"Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny." -- unknown

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results - Albert Einstein

Joe and remembering
2001-05-21 - 8:46 p.m.

** The below entry is about the death of a friend

** It no current event, but more the remembering of

** the day.

** Read on if you wish.

Yes Ive been writing alot lately.

I suppose, well I know, there are underlying issues. Ive been reading more too. Ive meant to write about some of what Ive been reading, but I havnt. Theres one thing that I want write about. Its something that Ive hardly ever talked about. There are those I shared it with, but when together...theres nothing for us to say. We all know what we think and what we feel and that seems to be enough. Perhaps since its so few times Ive been around them since it happened...perhaps its not always like that. Perhaps they do talk about it now and then. I dont know, I never asked. When I'm not with them, well theres no real time to talk about it. Its not the sort of thing that comes up in normal conversation. Its not the sort of thing that Id just bring up on my own. When I read her page, it got me thinking and I really wanted talk about it, to sort of relive it...to put it into words so that its a lasting thing. Thats whats so powerful about words, once written...they last forever.

But enough of that, let me get on to my story. Its a hard story to start. People say you should always start in the begining...but well in this case the begining doesnt really have a begining itself. Giving all the background would take to long, but rest assurd its all floating through my head. Ill begin phone call.

Im really not sure what day it was and that bothers me. Im pretty sure it was a thursday. It was just after we got back from the cafe. I was a junior going to school out in Edinboro. My roommate and I were each taking summer classes, trying to graduate on time. My roommate and I walked into our little box and I got the phone messages. My parents had called and told me to call Mike at home. This was odd because Mike went to school in upstate New York and shouldnt be home on a thursday. His school ran on semesters and mine on trimesters, so I figured this was just a week they had off. It was about an hour later I called.

Chris, Mikes brother, answered the phone. Id spent countless hours my senior year of high school sitting in Mikes basement watching TV. Chris was older than us by about five years and often darted in and out. We had hardly ever talked, there was no reason to. Chris seemed a bit flustered that I was on the phone, this too seemed odd. He sort of stammered a bit that Mike had just gone out and that he was sorry. I was confused why he was sorry, it was only a long distance call and Id call back. Parents are good for calling cards. There was a silence and he said, which I havnt forgotten, "Oh, you dont know. Shit, well...Joes dead."

It didnt really click in my head what he said. The sorry earlier did, but not those last two words. Even though he was watching TV my roommate looked over and gave me a quizical look. I was aware I said anything, but I guess I did. I must have asked something like, 'What the hell are you talking about?'. Looking back, I felt bad for Chris...he clearly thought I knew, but I didnt. I'm always the last to learn things like this it seems. People just dont think to call and tell me. I'll save you rest of the somewhat stilted and blurry conversation and just tell the story.

A lot of my confusion came from those last two words, 'Joes dead'. The first was confusing because I knew two Joes. There was Little Joe and Joe, I was friends with both. I wish I still talked to Little Joe, hes a fasinating person. This story deals with Joe though, not Little Joe. This is about the Joe I sat next to in homeroom through our senior year. He was a strange person, but thats not quite right. Strange seems to emply something bad, but thats not the point at all. He was to put it another way, unquie. Ive never been good at judging height, but he was about 5'4". He was short at any rate. He was a volunteer fireman and his nickname there was 'Scraps' or 'Scrappy'. If you ever happened into a disgreement with him, you understood way. It didnt matter his postion or what things were about, he wouldnt back down. He would argue his point or whatever as best as he could, vainly seeking a way for him to come out on top. It wasnt to the point of rudness, he just didnt like to give up.

He used to talk in these funny voices and Id mimic him. Its hard to explain here, but it was a sort of trademark with him, sort like Homer and DOH!. Thats drifting off into the land of silly and this is far from a silly story. I guess dispite my earlier remarks, I'm trying to put in background and paint a fuller picture. To sum things up, he isnt the sort of person you forget. As I said, he was a volunteer fireman and he was in training to be an EMT. That's what got him going, saving people. Hed often be up all night at the firehall or the EMT station and drag his half exhausted butt into school. He knew, he really and truely knew, what he wanted to be. He was a fireman, an EMT and thats exactly what his dream was. He used to tell us stories about calls. Did you know that when you do CPR, its not all that odd to hear the ribs POP from the compressions?

It was odd to hear Chris tell me the story with my roommate looking at me. Brian was perhaps the closest I ever really came to a true friend that Id confess and tell stories too. I think it was because he was from no where near anyone I knew and to talk about home with any sort of meaning, I had to tell him about people...which meant I had to tell him about things we did and therefor..about me. Joe was out on a call in a neighboring boro. I thought I heard wrong, in fact I was almost sure it was some sort of sick twisted joke when I first heard this, but the call wasnt a fire. It was a flood. This boro lies in a low valley on the edge of a stream thats not quiet a river. As it often does, the water flooded and foolish people thought they could drive through the water, even though it came up above the bottems of the cars. Dont people watch shows on TV?

The neighboring departments were called out to help make sure all the stranded cars in the streets were empty. Up and down they walked, checking inside cars, looking into businesses or homes....basically just making sure everyone was ok. I never heard firm details about this and I guess that's cause its hard for people to be sure. Someone asks 'Wheres Joe?' Theres alittle confusion about things, but it seems no one has seen him for five minutes or so. I never heard how they found him, but they did. It seems as he was walking up to a truck, he slipped or tripped. He fell into the water and its current, which wasnt mighty..but I guess strong enough, pulled him under the truck. His boots and firegear filled with water. If I close my eyes, I can hear him yell..even if he didnt. I can hear his voice and know exactly what he was thinking, 'Son of a!' There was no swear at the end, he didnt say the bitch part, just 'son of a'.

He was unconscious and unresponsive when they pulled him free. I cant really imagine what that was like. I know many of the people who were there and helped find him. Back then they couldnt really talk about it and well...who can blame them? He was in the hospital on support for three days. If you happen to recall, it was a national story at the time he died. I'm very bitter about that. I suppose on one hand it was great that fire departments from Chicago drove to Pittsburgh for his funeral, but who the fuck were they to take seats at the service? We, the people he lived with, almost didnt get seats. Fucking news people knocking on his families door asking them how they are feeling...I never really hated reporters before. I always sort of thought it was just their job, but they dont give a shit about the people they talk to...they just want the story. Enough of them and the out-of-towners.

I drove back Friday. The viewing was Saturday and the funeral Sunday. At least those are the days I recall them as. Kneeling before him at the viewing was odd. We went two at a time, the line was long with all the out-of-towners. I knelt with Little Joe. I can still see his face. I kept hearing his voice SON OF A! in my head. It was surreal. The service was lovely, which is an odd way to describe a funeral service if you think about it. Its a pretty unlovely time. The bishop came out from Pittsburgh. There were news vans and someone even had this huge crane like you see at construction sites so they could get high up overhead shots like with a helocopter, but cheaper. I think it was good that no one asked to interview us, there were five of us and Mikes gf, but she didnt count...she didnt know Joe.

I felt sick as we stood waiting for the casket to arrive. It was a hot day and we got there early to be sure wed get a seat. I think it was the heat and standing and the events of day. Im not to sure I ate much that day or the day before. I had to sit for a bit, Little Joe joined me. I remember this lady and a man walking past us. They were with a group of people who had driven up from West Virginia, she looked at me. Her look said a lot. It was a look of semi-disgust that I was sitting on such a day...that I didnt have the respect to stand and wait. The thought to scream and go off on her passed through my head. I bet if you asked her today...she wouldnt recall anything special about the weekend. The man with her saw my face, or perhaps Little Joes and said something about 'Lets wait over here' and off they walked. I think, perhaps, he understood.

I remember everything about the service. We sat in long, long pews. It was the biggest church I had been in, my family isnt big on churches. James was on my right and some out-of-towner-fire-guy was on my left. He was with his friends, they were all young, our age...20 if they were lucky. As we waited, one of them told a joke and the rest laughed. It was like a semi-vacation for them. A glared over at them. The one next to me asked if I knew Joe. 'Yes', I said, 'Yes I know Joe'. I used know on purpose. He kinda nodded and shhed the rest of the pew. All of us made it through the service ok until the end.

I get chills now just thinking about the end. I've been tearie eyed through most of this, but now..I know I could cry. So this will probably be short. I dont know if they do this for all fallen firemen, but they did call out over the fire departments radios, like a normal call people could pick up on a home scanner. It was a call about a fallen fireman, alot like the plane fly-overs the Air Force does with a missing plane. I dont know why, but that was just huge. Hearing the call on the radio, everyone one of us was crying. It was a very final sort of thing. I understand the gun salutes, fly-overs and giving of flags at funerals. Its a sort of closure. I remember it that everyone was crying, not just us. I dont remember to much else that day. We didnt go to the cemetary, far to many out-of-towners. Even today, I feel a real anamosity toward them. As good as thier intentions were, it was an event for them...not a funeral. They didnt belong. Perhaps the Family was comforted by them, I wouldnt have been. Person after person after person who didnt know Joe or me telling me that they had driven from X and were sorry would have set me off. I've never been one for people telling me they were sorry, or telling them I was sorry in such circumstances. Its really better not said, unless you actaully know the person and are sharing on that subconscious everything that really gets said in those simple words. There's a whole transmition of feelings when its genuine, its just....totally lacking when its said for polite reasons.

For a while I kept the program from the funeral. At first I wondered why they had programs, but now I know. Something tangable to keep and hold. Im not sure when I lost it, but I dont have it anymore. Perhaps I do, locked up in my safe. I should check and see, but I doubt it. Ive moved to many times. To many folders have gotten lost. To many people have helped me pack.

Its ok though. I dont really miss the program. Its just a piece of fancy printed paper. I still remember. I might have days wrong or I remember a slightly off cue version of the events. That doenst matter, that doenst matter at all. What matters is I remember Joe. I looked it up on 'net, it sort of scares me what you can find. The exact day he died was July 3 1997. It doesnt seem like it was that long ago. I still find myself saying 'Son of a!' and other little things he said.

I tempted to go back and reread this, to fix words I spelled wrong, or might have missed...Im prone to both, but I just dont feel like it. So deal.