Josh Raup is
The Minister of Strat Mayhem
Volume I, Number 8
October, 2001
For A Friend
It’s now October 11, 2001, and I am
writing a column I had hoped I wouldn’t have to write at all. A month has passed since the tragedies at
the World Trade center and the Pentagon.
Yet still, much of it seems unreal, Hollywood like in its presentation
and appearance. They say that one out
of every three Americans was effected directly, or knew someone at one of the
sites. I certainly fit the bill.
Back
in June, I joined the All Star Stratomatic League, taking over an existing
franchise. One of the other owners in
that league was a guy named Ken Marino.
Ken was the owner of the Arizona Rattlers, a cellar dweller team in the
league. Yet he was having fun, and
would vociferously announce that he still had the best team, despite his lousy record.
We
would “chat” online, using Instant Messenger and email. We would mostly discuss baseball, strato,
and schemes our wives would never let us get away with. We could chat for a hours, going over our
teams, or things in general. Even
though days would pass between times when we would chat, if the mood struck on
eof us, and we had the time, we would engage in conversation. He was fun to talk to, and even bounce ideas
off of.
I
never physically met Ken, though he only lived a few hours south of me. It just never even entered into our
thoughts. Even with hindsight, I have
no regrets in that regard. Well, not
too many anyway. But then Tuesday,
September 11th, 2001 rolled around.
And Atlas shrugged.
I
work over night shifts, so I’m generally sound asleep until around 2 in the
afternoon. I was awakened by several
phone calls about 9am. All people could
say was “turn on the TV, the Twin Towers have been hit.” Unreal.
It has to be some sort of accident.
After all, a B-24 crashed into the Empire State Building in the 40’s,
and didn’t do anything. But no, none of
this became the case.
We
have all seen what transpired, and seen it repeatedly. I still get sick to my stomach every time I
see the video footage. My first
reaction was shock, then sickness, then worry.
I have several relatives on the NYPD, as well as others that either
worked or lived in the area.
Fortunately, they all are safe and sound, now moving on with life. Then I hear about Ken Marino.
I
knew Ken worked for FDNY. Though in the
immediate time of events, it had slipped my mind entirely. Ken was a member of FDNY’s elite Rescue
1. Among the “best of the best” within
the department. Ken was among the first
to respond to the WTC that Tuesday. Ken
was in one of the Towers when they collapsed, doing his job, his duty, his
calling.
A
few days later, I read an article about Ken, his wife Katrina, and their two
children. The family was in the city
that Tuesday and has stopped by the station house to see Ken. That was about an hour before the world
changed. I lost it reading that
article. It hit square in the
heart. In some ways that was both good
and bad. It was good in that they had
that last opportunity. I mean, how many
others didn’t have that chance? That
last lingering memory to hold and cherish for all time. On the other hand, it makes things all that
much worse. The what if’s, the things
unsaid, the lost chances. I can’t even
begin to imagine what it must be like for Ken’s family.
They
say that hope springs eternal (just ask any Red Sox fan), and for several weeks
afterwards, anyone who knew Ken, held onto hope that he would be found
alive. As days stretched into weeks,
hope faded. Even when intellectually
you knew that the worst had happened, your heart refused to surrender to
that. You just can’t accept it, even
though you know it’s true.
More
time passed. Personally, I came to
accept that Ken was gone. Though it is
far easier for me to do so. I have a
certain degree of separation from him, because of the nature of our
relationship. Others are having a
harder time doing so, and I feel for them.
Then, just as I began to put everything into perspective, I get another
shock of sorts.
I received an email from the ASL’s
commissioner, Dave Amori jr. Katrina
seemingly had emailed the Cincinnati Red’s PR department, trying to contact Ken
Griffey jr. Junior was Ken’s favorite
player. Katrina had asked Junior if he
could hit a home run for her husband, then listed as missing. Somebody (apologies for forgetting who
exactly) passed the email to Junior prior to the game that evening. Sure enough, in a Ruth-esque feat, Junior
hit one over the fence.
I’m
not a big Junior fan. Never have
been. But, in that one game, that one
at bat, he earned his paycheck for the year as far as I am concerned. The story was carried everywhere. ESPN Radio, FOX Sports, NY Post, Daily News,
Baseball Weekly, CNN, and many smaller outlets all carried the story. Further more, the next time the Reds come to
NYC, Junior intends to meet Katrina and the kids. Junior will earn his pay for next year when that happens.
Now,
Ken is officially listed as “missing, presumed dead.” At this point, little doubt, and even less hope remains. I have just been informed that a memorial
service for Ken will be held on Long Island on Tuesday, October 16th. Unfortunately, I will be unable to attend,
though I will in spirit.
I had held off writing this column as long as
possible, hoping against hope that some miracle would happen, and I would be lauding
a hero among our ranks. Instead, I
memorialize a fallen hero. The
Stratomatic community lost one of its own that Tuesday, and probably many more
besides. Ken was one of those people we
call heroes. People who go into
dangerous situations to assist others, knowing full well the possible
outcomes.
So here’s to you Kenny.
Honor was done that day.
NYPD FDNY
September 11th, 2001
http://myinfoserver.com/findkenny/FindKenny.htm
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