“Monday, June 18th is a day that our city will never forget. Never. We lost nine of the bravest men doing what they love to do best: fight fire. These guys were the best.”

–Chief Rusty Thomas
City of Charleston Fire Department

After a long week of coverage, a long week of sitting in an edit bay watching those images over and over again, reminding me of what it was like the week after 9/11, I went to the scene of the deadly fire in West Ashley.

It was the first time I had been by what used to be the Sofa Superstore since the night of the fire itself, when a thick black column of smoke made me curious and let me to drive by the fire just twenty minutes or so after firefighters first arrived on the scene.

Since that terrible night, when nine firefighters were lost, the public has erected a makeshift memorial to the fallen heroes. Nine white crosses made of PVC piping line the sidewalk in front of the burned-out structure. American flags, flowers, photographs, cards, stuffed animals and toy fire engines are among the items that have been added throughout the week.

Traffic along Highway 17 slows to a crawl in this area, as motorists slow to view the display.

In a word, it is heartbreaking. I knew it would be. But after a week of seeing it on videotape, I needed to see it in person.

Mourners walk along the sidewalk, reading posters written by young and old. Among them are firefighters from around the country. They came here Friday for the public memorial service. That morning, a procession of more than 300 fire trucks and first response vehicles made their way from downtown Charleston, past this scene, to the North Charleston Coliseum, where more than 20,000 people attended.

Some of those firefighters are still in town, not ready to leave just yet. Perhaps this was their final goodbye; maybe they needed to come here one more time.

I tried a couple of times to say something to them, but as I tried to come up with something — anything — that seemed like it might be remotely comforting, emotion got the better of me, and I knew I’d never be able to get a word out.

It seemed that a lot of people faced the same struggle. I saw many sets of eyes that focused on the firefighters wearing t-shirts from their own hometown department, even saw a few who took a few steps towards them. But there was that hesitation.

What do you say to them? “I’m so sorry for your loss” seems trite. “Thank you” doesn’t seem to come anywhere nearly close enough to the gratitude they are owed for being willing to put their lives on the line to save a stranger every single day.

The firefighter community is so strong. It is called a “brotherhood.” And I can’t think of a more appropriate term, because that is exactly what it is to them. These aren’t colleagues they lost: they were family members.

And as has been reported, this event was the single biggest loss of firefighters since September 11th.

As the out-of-town and out-of-state firefighters leave for home, they are placing t-shirts from their own departments on the shrubbery along the sidewalk. States from here all the way to California are represented in a final show of support: “We are here with you.”

More than once, I choked back some tears of my own. There is no way to prepare yourself for a scene like this. No matter how much you look at the photos or the videotape, it does not prepare you at all for the enormity of what you see when you get there.

I was actually beginning to congratulate myself for not losing my composure. Then I passed a scene that had been blocked from my view by a group of people. I don’t really know why this is what got me, of all that is there to take in; I can’t explain how this hit a nerve harder than anything else. But for some reason, this was too much:

In memory:

Engineer Brad BaityCapt. Mike Benke

Firefighter Melvin Champaign

Firefighter James “Earl” Allen Drayton

Assistant Engineer Michael French

Capt. William “Billy” Hutchinson III

Engineer Mark Kelsey

Capt. Louis Mulkey

Firefighter Brandon Thompson