If you can get Pete Begley to reminisce about his days in the FDNY, you’re in for a treat: whether it’s his investigation of a serial false alarm psycho he eventually nabbed after analyzing callbox locations; or the kamikaze bus route he drove in the Bronx during his 1975 fiscal crisis layoff; or his vivid memories of Ladder 114 in Sunset Park, Ladder 18 on the Lower East Side, Ladder 114 in Bay Ridge…Lots of ladders.

Ladder companies search for possible victims as soon as they arrive at any emergency. They’re the ones you see running into a burning building when everyone else is running out. In essence the firefighters who responded to the Twin Towers on 9/11 formed the largest ladder company in history. That’s one memory Pete doesn’t talk about a lot.

Recently he did tell me about yet another ladder company he once called home, many years ago in southern Park Slope when realty reclamations were on the upswing. There, a  firefighter tried to convince his Ladder Company 122 mates on 11th Street to pool their money and buy a fixer-upper. Pete called him Bosco Billy-O, emphasizing that it wasn’t his real name, which elicited a derisive Duh from me but Begley didn’t smile.

Bosco was described as a bull-moose linebacker of a man, the strongest in the Company by far. In an all-male environment back then, where survival was often correlated with strength, that meant a lot.

“Hey, don’t let this moment pass you by,” Mr. Billy-O would constantly chirp. “We’re all pretty handy, why don’t we make some money like these other bums? You wanna stay poor your whole life while all these yuppies are gettin’ rich, you mopes?”

Begley knew all about booming real estate values in the area. He grew up in a four room railroad flat with four siblings on the fourth floor of a Prospect Avenue walk-up in Windsor Terrace. “Back in the 1960s my mother paid a $34 monthly rent…if she had it. It got fancied up in the 1990s and sold as a three bedroom condo for $650,000.”

But Begley, with plenty of projects at home to finish, didn’t bite on Billy-O’s bluster, unlike six of his worn-down broheem – Pete’s slang for brothers – who finally gave in and pooled their dough to form The L122 Corporation. Firefighter Billy-O then appointed himself the President in light of his oft-claimed business savvy and paperwork acumen.

Run-down brownstones being too expensive, El Presidente bought a three story frame house where the South Slope devolved into a particularly smelly Gowanus region. The seller’s steep discount stemmed from a desire to be rid of two troublesome tenants along with the decrepit building.

Undeterred, Bosco drew up a renovation plan of sorts: a new furnace, three toilets, plenty of floorboards, four doors, some electrical wiring, a few leaking pipes, sanding/painting the entire interior, and so on. An off-duty schedule was created with rotating crews assigned every week. Each shift would begin with one or two members shopping for parts that Bosco had identified while others waited in the building. These buying expeditions to various hardware stores would take a long time and after minimal work, the guys would eventually decide to relax with pizza and beer and let the next crew do the heavy lifting. But that crew would prove to be just as fond of playing cards and sipping brews in their new home away from home.

Many months later, the fixer-upper was nowhere near being fixed up…and the cantankerous tenants had yet to pay any rent. Alas, the taxes, utility and heating costs were starting to drown the L122 Corporation in debt. CEO Billy-O desperately urged them all to work harder. Then, alack, realizing his dream was doomed, El Presidente sought a buyer. Owing to persistence or luck, he eventually fielded an offer that would recoup the investment and let all shareholders walk away with a few bucks each – but with the caveat that first Bosco needed to figure out the tax implications and such.

As the weeks turned into months, the L122 Corporation experienced a shareholder uprising. Reluctant to engage in a physical battle, the firefighters – as is the custom in such disputed matters – approached the senior man in the House, who happened to be the very same storyteller his own personal self, Mr. Peter Begley.

“Hold on,” Pete complained to the guys, “why are you telling me all this? I ain’t a member of your 122 business!”

“But Pete, you need to straighten Billy-O out to keep the peace in the House. You gotta let him know unless we get paid pronto, he might experience some dangerous moments when he wished he’d been a better brother.”

Pete considered the matter. “Ah, Jeeze, I see your point. All right, I’ll talk to him.”

But when Begley broached the subject of doing the right thing with the self-esteemed L122 CEO, Bosco was not in a conversational mood: “What the freak do you care, you non-shareholder?!”

This got Pete’s Irish up. “What’s your problem, Billy-O? You think you can rob your broheem and not pay a price? It may take a while for them to arrange it, but you’ll pay.”

“Those guys are all slackers,” Billy-O countered. “I did all the work. They’re all a bunch of weak sisters!”

“Bosco, did you ever hear the expression, ‘In unity there is strength’? Because individually they might be weaker than you, but if you don’t pay them pronto, collectively they will beat the shit out of you. And you know something? I just might join in, you jerk!”

Cash disbursements ensued forthwith.

Clearly as the result of solving such Company conundrums in diplomatic fashion, Pete Begley would become a Battalion Chief, assigned to the landmarked Windsor Terrace firehouse wedged between the Prospect Expressway and Prospect Avenue, a few blocks from his old home. His new domain, Battalion 48, stretched from 12th Avenue in Borough Park to 4th Avenue, Union Street and…wait for it…wait for it…Ladder 122 in Park Slope…

September 11, 2001, was an off day for Pete. Battalion tasks were covered by Commander Joe Grzelak, his driver, although the official FDNY terminology was “chauffeur.” Pete saw the attacks on TV and immediately rushed to the Towers where he learned the collapse of the North Tower had killed Joe. Among others. Many others.

Pete at Ground Zero

The next day and many days thereafter found Pete at Ground Zero, helping to lead a rescue effort that quickly became a recovery of human remains. Many, many memorial services followed…

Living in close quarters day-and-night with others who will suddenly become your brothers-in-arms – your very lifeline during hellacious combat – does two things: it tests your tolerance and it creates bonds that can never be broken. Which is why Pete wouldn’t tell me the real name of the President of the long-defunct L122 Corporation.

*****

Atomic Duet: An FBI Story by Joe Enright, published by the good folks at J. Pinkerton Snoopington (its CEO is pictured below), is available on Amazon. Reviews and excerpts can be found here.