SI Advance

They stood in silent memory yesterday morning at Rescue 5 in Concord, and in prayer, remembering the 11 men, their brothers, who had perished when the Twin Towers collapsed five years ago.

They stood across the street from their firehouse on Clove Road, some two dozen firefighters, members of one of the city's elite rescue units, facing the building that saw fire trucks roar over the Verrazano Bridge on that fateful morning.

A memorial wreath had been placed at the firehouse door, along with two red roses and two candles left by a woman late Sunday night, one firefighter told me. Someone else, no one seemed to know who, had left a lush bouquet of yellow roses.

On any given day visitors still come to the Staten Island firehouse that suffered the worst casualties of any in the borough; it was among the hardest-hit citywide. Family members and friends will show up, comrades in arms from other firehouses, retired smoke eaters, complete strangers.

There are not as many visitors as there once were, owing in part to the time that has elapsed since that terrible, tragic day. But owing even more, perhaps, to the city's seemingly stalled renovation of the building that has left the firehouse without a floor to stand on -- trucks are parked across the street -- and its memorial showcase long ago dismantled and stored away for safe-keeping.

"That was the thing that always brought the families here," explained Firefighter Tom Ihnken of Prince's Bay. "The display case with all the guys' pictures and the plaques. With that down, it [attendance] has dropped off."

Ihnken, who grew up in Port Richmond, was off duty on 9/11 five years ago. But he made his way to Lower Manhattan on board the Staten Island Ferry once he heard the news.

"My daughter was sick and I was home," related Ihnken. "When I heard what happened, I jumped on the ferry. On the way over, that's when the second tower came down. I didn't see it; I felt it. Then there was a great cloud of debris and dust. I couldn't believe it was happening. After I got off the boat, and got up to the World Trade Center, it was a blizzard of black. People were running away as we were going toward it. It was just unbelievable; like something out of a war zone. The piles of rubbish, the pockets of fire. It seemed like a movie set. To this day, I can't actually believe it all happened."

Every anniversary of the terrorist attacks on this nation, the memories come blazing back, said Ihnken. Not that the memory of that day, and the days immediately afterward, are ever very far from his consciousness.

"It becomes an even tougher time," said Ihnken of the days leading up to 9/11, year in and year out. "With the media bringing everything up, it's tough. You relive everything. You miss the guys you worked with all the time, because they were all like family. You can never forget. It hurts when it's remembered, but it hurts when it's not remembered. You hate to see when people don't remember, when they don't remember in the world, and in our own country."

Yesterday morning, just before 9 o'clock, as the men of Rescue 5 stood in silent memory and prayer, traffic whizzed by along Clove Road and nearby Richmond Road, and overhead on the Staten Island Expressway. Just as it does every morning.

Three years ago, on the morning of Sept. 11, 2003, Gov. George Pataki went to Rescue 5 to pay respects. His presence meant a bevy of Staten Island elected officials showed up, too. But yesterday morning, it was just the men of Rescue 5 who stood in solemn remembrance.

"Some people still slow down when they drive by to look" [at the firehouse], allowed Ihnken. "Occasionally, you'll still have people say a little prayer on their way by."