God, It's Me, Francisco Rodriguez

It’s my last day at the 9th Precinct in Manhattan where I have served faithfully for over thirty years since 1982.  There are things I like to talk about like my grandkids Romana and Dalby who love coming over to grandpa and grandma’s house after church on Sunday.  I also like to talk about my daughter Francesca and her very fair skinned Irish husband Shawn McGuiness who is a hulk of a man with a great career at Colby’s Electronic Design Firm.  Yeah, he’s a real computer geek who earns a pretty hefty salary, but he talks about things I don’t a thing about.  I won’t stop him from telling me, though.  I love talking about my wife of almost forty years, Maria. You can believe this or not, but on our first date we went to see West Side Story where I just “Met a Girl Named Maria.” 

Fate is a funny thing, but it can bring about events that I don’t much care to talk about.  I know someone will bring it up at my retirement ceremony, but I sure don’t like talking about it, that’s for sure. 

In my long tenure at the 9th, I did take a lot of guff.  Some of it was a bit racist as some of those know-it-all guys like to whisper “wetback” when they think I can’t hear, but I do and I just quit letting it get to me.  I let it quit getting to me, because I know the truth.

My grandfather came to this country during the troubles down in Guatemala and he heard about Caesar Chavez and the National Farm Workers Association.  During a rally, Pedro Rodriguez, my grandfather, met Dolores Huerta who was working alongside Caesar.  He went to work in the San Joaquin Valley in California.  He took his son Roberto out into the fields when he was just fifteen to help him, but my father did not care for the labor under the hot California sun, so he bid his father and mother goodbye and traveled across country on the train until he reached New York City where he managed to get a job as a sanitation worker.  Both me and my sister Rosaria managed to get into Columbia University.  I would like to tell you that I graduated with honors, but that was Rosaria's story, not mine. After dropping out in my junior year, I became a beat officer with the 9th.  After a lot of sweat and strain, I managed to become a detective in the homicide unit.

I cannot say the ride was smooth and flawless, but I had no complaints until one morning.  It was a Tuesday morning in late summer, but I do not like to talk about it.  I really don’t.  When I talk about it, the nightmares start all over again. So please forgive me for my discretion.  

“Detective Francisco.” I hear the intercom blare out my name, “Please come to the chief’s office.”

Normally that would mean trouble, but I know better.  He will ask me for my gun and badge.  Then we will walk into the conference room where there will be reporters and the entire precinct gathered to hear the chief speak about my career.  And then I will say a few words while someone cuts the big cake in the center of the room.  I will talk to a few reporters so I will be able to see myself on the evening news.  After a few handshakes and pats on the back, I will get in my car and drive away for the last time.

I am getting a lump in my throat already.

“Hey buddy.” Don Parcinni shakes my hand.  He was there that day I don’t like talking about.  He was a rookie back then, a tough kid off the streets of Brooklyn. “Last day.  Must be excited.” 

“Sure, sure.” I say with my fake smile.  I can feel an uneasy settling of my stomach.

“Dunno know how we are gonna get along withoutcha.” He grins some more, but what he means is that I was the one they always called when they needed a translator for some of the Spanish speaking people who needed to make a statement.  Most of them were from Puerto Rico trying to earn some money to send home and became drug mules in the process. Most of them had no idea what they were being asked to do.  Just carry this bag from here to over there on the bus.  It was always like a punch in the gut to hear them talk about it. 

“Come on in, Lieutenant Rodriguez.” The Chief was all smiles as he shook my hand. “We got a lot of folks to come.”

“That’s great.” I smiled back as he led me down the hall to the conference room.  I had no idea of the shock that awaited me.

She was there.  Sheila McAllister still looking quite stunning after all these years with her hair still auburn and those piercing green eyes.

“Cisco.” She hugged me.

“Sheila.” I muttered. “So much time.” 

“Yes and a day doesn’t go by when I don’t miss him.” She said with a slight catch in her throat. 

“Nor I.” I was being truthful as I held her hand.

September 11, 2001

I remember getting into the office around eight just like I had done every morning since I became a detective.  Ian was my assistant who used to play a game with me to see who showed up at the office first.  On this particular day, he was the winner.  We used to take a tally and whomever lost had to buy the doughnuts.  

Ian was a big strapping young man with golden hair and bright blue eyes.  He was a gym rat after work, so he was solid everywhere it counted while I, with my muffin top, appeared a bit dumpy even wearing a suit jacket and tie.  Rumor was that he had played semi-pro football at quarterback and safety since you had to play both ways in semi-pro ball.  

“Gotcha two and oh.” He picked up one of the tally cards.

“I get sick of paying for the doughnuts all the time.” I shook my head.

“Hey, we got a red alert.  We are sending all units on this one.” Sergeant Warner announced over the intercom.

“Us, too?” Ian shook his head with an expression of bewilderment on his boyish face.

“Yeah, you too.” The Chief stuck his head in the door.

“What gives?” I asked.

“World Trade Center.  Big fire.  We may need to evacuate the building.” He coughed, “I heard the North Tower is on fire.”

“No kidding?” Ian asked since the Chief was known to pull pranks from time to time. 

“Fraid not this time.  It’s real as far as I know…so get a move on.” He ordered.

We were assigned to drive one of the precinct unmarked cars parked in the garage under the main part of the precinct building.  Within minutes, Ian was behind the wheel while I manned the electronic equipment.

“What’s it saying?” He asked as he pulled onto the street.  There were sirens wailing everywhere.

“North Tower is on fire.” I confirm, “Chrissake, there are people trapped in the tower.” 

“They’ll get ‘em off with choppers.” Ian sniffed.

“Sure as hell hope so.” I could see a plume  of smoke billowing up from the general direction of lower Manhattan where the North Tower stood.  I put our siren on so they would know we were coming.

When we got there the area was cordoned off and there was pandemonium everywhere. I looked at Ian and he looked back at me.

“Whadda think?” He asked, checking to make sure his badge and gun were in place.

“I have no idea.” I checked as well and then craned my neck to see, but with one hundred and ten stories, it was hard to see anything.  

“We got quite a bunch of firemen inside.” The uniformed policeman informed us as we came to the police tape where he was standing.

Ian and I flashed our badges.

“The ninth?  My brother is stationed there.” He smiled when he checked our badges. 

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Donnie Jacobee.” He said waving us across the line.

“Yeah, I know him.” We both said at once.

“Here’s the situation as I know it.” The officer said, “It appears that an airplane has crashed into the ninety something floor.  From what I have it was American Airlines Flight 11 out of Boston.”

“A big plane?” Ian took a step back, but he still could not see anything.

“Big enough.” The policeman shook his head. “No elevator.  Stairs only.” 

Ian was in the building before I could even move.

Something exploded and it took me a minute to realize it was the body of a human being exploding on impact with the ground.  Blood splattered everywhere.  And it was followed by another.  It was raining people from  the upper floors.  I made my way into the doors where I vomited into a trash can.  I knew there were others falling and that thought made me sick to my stomach.

I could hear screaming coming from the stairwell where I managed to climb a few stories knowing that Ian was well on his way to the area where there was trouble. It would take me and my muffin top a little bit longer to get there.  My heart was already trying to pound its way out of my chest.  I was gasping for air, but the smoke filled stairwell was not offering much oxygen at that moment.  I heard a scream as someone went falling past the stairs.  It was a woman and she was on fire.

There was a rumbling as the stairs moved beneath my feet. I grabbed the rails for stability, but the building began to shake and stability was slowly slipping away.  Papers began to fall light rain, except this rain was ablaze as it floated down from above.

More screaming.  Voices shouting that they were on fire.  I started to vomit again, but this time there were tears in my eyes.  I had no idea of the scope of this disaster.  I closed my eyes, but that only shut off the visual hell I was in.  I could still clearly hear the screams, the prayers, and the voices.

“Dear God, it’s me, Francisco Rodriguez.” I kept climbing the stairs. “Please tell my wife that I love her.” 

A man faced me, his eyes were wide in terror and the right sleeve of his sports jacket was on fire.  Without thinking, I grabbed his flaming arm and smothered it against my body and the wall.  He screamed as his flesh was being consumed by the flames, but somehow I managed to put out the fire.  Once he realized he was no longer on fire, he smiled at me.

“Thank you so much.” He looked at his singed arm.

“Get a move on.” I commanded as he ran down the stairs.

There were others who followed.  Some were not on fire, but those who were, I continued to administer what I could to stop the fires.  I was only about sixteen floors up.  Ian no doubt was twice as far and the smoke kept getting thicker.  It seemed that there were quite a few who were able to escape, but the farther I ascended the stairs, the more people were pushing forward in a complete panic.

“I saw him jump.” One woman was crying as her companion held her.

“He was on fire near the break room.” A man following told his buddies surrounding him, “I mean flames from head to toe.”

“I was blown out of my chair at my desk.” A woman was in shock as she passed. “My boss got blown out the window…just his shoes was all that was left.”

More flames rained down on those trying to flee.  Another rumble and the building seemed to move from its foundation.  I felt if I went any farther, I would become a victim not a person sent to help.

I never want to admit I was a coward, but when I looked up at the floors above me, there was nothing but smoke and flames.  Anyone left was surely killed by the fire.  I began to descend the stairs knowing there would be plenty of people on the ground who would need assistance.  I wasn’t running from, I was running with people who needed help.  Once I had managed to get out of the building, I realized Ian was still inside the burning building.

There was another loud explosion.  I swore I heard a jet engine just before the explosion.  Then it began to rain parts, parts of glass, cement, debris, and people.

“The South Tower has been hit!” One of the policemen yelled pointing at the other tower. In horror, I looked and saw the South Tower was now on fire.  

I closed my eyes that were filled with tears.

Many of those who had just escaped the North Tower, now saw that the other tower was now on fire.

“Back inside.” One of the firefighters yelled to those gathered around the North Tower. 

“No…no…I can’t.” A man stood and sobbed.

More debris began to fall.  Bigger pieces, all on fire.

“We will die if we go back in there.” A woman pointed to the North Tower.

“We will die out here if the debris falls on us.” A man with half his shirt burned from his body opened the door and went inside.  As more debris fell, the more of the survivors went inside the burning North Tower.  I went with them. 

Firemen ran up the stairs to retrieve any survivors they could find.  I went with them, because I wanted to find my partner.

“Detective, you are in danger.” One of the firefighters told me.

“Sure, my partner is up there.” I pointed.

“We will get him.” He promised as he ran up the stairs with other members of his unit.

More explosions.  More debris falling inside the stairwell.

“The building is going to collapse!” I heard some yell from above.

The building was indeed swaying.  Some of the stairs began to pull away from the staircase.  

From the smoke appeared Ian.  He was on fire.  He was not screaming, but you could see him writhe in pain. 

“Ian!” I ran to him.

“I’m on fire.” His whole back was ablaze. His sport jacket and skin were becoming melded together.  He reached out to me with his black fingers and patted me where my holster was.  He nodded.

“Please…please.” His eyes were pleading for me to end his excruciating suffering.  

“No…anything but that.” I shook my head.

“Please for the love of God, Cisco, do it for me.” His hair was now a blaze and I knew that the pain would only get worse.  I removed my gun from my holster, put the barrel to his forehead and pulled the trigger.  It was over.  

I wound up being transported to the hospital by ambulance to have my own burns treated.  I spent a day there while they treated me for some superficial burns I had suffered.

“God, it’s me, Francisco Rodriguez, thank you for saving me from that fire.” I closed my eyes and let the tears fall into the pillow where my head lay.  

When I awoke the next morning, Maria was sitting in a chair by my bed.  When she saw me open my eyes, she buried her head in my chest and sobbed and sobbed.

The chief made a speech that went along with a PowerPoint highlighting all of the best moments of my career.  Maria held my hand and Francesca and Shawn were there smiling and nodding at me with each point the Chief made about my sterling career, but I could not help glancing over at the table where Sheila sat with her two grown sons, Patrick and Neal and their wives and children.  

I will never understand how God chooses those he redeems and those who are doomed, but regardless of the outcome, He does hear our prayers.  Our prayers may not seem as though they are answered, I do know they are heard in our moment of trial, when our lives hang in the balance and we are delivered to our fate, we must never take our time here for granted. 

Are you there God?  It’s me, Francisco Rodriguez, and I want to thank you for all that you have given me in what I call my life. I have done it all in your name, the good and the bad and in those moments when I felt you reach out and touch me.