9/11 Reflections: 'Doc' Clinchy

While in living New York in the 1960s, I was a firefighter north of the city. On my off days I would run with an engine company in the Bronx. Back then you could do that if you were a paid firefighter and had friends with FDNY…which I did.

Following the attacks of September 11, 2001, I deployed with the disaster medical assistance team (DMAT) Florida-1 to aid in the response. What’s unique about DMAT teams is that we’re a blend of physicians, nurses, mid-levels, paramedics, logistics folks, and administrative folks…but we’re all family. At least seven of those from that team are no longer with us, and that’s either totally or partially a result of what we were exposed to in New York City.

We just buried the most recent team fatality, Bill Powell, a retired captain from Ocean City-Wright Fire District in Florida. What took him was esophageal cancer that precipitated a massive PE while he was riding a new three-wheel cycle. Bill was dead when he hit the ground.

In my mind I can still see the framework of the South Tower and the haze that was almost constantly present the entire time we were there. Thousands of people worked the pile over the months of the recovery effort. We were there from mid-September to early October 2001. For our service we get a free annual physical exam with particular emphasis on the respiratory system. I still get mine yearly.

What I learned during my Ground Zero DMAT deployment was that I’m not bulletproof. And the emotional repercussions, while not visible, are no less debilitating for some. While in New York I had experiences that would definitely lead to post-traumatic stress. As I was preparing to deploy, my wife said, “You can’t go.” She was concerned about our youngster and business pressures. I simply told her, “I can’t not go. I have friends in the pile.” Recently, with the collapse of the condominium building in Miami, I saw the fence with pictures of the people unaccounted for, and it brought back an image of West Street in New York, where a huge wall was strewn with thousands of similar pictures of missing people.

A few months after 9/11, I was preparing a presentation for the Mountain State EMS Conference in West Yellowstone using photos I had taken with the team. I got up in front of the people at the banquet, got about halfway through the presentation, and had to stop. I said, “Excuse me, folks. I’m going to go out in the hall and get my shit together and then come back in and finish this for you.”

For so many responders and their loved ones, the effects of 9/11, both visible and the invisible, continue to this day.

Richard A. “Doc” Clinchy, PhD, LP, CHT (ret.)

President, National EMS Museum, Navarre, Fla.