A homemade brown ale dedicated to Edward Day.
A homemade beer dedicated to Eddy.
A homemade beer dedicated to Eddy.
A homemade beer dedicated to Eddy.
A poster showing that the USA will recover from the events of 9/11.
A poster remembering Eddie.
Edward James Memorial
Smile Memorial
A gathering of Edward's friends and family to remember him.
A group photo remembering Eddie.
A group photo remembering Eddie.
A group holding the "Our Hero Eddie" Sign in remembrance.
A gathering in honor of Edward's memory.
An FDNY police officer stands guard over a memorial to victims of 9/11.
Eddie's Memorial Service
Ladder 11 Memorial
11189 Memorial
Edward Day Memorial
A memorial service for Edward Day.
A Prayer card from a memorial service for Mr. Day.
New York Firefighter Edward Day at a group gathering.
Eddie and family
Eddie with having a drink with a police officer.
A family photo of Edward Day and his family.
Staten Island 9/11 Postcards Memorial
Wings of a Monument, Memories Soar
Queen Elizabeth II September 11 Memorial Garden
Conseleya 9/11 Memorial
Dewitt 9/11 Memorial
Montclair State University 9/11 Memorial
East Newark 9/11 Memorial
Fair Haven 9/11 Memorial
Freehold Township 9/11 Living Memorial Tree Grove
Edward Day did not just extinguish fires. He extinguished grouchiness.
At Engine Company 28 and Ladder 11 on the Lower East Side, where Mr. Day, 45, was a firefighter, he kept a sharp eye out for grumpy colleagues. They got the Day treatment: smiley face stickers slapped on their helmets.
Whenever he stayed at his mother's house in Newport, R.I., he would make the bed when he was ready to leave and then drop a dollar on it with a note, "For the maid." His mother liked to give what she called the last Christmas party of the year, held well into January. Mr. Day had a ritual at the parties: he collected all the bottle caps from exhausted beer bottles and deposited them throughout the house in her plants.
His wife, Bridgitte, was a fervent Clint Eastwood fan, so he would sign his cards to her, "Clint Eastwood."
"He was always ready to make you laugh," said Tim Day, his brother, "whether he knew you for 20 years or 20 minutes."
The first time Eddy Day met Tim's wife, Essie, he asked if she wanted a glass of wine. Sure, she said. He brought it out and handed it to her. "Excuse me," he said, and bent over and slipped off her shoes. As she watched, mystified, he marched into the kitchen and put them in the freezer.
Profile published in THE NEW YORK TIMES on October 13, 2001
New York Times Portraits of Grief
Edward Day did not just extinguish fires. He extinguished grouchiness.
At Engine Company 28 and Ladder 11 on the Lower East Side, where Mr. Day, 45, was a firefighter, he kept a sharp eye out for grumpy colleagues. They got the Day treatment: smiley face stickers slapped on their helmets.
Whenever he stayed at his mother's house in Newport, R.I., he would make the bed when he was ready to leave and then drop a dollar on it with a note, "For the maid." His mother liked to give what she called the last Christmas party of the year, held well into January. Mr. Day had a ritual at the parties: he collected all the bottle caps from exhausted beer bottles and deposited them throughout the house in her plants.
His wife, Bridgitte, was a fervent Clint Eastwood fan, so he would sign his cards to her, "Clint Eastwood."
"He was always ready to make you laugh," said Tim Day, his brother, "whether he knew you for 20 years or 20 minutes."
The first time Eddy Day met Tim's wife, Essie, he asked if she wanted a glass of wine. Sure, she said. He brought it out and handed it to her. "Excuse me," he said, and bent over and slipped off her shoes. As she watched, mystified, he marched into the kitchen and put them in the freezer.
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