Through A Fire Captains Eyes

Look into Gene Keltys sad Irish eyes and youll begin to understand what its like to be a New York City firefighter these days; how it feels to be one of the lonely survivors in a department that lost 343 firemen and officers in a single day, more dead than in the rest of its history combined.
Bloodshot and teary, Keltys eyes have absorbed too much smoke and anguish in the endless days since Sept. 11. As Captain of the lower Manhattan firehouse that miraculously survived, but lost five men in the World Trade Center attack, hes had to grieve at the funerals of too many brave brothers he expected to know forever.
"There seems to be no end to this, no way to reconcile whats happened, to make it right," said Kelty, 47, his eyes welling up with tears and venom. "Its so frustrating to see so much pain and destruction and not be able to do anything to fix it."
Fixing things and serving his community have always been the defining characteristics of Eugene Keltys life. In addition to being a firefighter, he has served for six years as president of Community Board 7 in Flushing.
The son of a Department of Sanitation supervisor, and brother to a retired first-grade police detective and a supervising City fire marshal, Kelty lives in the same Whitestone house where he grew up.
In 22 years as a firefighter, Kelty has protected neighborhoods in Queens, riding for Ladder 136 in Elmhust; in Brooklyn, as lieutenant of Engine 205 in Brooklyn Heights,; and most recently, in Manhattan, as captain of Engine 10 on Liberty St.
"It was such a nice community," said Kelty, of the lower-Manhattan neighborhood that now lays in ruin. "Nursery school kids come through the firehouse all the time, and wed watch in the morning as people were on their way to Wall St. We really felt part of the community."
Kelty and his brother Jimmy were on the second hole of a charity golf tournament at Douglaston Manor when the squawk of his fire radio announced that a plane had hit the World Trade Center; a "1060" or "major emergency response" in department lingo, announcing "collapses, train derailments, or similar emergencies with potential for multiple casualties."
The brothers could see both towers burning as they sped down the Long Island Expwy. toward the Midtown Tunnel. The grizzly veterans had never seen anything like it before.
"The first thing that went through my mind was how are we [the FDNY] ever going to put this out," said Kelty. "I still never dreamt that the towers would ever come down."
When Kelty arrived in lower Manhattan around 9:30 a.m., the second plane had hit; Liberty St. looked like a war zone, the streets littered with computer terminals and entire desks. The sky was filled with a sea of falling paper. But there was no parade that day on the Canyon of Heroes.
His maroon golf shirt and black spikes replaced by the blue workpants of a city fire captain, Kelty was in the back kitchen of his firehouse when Tower Two collapsed.
"It was an eerie sound, like an avalanche or another plane hitting the side of the firehouse," said Kelty. In seconds, the windows of the engine 10 house were blown apart and the air was filled with gray dust and black smoke. "I was praying to God that my men and I would survive," he said.
His prayers were only partially answered.
Three firefighters and two officers from 10 House are still missing from the attack on the World Trade Center. Kelty has already attended memorial services for three of them; Paul Pancini, Jeffrey Olsen and Lieut. Stephen Harrell. He is scheduled to attend one more this month, for Lieut. for Greg Atlas, a 20-year veteran. Firefighter Sean Tallon is also still missing.
His men leave behind four wives and nine children.
"Ive never lost a man before," said a weeping Kelty. "I never realized how nice their families are. How young their kids are." In the trunk of his black Toyota, he keeps a dress uniform pressed and handy, for the two or three funerals he invariably attends each week.
Unlike other stations, which have resumed putting out fires, 10 House has been converted into a command center. Kelty spends his days doing paperwork and putting out the small fires that erupt as rescue workers hunt for bodies under tons of steel.
It will be quite some time before things are normal again in this engine captains life, until hes back where hes happiest, protecting the shops and homes of a neighborhood and getting to know its people.
"Ive heard rumors that we might be getting a fire truck soon," said Kelty with the enthusiasm of a rookie. "That would boost everybodys morale. Were trained to put out accidental fires, not acts of terrorism."