Michael Otten called his wife at 8:45 and told her to turn on the TV. He had a habit of calling her to report fires. Busy getting their three boys ready for school, she only looked for a minute, told him she’d talk to him later, and then said goodbye and hung up. This third generation firefighter would join Ladder 35 and head downtown within minutes. He had a brother-in-law who worked on the 80th floor of 2 WTC. Only one of them made it home that night.
This son of a retired Battalion Chief took a 50% pay cut when he quit his job as a mechanic to join the FDNY, but that’s what Vincent Morello, 34, wanted to do. This father of two young children was a terrific cook when it came to holiday meals, and he could fix just about anything around the house.
Firefighter Jim Giberson had celebrated 20 years with the FDNY of the 5th of September. This 43-year-old had told his wife when they married that he wanted three daughters and that was what he got. This proud father never missed a swim meet where he could cheer on his “future Olympians.” Around the firehouse for Engine 40/Ladder35, he was the one who organized and cooked the meals for every annual “Cave Men” party over the course of 20 years.
Captain Frank Callahan, 50, was a 28-year veteran of the FDNY. He joined Ladder 35 after being promoted to Captain four years earlier. Being a firefighter was his ideal job; there was never any other he wanted to do. This father of four was a quiet man who loved his home life and had a penchant for books about history.
The final member of Engine 40 to list here was Firefighter Steve Mercado, 38. This 11-year FDNY vet grew up playing stickball in the streets of the Bronx where he was born and raised and still lived. President of the Emperor’s Stickball League, this father of two was working to create a baseball and stickball league for kids under nine.
Firefighter Michael Lynch was actually based in the Bronx with Ladder 32, but was on rotation in to Engine 40 on 9/11. He was engaged to be married that November. The 7th of 10 children, he was the peacemaker in the family – and sometimes at the firehouse – where he would diffuse disagreements with humor like running after Fedex trucks and yelling “WILSON” like he was Ton Hanks in “Cast Away.”
His family has a news video of Michael, in full gear with a coil of hose on his shoulder, and fellow E40 firefighters heading down a stairway in WTC 4 to approach WTC 2 through the underground passage. When his remains were found that next March, they said he had either been carrying a woman to safety or protecting her with his bunker coat.
As a Little League coach, Bruce Gary would focus in on the kids who weren’t so good, so that by the end of each season the whole team was more rounded and equal. “He would help boost kids self-esteem,” wrote his daughter. A full-time dad to his three children after his divorce 10 years earlier, he had the practice. Gary, 51, a firefighter with Engine 40, had received a commendation following the 1993 WTC bombing.
Several months before 9/11, Firefighter Michael D’Auria told his sister “I know that when I die it’s going to be in a big way and it’s going to change the world.” Sworn in to the FDNY in May of 2001, Michael received perfect scores on both his physical and written exams. He had always wanted to become a firefighter and he was living his dream with Engine 40.
“Drive fast. Take chances.” Time after time, these were the parting words of Firefighter Kevin Bracken to his friends. This lucky man had once walked away from his flipped over car with nary a scratch. On the golf course, a shot into the trees ricocheted back onto the fairway. His friends called it the “Bracken Bounce.” This 8-year FDNY veteran, a member of Engine 40, was “the most optimistic person (she) ever encountered,” according to his wife.
Lt. John Ginley was one of five boys in a family, four of whom became New York City firefighters. They all followed their father (a 20-year FDNY veteran) into his profession. This reserved man was a very involved father with his two young children, and also apparently a master of the kind of practical joke that left no trace of its perpetrator.