25 years after 9/11, Ten House firefighter Sal Argano is the last of his 2001 crew still on the job — and he won't leave

NEW YORK — Sal Argano got lucky on Sept. 11, 2001, and he knows it.

That morning, Argano was in Brooklyn, temporarily assigned to another station instead of his usual post at Ten House, the FDNY firehouse across an intersection from the World Trade Center. Ten House's crews were among the first to respond; six of its members died when the towers collapsed. Argano can still measure what separated him from them in blocks and hours.

"If I wasn't sent out on rotation there would have been a good chance I would not be here today," he says. "I think about that all the time."

Almost 25 years later, Argano, 65, is still there. He is the last firefighter who was assigned to Ten House in 2001 and remains on staff. The company still runs calls around the clock, but it has also become something nobody planned: a living landmark on the 9/11 memorial route.

Ten House is home to Engine 10 and Ladder 10, its bay doors open onto one of the most heavily visited stretches of Lower Manhattan. Visitors to the National Sept. 11 Memorial often pause outside or step in to pay respects. Some trace the names on the large bronze relief attached to the side of the firehouse, a roster of firefighters killed on 9/11. Others just want a selfie with the gleaming rigs in the bay.

"This is definitely one of those companies where if you don't want to ingratiate yourself to the public, it's definitely not the right place," said Capt. Terence Brody, who commands Ladder 10 and has worked at Ten House since 2016. "People around the world know this firehouse. They're going to come by and say hello."

Brody, 55, was still in the Fire Academy on 9/11. Cadets were bused to ground zero with their gear after the attacks. "It was a beautiful sunny Tuesday, and then you're in this kind of apocalyptic atmosphere," he said. "It was a little overwhelming, to say the least."

In the days that followed, Ten House served as a staging area and a quiet place for exhausted first responders. Then, year by year, it became a front-row seat to renewal. The pit where firefighters searched became a construction site and then a memorial. Robert Favata, 46, joined Ladder 10 in 2008 and spent his early years working beside the skeleton of the rebuilt project. "When I got here, there was nothing," he said. "I never thought they were gonna finish."

Now the footprints of the twin towers are marked by waterfall pools ringed with the names of nearly 3,000 victims. Below ground, the 9/11 Museum holds mangled steel, a destroyed fire truck and other artifacts. New skyscrapers stand around the memorial. But at Ten House, the reckoning with that morning has not faded into the rebuilt landscape.

Argano is often perched near the open bay doors, answering questions, shaking hands and posing for photos. He tells younger firefighters — many of whom were not yet born in 2001 — that public patience is part of the job.

"This is not like any other firehouse," Argano said. "We have our fire duty, we have our responses, and then we have a responsibility toward the people outside."

Not every firefighter is comfortable with the attention. Tourists can be relentless; questions can be intrusive, glib or simply hard to answer. Many of the younger members keep a lower profile. Argano does not.

On a recent morning, after the crew handled an early call, Argano lingered near the bay. A firefighter from France and his wife stopped outside. Argano introduced himself and brought them in, pointing out the wall of patches from fire departments around the world and the worn helmets hanging overhead.

Not every exchange deserves that much effort, he says. When one visitor asked a little too flippantly why Ten House was special, Argano shrugged. "It's just a fire station." She walked away, and Argano said the question didn't leave much room for a real answer. "If I need to explain to you all of that, then it's like, 'Pull up a seat. Let me get another cigarette. It's gonna be a long one.'"

The anniversary will soon be personal for several men here. Favata considers the 25th anniversary likely one of his last before retirement, and he worries whether he has passed along the stories he inherited. "When I got here, so many of the guys worked 9/11 and they told me their stories of that day," he said, his voice breaking. "I just hope I can give like a percentage of what they've told me to the younger guys."

Brody, meanwhile, has handed in his retirement papers; his last day will be in October. He said it is strange to end where so much of his memory began. "It's interesting to think that my first day in the field was right across the street, and this is where I'm gonna end my career," said Brody, whose screenwriting credits include two Hallmark Channel movies.

Argano, for now, is not ready to leave. He still drives Engine 10 and remains convinced that the stories must be told by someone who was there. "I'm not done. I'm gonna be here as long as I can," he said. "I'm going to keep telling them what I know, what I saw, what I've been through. Telling them the history of this firehouse. Everything I can remember."