My father's brother, David was the captain of the Fire department in Higganum, Ct. My father and uncle's father was a lieutenant and had been a captain of several fire departments in Queens, during the 30's, 40's and 50's, where he was decorated and had a large collection of medals and awards.

I remember always reading the plaques and framed awards when we were at his home. We marveled at the pictures of the dalmations and fire departments he had worked with and the awards which were always titled, "for heroic demonstration beyond duty"... my grandfather had been a true hero when it came to fighting fires and saving countless lives. He had a room with Fire helmets, badges, station emblems, you name it, he had it. It was an amazing room. We used to put on his fire helmets and run around when we were kids. He had pictures of fallen firefighters who he had worked with and always fondly remembered.

A story I completely forgot about and my surviving brother and I recollected the other day.

My brother, Neal and his fire truck.

Neal was about four years old and he had a fire engine that you sit in and pedal to make it go. During the heated summers in Cromwell, he would sit in his fire engine sans shirt and just shorts with sneakers on and wear a "The Hartford Insurance" plastic firehelmet. He would tear up and down Allen road on his fire engine, ringing the bell on front and whooping with approval.

Neal would insist my brother and I fake a bicycle accident on our driveway and then he would douse us with the cups of water he would run into the house and get and run back in and get more and do it again. You'd be drenched by the time he finished and he would jump into the fire engine and ring the bell and take off.

It was an Easter Sunday and our cousins from Niantic were up for dinner. Michelle, was riding my banana seat bicycle and not too good with balance. Neal in his white shirt and tie was riding in his fire engine ringing the bell. Michelle was actually in her Sunday best dress and took a spill, skinning her knee and began crying. As my brother and I went over to see how bad she had hurt herself, we missed Neal hopping out of his fire engine and running into the house. As we stood over Michelle and tried to comfort her, fireman Neal appeared and doused Michelle with a cup of freshly poured water. He ran in the house again and returned this time dousing her in the face as tears streamed down her face. My brother and I looked on in horror as only siblings could do, but didn't reach out to stop him. When he returned for the third time, we both grabbed him, which solicited his routine response of, "I'm telling mom!" and he ran into the house.

As my mother entered the outside to see the ruckus, she burst into laughter, because we had all become so accustomed to Neal's fireman antics. Everyone else came outside and we all laughed, except for Neal, who was upset his heroic efforts were stopped by his brothers. After dinner, Michelle's dress had dried and we all went outside for our Easter egg hunt and all seemed to be forgiven. At least I had thought it was until Neal, angry at my brother and I, began throwing his hard boiled eggs at us while we were counting who had found the most eggs.

My brother Neal is now an architecht. While his Uncle was a fireman and hero and his grandfather a lieutentant in the Fire dept. in New York, Neal did something else he loved, architechture. He no longer throws easter eggs either...

1976 Olympics and Big Bertha

It was 1976 and we were camping Montreal, Quebec for the Summer Olympics. We were all excited because we had taken our savings (about $20 each) and exchanged it into Canadian, which resulted in almost doubling our dollars! Our family was staying at the KOA campgrounds outside of Montreal and we were able to drive into to see the 1976 Olympic opening ceremonies, US soccer and against Mexico, Gymnastics (Russia and Romania), Water polo, and a sport we began to all cheer on, women's basketball and team Czechoslavkia, who we actually got to meet several of the player's and get their autographs. I remember the girls from the team taking pictures with us and calling us "nice American boys". They were so kind to us. When we saw them play again against China, they waved to us in warmup as they were on the floor causing my brother and I to blush.

We witnessed Edwin Moses win the gold in hurdes, and saw Bruce Jenner win the decathalon...pretty impressive for us. Jenner, was amazing to watch as he took the victory lap with a US flag draped all over him. Moses, even better as he tried to hop a few hurdles in celebration of his gold and tripped over the second one, to the delight and standing ovation of the crowd.

Our story unfolds on a warm day at the Olympics and we are walking to see a soccer match at the stadium. As we are walking, my brother (Neal) gets lost in the crowd. We are now getting autographs from some of the Japanese athletes who are very kind to oblige. As we are getting autographs, my six year old brother yells from behind the crowd,

"YOU FAGGOTS! you didn't wait for me". The Japanese athletes are looking at us like they can't believe what is going on or said. "YOU FAGGOTS! you left me!", he repeats. My mom is laughing because a six year old is telling us off and the Japanese can't believe what they are seeing. One of the athletes from Japan tries to put his arm on my angry brother who goes, "Don't touch me you faggot!", (Faggot was Neal's word of the summer at again, being only six years old). The Japanese athlete very graciously steps back and they all start point at my brother speaking in Japanese and laughing. Each one of the athletes comes to my parents (keep in mind there are about six of them) and they bow to my parents, shake their hands and walk silently away. We are still laughing at my brother who now is so upset, he is kicking us. Not only kicking us, but he does so through the whole soccer match, bruising our legs and leaving welts.

As the soccer match ends, we end up at a military base to tour the sites. There is a huge cannon (which we called BIG BERTHA) mounted in a 10 foot pit, that we are climbing. All of a sudden I look over and it's like slow motion, Neal, is doing a swan dive, from the front of the cannon (about eight feet off the ground) and his skull is the first thing to hit the ground with a sickening crack, I swear I will never forget. He lies there motionless as my mother screams and my father rips his shorts pulling us off the front of the cannon where we were swinging. Neal is unconscious and a tour guide, immediately radios for help. As my father is there at his side, Neal begins to stir and is groaning. "My head, my head, oh! my head hurts daddy!". My mom is now herding us to the side as dad is holding Neal who is crying. We hear the sound of an emergency siren as an ambulance comes up the green flowered covered hill and arrives with french speaking paramedics, who are trying to talk to my dad. Communication being difficult, the bi-lingual guide tells them what happened. They put my brother on a stretcher and my dad and he are in the ambulance. The sun is out and without a cloud in the sky it begins raining.

My mom is now freaked out about how to get back to the car and get to the McGill university medical hospital. I remember where we are parked, so I have my mom follow me and we get to the hospital by following the signs that show a blue "H" for hospital. We get there and my brother has a concussion complicated by some slight brain swelling. The doctors hold him for 24 hours under observation, where my dad, takes a cot next to his bed and we return to our camp site. We come back the next morning as none of us have slept and are exhausted. Neal is up, eating pancakes and watching a french television show, the "Magic Giant". My dad is next to him, smiling saying that they doctors are going to release my brother provided he rest for the next 48 hours. As we are getting into our car to drive back to the campsite, Neal says, "You faggots left me at the Olympics, I am mad at you".

If only he knew what we had all just gone through in the last 24 hours....