Work Text:
FULL CIRCLE
God, was I ever that scared on my graduation day? I think to myself as I study the row of graduates seated on the stage in front of me, nervous and sweating in their stiffly starched dress blues, all of them looking so damned young, like little kids playing dress up in their parents' clothes. They stare at the keynote speaker with glazed disinterest, and I don't blame 'em, the guy has been rattling on for over fifteen minutes about his life experiences. One of the kids in particular stands out, for he is the exact spitting image of his father, a lanky bundle of nervous energy that is always in perpetual motion, his mop of unruly dark hair trimmed to just barely meet regulations, his dark brown eyes full of that electric intelligence and avid curiosity, definitely an inherited trait from his dad. He fidgets, shifting from side to side, earning himself an elbow from the blonde girl seated next to him, and the two exchange a quick and heated discussion through clenched-teeth smiles, and I can't help but notice the look of interest he gives her, despite the minor kerfuffle. Chastened by her, he fiddles with his white cap, running fingers along the brim, then he smiles at himself at the reflection, for vanity is another shared trait, and I roll my eyes, thinking of how fun it's going to be for those around the youngster to keep his ego in check for him. Hopefully he'll have a Chet like his dad did, one that'll prank him and tease out that vanity, reminding the kid to keep his feet firmly on the ground, lest he find that someone has poured syrup in his boots for him.
I grin at the thought of Chet, for the little Irishman was by turns irritating and hilarious, but no matter what, he was always THERE, ready to back us up whenever we needed him, and underneath all that blue-eyed bluster was a heart of gold, and we all knew, even Johnny, that his pranks were never meant out of malice, but out of affection and friendship, because despite his occasionally bristly and annoying manner, Chet was loved by us as a brother, and he loved us in return, and that's why it hurt so damned much when he died…the six of us at Station 51 were brothers, through thick and thin, bound not by blood but respect and admiration, for all of us were aware that at any given moment, we may have been called on to render the supreme sacrifice of our lives so that someone else was saved…and that's what Chet did. He laid down his life so that two of his brothers, Johnny and Marco, were saved. And it was Chet's death that sounded the knell for the A-shift of Station 51, for while his loss brought us all closer together, it also weakened the ties we had to the station, for it just wasn't the same without hearing his ribald and corny jokes or his teasing or his laughter…when that stocky little blue-eyed Irishman with the bushy mustache died, he took a lot of the heart of Station 51 with him, and so we began to drift, slowly but surely, each of us seeking jobs elsewhere…not because we couldn't do the job or were tired of it, but because we couldn't face the possibility of another one of us getting killed in the line of duty like that.
Captain Stanley went out first, passing the exam for Battalion Chief and getting the next opening in that position, then Mike Stoker followed soon after Cap left, going into the Arson Investigation Unit as an investigator. The fire that killed Chet also very nearly killed Marco Lopez too, and for awhile there it didn't look like he was going to make it, his injuries were too severe. But he rallied and wound up going to teach recruits at the Academy, his bilingual skills coming in handy for the classes he taught. And Johnny and I, we were the last two to leave 51, but we had to, our hearts just weren't in it anymore. We both took the engineer's exam and passed, Johnny getting on over at 110's and I got on over at 36's, and after a couple of years of that, we both set out to take the Captain's exam, which we both passed again with me getting Captain at Station 60, while Johnny landed back at our old stomping ground of Station 51.
And even the staff at Rampart changed after Chet died, for much to our surprise, Head Nurse Dixie McCall and Dr. Joe Early got married and Joe retired shortly afterward, opening up a jazz club called The Blue Note. Dix stayed on for a few years, then she retired too, helping Joe run the club, right up until Joe died in 1999 of a massive heart attack, and then Dixie followed him the next year, dying in her sleep of what was likely a broken heart. Dr. Kelly Brackett remained on as Head of the Emergency Room, but then he turned it over to Mike Morton and went over to teach at UCLA.
And of course now we're all retired, with Mike writing articles for Firehouse magazine, and Cap puttering around in his garden, and Marco helping his two sons out with their catering business. Brackett and Morton are involved with a non-profit organization that sends doctors and nurses into disasters that have occurred, training them to help set up quick triage centers and medevac areas.
Which brings me back to Johnny and I, for this ceremony that is a reunion and a celebration, it also marks the passage of an anniversary, one none of us wants to think about, but one that changed us all, for it was…it was the day that Johnny…
I stop, shoving the thought out of my mind as the keynote speaker sits down and the youngster who looks exactly like his father steps up to the podium to begin his speech, and I think then of the one man who is missing this most important day, who isn't here because of that awful day ten years ago, and a lump wells up in my throat as my eyes become misty, watching that young man at the podium. Oh Junior, you of all people should be here on this day, you'd be so proud of him and what he's become, a fine young man with all the bravery and courage and big-hearted valor that you had, not to mention that sublime goofiness and klutziness and kindness, plus that tendency to wind up at Rampart…Johnny, you SHOULD be here today, and it doesn't seem fair that you're not, damn it…
And then…then I feel Johnny next to me and hear his voice…Roy, I am here. I have been, all this time. And comforted by his presence, I settle back to listen to the youngster's speech.
He coughs, clearing his throat, then he begins. "Ever since I was a little kid, I wanted to be a firefighter, like my father and my uncles were. I loved hearing their war stories as they told me of countless brave and daring rescues from dangerous fires and horrific accidents, fighting flames and smoke and other hazards in order to save those that were trapped. They never were afraid of what they faced, they knew they had a job to do and they were the best men to do it, and after the battle, they always went back home like it was nothing, just another day at the workplace for them. I never tired of hearing their tales, and I was so proud of them all, for being such brave heroes in the face of such danger.
But my dad was my special hero, the one that came home after a 24 hour shift, always greeting me with a huge bear hug and kiss, oftentimes smelling of soot and smoke and ash, and no matter how crappy of a shift he'd had, he was always happy to see my mother and I. I was so proud of him and what he accomplished, for without the good fight he and my Uncle Roy put up after they became captains, any firefighter that was a paramedic would have lost the paramedic certification after they were promoted. Because of my dad and Uncle Roy, ALL firefighters…captains, engineers, linemen, even battalion chiefs…are now trained in paramedicine, and it's a requirement now at the academy that all graduating firefighters must have at least their EMT-B certification in order to graduate.
But my dad was more than just a firefighter hero to me, he was my father, the one who taught me how to fish and instilled a love of nature in me at a very young age, the man who'd take me camping and teach me about the constellations and their Indian legends, or show me the different wildflowers and plants and rocks, or teach me about the various animals in the forests. He instilled in me the respect for my Native American heritage, imparting to me the wisdom his father and grandfather had passed on to him, sharing with me the legends and stories and wonderful customs of our People. He showed me that you can find humor in even the worst circumstances, and that a good practical joke can go a long long way, especially when it's played on someone other than yourself. He taught me that to earn respect was to give it, and no one man was better than any other one man, no matter what, that we ALL were created equal in the eyes of God. He was the one who taught me how to ride a bike and played catch with me, who cheered me on at pee-wee football games and junior track meets, who encouraged me to never give up on myself, that any goal I'd set was attainable, if I put enough hard work and energy into it. He always believed in me and never let me give up, even when I was so sure I was going to fail. 'Have faith in yourself and what you do, son,' he'd tell me. 'It's what will get you through the toughest of times.'
And we had our tough times together too…in 1998, when I was only ten, a drunk driver crossed the center line and hit my mother's car head-on, killing her as she was on her way home from doing the simplest of tasks…grocery shopping. It was a dark time for my dad and I, for we loved my mother very much and her loss nearly killed the two of us with our grief, but that's when my uncles and aunts stepped in and began to get us on the path to healing, so that we could live our lives again like we were supposed to, like my mother would have wanted. And life had just started to get back to some semblance of normalcy for us until that day exactly ten years ago today, when it all shattered once more.
On September 11, 2001, my father was in New York City attending a convention for the various Urban Search and Rescue teams across the United States, for he was a member of the Los Angeles branch. They had just started a meeting at 8:30 that morning, when the building they were in was rocked by an enormous explosion. They rushed outside to see that one of the massive World Trade Center towers was in flames, the skyscraper belching black smoke and flame, as debris fluttered down to the street below. They were told that a plane had hit the building, and knowing that their help could be used, they hurried downtown to see if they could assist, and it was on their way down there that they witnessed the second plane hit the second tower…and they knew that this was no accident, that we were under attack. Showing their credentials, the members my father was with were given gear and allowed to go in and help with the evacuation proceedings that were underway in both towers. They and the other firefighters and first responders rushed bravely into that hellish battle that other people were trying to escape from, for this was their job, what they loved to do and what they did best. I've heard from people who were in Tower Two where my dad was working at that he helped, and they said that he was extremely calm and collected, even joking at times with some of the folks, putting them at ease in what was a terrible and tragic situation, and if you knew my dad, you knew he did it to keep people from panicking and settle their fears down as best he could. And he was still working in World Trade Center Tower number two when it began to collapse. Some of his teammates made it out, but he did not, becoming one of the 2,975 innocent civilians who died on that worst day in American history. He was a hero who perished doing what he loved, but he was also my father, my own personal hero and the man I looked up to and cherished with all my heart.
My uncles and aunts stepped in once more and made sure that they guided me on the path to adulthood like my dad would have wanted, keeping his legacy and his love for me alive, even in the darkest hours of my darkest grief, never letting me forget him, and never letting me forget that above all else, I was his son, and he had loved me more than anything in this world. And I thank them from the bottom of my heart, for all the times that they were there for me, for all the times that they held me when I cried, when I raged, when I felt so lost and alone, for as my father's son, they loved me just as much as they had loved him, and they felt it was their duty to make sure I carried on the dreams I had for myself, no matter what.
And so on today, the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks that claimed so many lives, including that of my father, I pay honor and tribute to him, keeping his legacy alive by fulfilling my lifelong dream of becoming a firefighter, just like he was. I will be starting my career at the same station my dad worked so many of his happiest years in, Los Angeles County Fire Station 51, and while I'm sure some of you would think that was a strange twist of fate, I know it was just my dad, trying to give me a good start on what hopefully will be a lifetime of service and dedication to the community. I would like to take this moment to thank my uncles…Roy, Marco, Mike, and Hank, who worked with my dad at Station 51, and my uncles Kel and Mike, along with my now-deceased Aunt Dixie and Uncle Joe from Rampart, for they were all always there whenever I needed them, no matter what. And I thank my father for all that he gave me, the wisdom and the courage and the life lessons he tried to teach me, but most of all his for his love and faith in me, for it was that that often was the only thing that got me through his death. I know he and my mother are looking down on me right now, both of them very proud of me and what I have accomplished, and I can only hope to live up to the legacy of being the son of John Roderick Gage. Thank you."
Wild applause and cheers break out, the crowd rising to its feet in a standing ovation, many of them crying, and as I make my way to the stage at the Chief Daryl Osby's cue, it's hard to see through the blur of tears that film my own eyes. The Chief holds out his hand to help me up the steps, and the crowd falls silent, still on its feet as they watch. "It is an honor for me to have retired Battalion Chief Roy DeSoto, best friend and former partner of firefighter John Gage, present to John Roderick Gage, Junior, his father's badge to wear during the course of his career with the Los Angeles County Fire Department," the Chief says.
And I step forward, pulling the badge out of the folder, my fingers shaking as I undo the pin on the back. "I'm so proud of you, son," I tell J.R. in a whisper, tears rolling down my face. "We all are."
"I know, Uncle Roy, thank you," he whispers back, his own brown eyes full of tears that snail-track down that face that is so like his father's. "I just wish Dad were here to see this."
"He's very proud of you, you know that, don't you?" I ask J.R. and he nods. And as I gently pin the shiny metal shield to his dress blues, there is a flash of sunlight that reflects off of the badge in a bright beautiful spray, prisming up between us, and I don't know if J.R. hears his father's voice, but I sure do…
I am here…I always have been and I always will be…never forget that…
The Chief turns to the hushed crowd, gesturing to J.R. "Presenting Los Angeles County Firefighter John Roderick Gage, Junior," he says, and the crowd erupts wildly into cheers and applause once more, many of them still crying, just as we are.
And as I hug J.R. tightly, I realize something…
The legacy of Johnny Gage has come finally full circle…
And it feels so right.