The Fire On Upton Street -- UNSUNG ANGELS

UNSUNG ANGELS -- written in May, 2008

It has been three months and five days since the fire that changed our neighborhood. Between then and now, I have moved, though only five blocks away. I have spent almost all of my energy trying to get unpacked and resettled.

For me, this takes longer than for some people, as I have had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome for seventeen and a half years. During this time I have reflected a great deal about the senior citizens and disabled adults who live in the high rise, subsidized, city run apartments directly behind the house that was on fire. I have interviewed my friend, Fran, and spent time standing in the parking lot where many of them were that early morning, trying to imagine just what they experienced.

Fran was awakened sometime between two-thirty and three by the smell of the smoke and the bright light of flames that flashed out of the house's windows, arcing upwards from the first floor window into the second floor. One whole side of the high rise building faces that ill-fated house on Upton Street.

Fran was one of the first to call in the fire to 911. She immediately got dressed to go outside, transferred into her motorized wheelchair, and headed for the third floor elevator.

When she pushed the button and the door opened, there was a man who was so panicked about checking his car that he tried to make her wait for the next elevator. Fran knew this was all very irrational and forced her way onto this elevator.

Between fifteen and twenty people from the high rise went to the parking lot next to the house that was burning. There was a great deal of fear that their own building could catch fire, a very real concern since the branches from the tall trees behind that house had not been trimmed by either the City of Rochester or Rochester Gas and Electric.

These branches brought the trees closer to each other and closer to the high rise. If there had been even the slightest wind, the apartment building could have easily caught fire.

While trying to understand just what my neighbors experienced that night, I was greatly disturbed to learn that the City's Housing Authority and Fire Department had no set plan to rescue wheelchair bound people from that building. There never has been a specific plan, so most of my friends in wheelchairs assume that, should there be a fire, they will simply go up in flames with the rest of the building.

Some of the people in the parking lot that night were simply terrified that they might lose their homes. They were afraid that disabled neighbors might not get out.

Some were simply in shock, watching the flames shoot out of the building in surreal patterns.

Others were there out of great concern for the Rochester Institute of Technology students who lived in that house, as almost everyone in the neighborhood greeted them on their way to the Corner Store.

Blankets were brought out to try to keep the girl and the two young men warm. Clothing was brought for the girl, who had run from the house stark naked. People stayed near to her while she sobbed. Others watched the two young men who paced back and forth, just keeping an eye on them.

For most of my neighbors who went out to the parking lot that night, it was fear, concern, and kindness that led them there. They were the unsung angels.

When the Red Cross volunteers talked to the building's social worker a few days later about visiting the residents of the tower, she said that they would have been asleep and wouldn't have been affected by it at all.

I have wondered many times if this City employee ever even spoke to the residents of University Tower about the fire. How could she have turned the help of the Red Cross away, when these wonderful neighbors needed someone to talk to afterwards just as much, if not more than, anyone else in our neighborhood? And why did she assume they did not wake up? Why did she think it had not affected them? Did she know of their kindness?

The social worker did not live there. Her answer revealed that she did not even know the senior citizens and disabled adults for whom she was supposed to provide service.

On Friday night, I placed the two roses on the gate in front of the house: one for Seth and one for Sayid. More flowers and other symbols of the love and sadness of our neighborhood, appeared over the next few days.

On Saturday morning, my friend, Fran, went to the Public Market in her motorized wheelchair. She was the President Pro Tem of the tenants association for the building. She wanted there to be flowers in front of the house from all of the residents. Seth and Sayid had chosen to live in our neighborhood, instead of miles away on the RIT campus, because they loved it there.

Fran wanted to find locally grown flowers that would last a while in the cold. A local flower seller at the public market suggested some tiny, purple flowers that were very sturdy. On her way home, she found a vase at the flea market. Everything was from the neighborhood, which was what Seth and Ali would have wanted.

I wish I could have witnessed what happened later on that Saturday afternoon. I have imagined it many times in my mind.

We live in a city full of violence, in which the tension between rich and poor, and people of different races is felt by all. This one act on behalf of the residents of the high rise apartments gave me hope.

Fran is Caucasian. Her friend, Cherylnn, is African American. Both women travel by wheelchair. These two neighbors set out in their motorized vehicles down the elevator, across the sidewalks, and across the parking lot to the gate in front of the house on Upton Street.

One of them carried the vase with the beautiful purple flowers. The other carried a Bible.

They placed the vase in front of the gate, where it could be easily seen by all. It was nearing the end of the day. It was that time of the year when twilight seems to come so early. Soon it would be dark.

These two women living with disabilities, from two different races, stayed near all the flowers by the gate. They remained together in front of this place of tragedy. They held hands and read the 23rd Psalm together.

I do not know which translation they used. I have placed here the one most familiar to people. This quiet act of deep spirituality spoke louder to me than the voices of a thousand choirs. Truly, the voices of the angels spoke through these two women in their gentle tribute to two wonderful young men who had been their neighbors.

"The LORD is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down
in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul;
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff
they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me
in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou anointest my head with oil;
My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house
of the LORD for ever."