The morning of 9/11 started like every other shift at the firehouse; coffee, workout, shower and start working. Truck checks were started, equipment checked, just an average day. Ack then, we didn’t have the cell phones of today. My wife called me at the station, telling me to turn the news on as a there was a large fire at the World Trade Center. The shift gathered around our TV in the dispatch room and watched the scene unfold. Newscasters were saying that a small plane had possibly crashed into the building. From the amount of smoke and fire, we could tell that it was more than a small plane. Then the second plane struck. We could tell that this was not an accident. Our thoughts immediately went to several members of FDNY Engine 73 and Ladder 42 who had visited our station earlier that year. Men who we had shared a lobster dinner with, who we had a few beers with. Not one of us spoke. We knew that firemen were going up those towers. Men who were just doing their job. When the towers fell, we knew those men weren’t coming home.