Today (March 15th, 2015) marks my FDNY
appointment day, 29 years ago.
It’s also, I believe, the day on which
John Goss, a firefighter and man I was extremely fortunate to know, died. He
died on my appointment day, on the same year my Dad did (1997).
John Goss spent his entire career on
the Backstep of 35 Engine in East Harlem. He never drove. When I arrived there
in early May of 1986, John Goss had already been through “the War Years,”
having gotten on the FDNY in 1962.
He’d been through New York City’s
“firestorm” of the late 1960s and 1970s. He was already a legend in that
firehouse, but John came through all that without any bluster or bravado. For him
humility was more than a mere virtue, it was his personal credo. I greatly
admired that in him. My own father and many of his WW II cohorts had that very
same character trait and like John Goss, they never took themselves seriously.
Almost all of John’s “fire stories”
were self-effacing,” like one about how he had his helmet blown off by an
advancing hose line and how he had to chase after his helmet after the flames
were extinguished. Often, John was the butt of his own jokes, a rare trait
these days. John liked nothing more than to make others laugh...to “take the
pressure off.”
I only got to spend ONE year with John
Goss, but it was a vital one, my very first in the FDNY, and John (in group 2)
was my mentor (I was assigned to group 3), so John Goss pretty much showed me
the ropes, or “broke me in,” in the FDNY parlance. I have always said that if I
could be half the man John Goss was, half as humble, half as able to make
others laugh under tense situations, half as willing to direct my own humor at
myself, I'd be OK. Believe me, that's a pretty high bar...and I'm STILL trying
(and failing) to reach it.
John has lived on inside my heart ever
since 1986.
Back in 1990, when my father was
retiring as Asst. Borough Commander of Manhattan, I commissioned a John Goss
painting to commemorate that occasion (an image of the picture is displayed
above). It captures my father’s FDNY career, starting out in Engine-201, as a
Lt in Ladder-6, a Captain in Ladder-107 (their bucket is at the window), a
Battalion Chief in the 44th Battalion, a brief stint in the Safety Battalion,
then to the 4th Division, then to the 5th and on to the Staff. John’s painting
captures it all. He said my Dad always reminded him of Jimmy Cagney...funny
stuff. The 5th Division Chief off to the left is John's image of my Dad and he
(John Goss) is the 4th Division Chief with his hand on his shoulder just off to
the right.
John has a number of paintings hanging
in various firehouses around the city and in the FDNY's Fire Museum, but one of
my favorites remains a back cover he did for the WNYF that (I believe) came out
in late 1986, with an older fireman with his arm around the shoulder of a
Probie (1st year firefighter), with the caption, “Nice job kid.” He said he
painted that with himself as the older firefighter and myself as the probie in
his mind.
To this day, I don’t think I ever told
him what an honor that was. When he told me that...I believe I said nothing. I
was pretty much speechless. I don't think I've seen that cover in over 25
years, now.
Despite his self-effacing humor and
deep humility, John Goss was a tough, “old school” firefighter. An image that
is seared upon my mind is that of John Goss’s ubiquitous cigarette’s burning
red tip providing the only light in the back of a rig after a job (fire). That,
and John’s familiar refrain, “So long old paint.”
I've met a LOT of great people on the
FDNY...far too many to mention and I know I'd leave out a ton even if I put
down 1,000 names, but John Goss was my "FDNY template," a thoroughly
good, easy-going, humble man who always got the job done, without any fanfare,
nor even the slightest bit of self-aggrandizement. I've met quite a number of
men who've lived up to that template, but in my own mind, John Goss was the
original.
A day doesn't go by that I don’t think
of my late Dad and whenever I think of him, the image of John Goss ALWAYS pops
up, as well. I miss them both and the better days their images bring to mind.
