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Bills OT Mike Williams
and friends
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As part of a whirlwind tour of New York City on the Friday before the draft, Mike
Williams, Julius Peppers, Bryant McKinnie, Quentin Jammer and a handful of NFL executives
board a bus to visit Ladder 3 of the New York City Fire Department.
On the way to the fire station, the mood in the bus is upbeat. Peppers shyly talks
about finally being able to take care of his mother and his plans for finishing his degree
at North Carolina next spring. McKinnie, brandishing a huge national-championship ring,
talks about the Hurricanes’ revival and when he finally started believing the hype
that surrounded him. Jammer admits to being nervous before his workout at the NFL Scouting
Combine because of how much was at stake. Williams checks a few messages on his cell phone
and then jokes about what kind of car Peppers is driving these days, the traffic in
Manhattan compared to Texas and anything else that pops into his head — like the
28-ounce steak he had for dinner. When new footballs are passed around for them to sign,
Williams remarks on how maybe only Peppers should sign them, because that way they would
be worth more. That draws chuckles from the back of the bus. It’s never a dull moment
with Williams around.
Then it’s announced what the significance is of visiting Ladder 3, a station that
lost 12 of its finest on the morning of Sept. 11. Everyone who was on shift that day on
East 13th Street in lower Manhattan perished in their efforts to preserve life, and four
more who showed up early for the next shift went along to help and suffered the same fate.
The footballs the players were signing were going to the firehouse, and boxes full of
gifts in the front two seats were destined for the 18 children left without fathers.
Suddenly, the bus was silent. Conversations and joking screeched to a halt, and only the
sounds of the bustling city morning could be heard.
When the bus reaches Ladder 3, the four players pile out and begin greeting the
firemen. A truck pulls up from a different station, its passengers surely not in the
neighborhood by way of coincidence.
The players chat it up with a handful of firemen. Others stand back and admire the size
and presence of the future pros, much like men often stand together to admire food on a
grill, a new car or a finished wet bar in the basement.
"If you guys get bored, we’ve got some applications in the back," says
Jack Fogarty, a veteran firefighter who has seen a little bit of everything in his 40
years on the job.
Fogarty says the televisions upstairs in the firehouse are always on football, and his
cohorts at Ladder 3 are avid fans.
"Hey, you know you could still get drafted," another says to a veteran
fireman walking in off the street.
The man pauses to look Williams, Peppers and McKinnie up and down before offering a
response in a thick New York accent Robert DeNiro would be jealous of.
"There’s a lot of things I’m looking forward to, and dat’s not one
of ’em," he says, shaking his head at the thought of facing any one of the
group. "I’m thinkin’ retirement. Dat’s what I’m lookin’
forward to."
The firefighters take turns crouching so the players can sign autographs on their
backs. The two sides exchange shirts, hats and jokes and talk a bit about what they can
expect in the NFL and their time in the Big Apple.
"The bottom line is, are any of ’em goin’ to the Jets?" one young
fireman asks to another, nodding in the direction of the group and then singling each one
out with his finger. "Cuz we could use him, we could use him, we could use him
…"
On the wall of the station just inside the door is a huge frame supporting 13 pictures.
The pictures are snapshots of different firemen. Men we almost feel we should know. Or do
know. Someone’s uncle, a neighbor, a friend from high school. A father, a son or a
husband. They are the 12 from this very house who didn’t make it back on Sept. 11,
plus Chief John Moran from a different station, whose brother, Michael, calls Ladder 3
home.
"Any idea where you’re going?" the players are asked.
"I can’t tell you that," Williams says with a sly smile. "Talk to
me tomorrow."
Williams takes the sports section from a newspaper sitting on a nearby table and begins
to make a production over a mock draft inside. The newspaper predicted that he would go
fifth out of the five players who are in New York for the draft, four of whom are at
Ladder 3. Finding a time to bring out his sense of humor in a place that could use its
fair share of smiles, Williams begins introducing each player and where they’re
likely headed, according to the newspaper, pausing on occasion to give his two cents or
pout because of his place among his peers. His theatrics earn rave reviews.
"That guy’s good," Fogarty says to no one in particular, as Williams
moves on to tell a story and do impersonations to the delight of the firefighters.
"I’m tellin’ ya, he’s good."
Williams, with the help of Larry Gonzalez, the "unofficial spokesman" of
Ladder 3, somehow, at 6-6 and 375 pounds, sneaks virtually unnoticed to the back of the
station to try on some equipment. Emerging with a smile and donning a helmet, Williams is
again the center of attention.
"Now that’s what you guys should be wearing out there (on the field),"
Gonzalez says.
Gonzalez distributes helmets and t-shirts to the other players so they can pose for a
picture in front of the truck. Since the moment the foursome arrived, the guys at the
station have been wondering who’ll be the first picked of the bunch.
Peppers happens to be wearing the fire chief’s helmet when the cameras go off.
"Wait, now if (Peppers) is wearing the Chief’s helmet, that has to mean
he’s going first," Gonzalez jokes.
The players pose for another picture, this time with the crew of eight firemen that is
currently on shift. They all offer a smile, each no doubt appreciative of one
another’s skill and dedication.
"If you feel like you don’t wanna play football anymore," Gonzalez
bellows, "you’re welcome here anytime."
The visit is coming to a close, as it’s time for the players to be shuttled to
Media Day at a nearby restaurant. But before they can exchange goodbyes, Ladder 3 gets a
call. The men who seconds ago were standing next to future first-round picks have a job to
do. They scurry to their gear, the flashing trucks pull out, pausing momentarily in the
street so firefighters can jump on. Everyone else is getting out of the way.
"Hey, Mike," one of the firemen announces over the loudspeaker on the truck.
"Don’t worry about (the newspaper). You’re still our No. 1."
Williams laughs and waves. Everyone watches as the firemen speed off to put their lives
on the line. Even in the presence of future NFL greatness, it’s easy to spot the true
heroes on this day, and every day for that matter. |
