters overhead, there was only the sound of slowly marching feet, bagpipes and drums, and each detail’s marching commands. There was otherwise only the dead silence of all those hundreds of people nearby, standing in mute tribute to the men who were gone. It was surreal and heartbreaking to be in the middle of such a profound event, and I will never forget it for as long as I live.
Two days ago, Friday evening December 17, there was one last moment of silence observed at the site of the fire. A lone piper played ‘Amazing Grace’ for the last time. Afterwards, the fire department officially left the scene, the crowds dispersed, the barricades came down but for one section of street that’s still covered with rubble, and the media satellite dishes and helicopters all quickly disappeared.
Today, Sunday December 19, motorcycles by the thousands slowly moved through the streets of Worcester, from the main fire station downtown, to the Grove street station. They were all police and firefighters’ motorcycle clubs from around the nation, come to pay a final tribute to these firefighters who, some (or maybe all) of them, were avid motorcyclists. There was no media, no video cameras, no helicopters overhead, and no crowds of people along the sides of the street. I only happened to see this because I had gone out for breakfast this morning, and I had stopped by the Grove Street fire station with my camcorder. I had thought I might take a shot of the fire station and then go over to the site of the fire this morning and just shoot a few short clips, now that no-one else is doing so, and now that there are no more crowds of people, media trucks, or helicopters overhead.
I sat there in my car, in the parking lot across the street from the Grove Street fire station. I looked at the black bunting in the middle of the building, and the flag at half mast. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get out of my car and shoot the scene, because it was still simply out of my reach, emotionally. And so I started the car back up, pulled out onto Grove Street, and headed home. It was then that I saw the motorcade rounding the corner, about a quarter mile away. It was an endless procession of motorcycles, out there in the below freezing weather, slowly making their way from the main fire station to this one on Grove Street. This wasn’t announced in the local paper, it wasn’t played up on the Boston TV stations, and it wasn’t something that crowds of people turned out for. It was simply there by itself, along nearly deserted Sunday morning streets, for the first time in two weeks. And I, alone, was there to capture it on video, had I the mind to do so.
From places afar, I can imagine that these events of the past two weeks have been seen on television, and read about in newspapers. I’ve read about and seen things like this on TV that have happened far away from where I live, too. Many times, I’ve thought that it might be interesting to be in the middle of such a thing, and to have my camcorder running to capture something that will only happen once in a lifetime. And there have been times when I have wished for a chance to shoot something momentous and important, and be the only one with that opportunity at the moment. Just to be in the right place at the right time, and get it all on video…
And so, there I was this morning, camcorder in hand for the first time in two weeks, in the right place at the right time for something that no-one else seemed to know was happening. But again, I saw their faces as they rode past, and like it was last week, so it was today.
Take my word for it, you have no idea how brazen and heartless you would have to be to live right in the middle of such a thing, whip out your camcorder, and shoot even a single frame!
May God bless those who have fallen, and protect those they have left behind.
Six firefighters were killed in a fire less than one mile from my house on Friday evening, December 3, 1999. The building is one I drive by every day on my short commute to work. A little further along my commute, I go by the main Fire Station in downtown Worcester, where two of the men worked out of. At the end of my commute, I take a right into the parking lot opposite another fire station on Grove Street, where the other four men worked out of. This has all happened right in the middle of where I work and live.
A week ago Thursday, I clocked out of work, went out front, and stood across from the Grove Street fire station to pay my respects, to simply be there during the procession leading to the memorial service at the Centrum that day. For two hours I watched an unending river of living heroes march past the fire station opposite me. Standing on the other side of the street were the firefighters on duty that day, saluting every honor guard that marched past with a flag, for over two hours. At one point, I glanced up to see Air Force One banking around to land at the Worcester Airport, bringing President Clinton. But for the sound of that jet, and the ever present sound of news helicopters overhead, there was only the sound of slowly marching feet, bagpipes and drums, and each detail’s marching commands. There was otherwise only the dead silence of all those hundreds of people nearby, standing in mute tribute to the men who were gone. It was surreal and heartbreaking to be in the middle of such a profound event, and I will never forget it for as long as I live.
Two days ago, Friday evening December 17, there was one last moment of silence observed at the site of the fire. A lone piper played ‘Amazing Grace’ for the last time. Afterwards, the fire department officially left the scene, the crowds dispersed, the barricades came down but for one section of street that’s still covered with rubble, and the media satellite dishes and helicopters all quickly disappeared.
Today, Sunday December 19, motorcycles by the thousands slowly moved through the streets of Worcester, from the main fire station downtown, to the Grove street station. They were all police and firefighters’ motorcycle clubs from around the nation, come to pay a final tribute to these firefighters who, some (or maybe all) of them, were avid motorcyclists. There was no media, no video cameras, no helicopters overhead, and no crowds of people along the sides of the street. I only happened to see this because I had gone out for breakfast this morning, and I had stopped by the Grove Street fire station with my camcorder. I had thought I might take a shot of the fire station and then go over to the site of the fire this morning and just shoot a few short clips, now that no-one else is doing so, and now that there are no more crowds of people, media trucks, or helicopters overhead.
I sat there in my car, in the parking lot across the street from the Grove Street fire station. I looked at the black bunting in the middle of the building, and the flag at half mast. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get out of my car and shoot the scene, because it was still simply out of my reach, emotionally. And so I started the car back up, pulled out onto Grove Street, and headed home. It was then that I saw the motorcade rounding the corner, about a quarter mile away. It was an endless procession of motorcycles, out there in the below freezing weather, slowly making their way from the main fire station to this one on Grove Street. This wasn’t announced in the local paper, it wasn’t played up on the Boston TV stations, and it wasn’t something that crowds of people turned out for. It was simply there by itself, along nearly deserted Sunday morning streets, for the first time in two weeks. And I, alone, was there to capture it on video, had I the mind to do so.
From places afar, I can imagine that these events of the past two weeks have been seen on television, and read about in newspapers. I’ve read about and seen things like this on TV that have happened far away from where I live, too. Many times, I’ve thought that it might be interesting to be in the middle of such a thing, and to have my camcorder running to capture something that will only happen once in a lifetime. And there have been times when I have wished for a chance to shoot something momentous and important, and be the only one with that opportunity at the moment. Just to be in the right place at the right time, and get it all on video…
And so, there I was this morning, camcorder in hand for the first time in two weeks, in the right place at the right time for something that no-one else seemed to know was happening. But again, I saw their faces as they rode past, and like it was last week, so it was today.
Take my word for it, you have no idea how brazen and heartless you would have to be to live right in the middle of such a thing, whip out your camcorder, and shoot even a single frame!
May God bless those who have fallen, and protect those they have left behind.
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