Robin Gaby Fisher - After the Fire: A True Story of Friendship and Survival

Let me begin by thanking Shawn and Alvaro for the privilege of allowing me to tell their story. They opened their hearts and trusted me with the most intimate details of the worst days of their young lives and, in the process, taught me the meaning of courage and grace. I cherish them both and always will.

I have had the good fortune to work with incredibly talented people. I am even more fortunate that they have been willing to share their gifts with me. Star-Ledger editor Jim Willse Mr. Willse to me groomed me for the best newspaper job in the world, and I am impossibly indebted to him. This book would not have been written had it not been for Fran Dauth, editor and friend, who called me into her office on a morning in January 2000 and asked if I would be interested in telling the story of the students who were burned in the Seton Hall fire. She guided the year-long project to its exalted place as the most successful series in the Star-Ledgers history. Thanks doesnt begin to express my gratitude. Guy Sterling, Brian Murray, and Kelly Heyboer, your tenacious reporting on the fire investigation made all of us at the paper proud. Thank you for sharing your notes, your sources, and your expertise.

Little, Brown has been more than kind to a first-time author. Geoff Shandler believed in this book, then made it better with every stroke of his magic red pencil; and Michelle Aielli advocated for it with incessant enthusiasm.

A special thanks has to go to Saint Barnabas Medical Center in Livingston, New Jersey. Few hospitals would be willing to take the enormous risk it did of allowing a journalist in to watch high-risk patients in treatment, when death was the likely outcome. A decision was made at the highest level to allow me unfettered access to the burn unit. I believe this was done because the hospital realized that only a total cynic wouldnt recognize the wonder amid all the sorrow. Few people outside the unit would ever have known about the miracles that happen there had it not been for the hospitals public relations director, Robin Lally, and, of course, the incredible Hani Mansour and his staff, who urged the decision makers to take the risk. Thank you all for trusting me to tell the story of your extraordinary unit, and for allowing me to become part of your close-knit family. As the wonderful burn nurse Kathe Conlon told me early on: Not everyone is accepted in the burn unit. You have to pass the test. Im thankful I did.

I have amazing friends: Jayne Daly Munoz, Mary Romano, Kitta MacPherson Lucas, Kenny Cunningham, Marianne Timmons, Robin Boyle, thank you for believing in me.

Amy Ellis Nutt, dear amiga, few are your equal in prose, and you gave your precious time unselfishly to refine and polish mine. The value of your friendship is incalculable.

Matt Rainey, your haunting Pulitzer Prizewinning photos bring me back to those long, grueling days in the burn unit, when our working relationship blossomed into an enduring friendship.

Marilyn Dillon and Brian Horton, you inspire me.

My family is the wind in my sail. Dad, you taught me decency, drive, and determination; Carolyn, you filled a pair of shoes I thought no one could fill my moms; Scott, how many other brothers would read every word? You rock. Penny, on that dark day thirty-two years ago, we vowed to stick together through whatever else presented itself, and we have. You are sister and soulmate. Yvonne (Tootie), Nicole, Shawn, Emily, and Peter, my dear nieces and nephews, I couldnt love you more if... well, you know the rest.

Loren Fisher, the day I met you was the day the possibilities began. For eighteen years, you have shown me unconditional love, respect, and acceptance. I believe in me because you do. Now lets go to Vermont.

Robin Gaby Fisher is a nationally acclaimed news feature writer with the Star-Ledger in Newark, New Jersey. She has won a National Headliner Award and the Nieman Foundation at Harvard Universitys Taylor Family Fairness in Media Award. She was also a member of a Pulitzer Prizewinning team and a two-time finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in feature writing. She lives with her family in New Jersey and Woodstock, Vermont. This is her first book.

S hawn Simons was a light sleeper, had been since he was this big. Sometimes all it took was the rustling sound of his roommate turning in bed to awaken him. Not surprisingly, the wailing fire alarm nearly shook him out of his skin.

Shawn shot up in his bed. Not again, he said, half-angry, half-bewildered, peering at the glowing green numbers on his bedside alarm clock. It was four thirty in the morning, and the middle of one of the coldest Januarys on record in northern New Jersey. He had gotten about forty-five minutes of sleep, and his toughest class was scheduled to begin in just four hours.

The dorm had been rowdier than usual after Seton Halls surprising win over its Big East basketball rival, Saint Johns, and students had celebrated into the early morning hours with parties all over campus. Shawn had dropped in to one or two of the spontaneous gatherings, then watched a movie with his roommate before finally turning in. Sitting up now, he saw that his dorm room window glittered with frost, and a family of icicles hung from the eaves outside. As usual, his room was cold. Shivering under his heavy woolen blanket, he lay back down and hoped for quiet to return, but the alarm continued to shriek.

In the four months that Shawn had lived in Boland Hall, the freshman dormitory at Seton Hall University, the fire alarm had been pulled at least once a week. It had happened so often during December finals that he finally went home to nearby Newark to study rather than risk the constant distraction. What irked him most was that it was usually another student playing a prank. What kind of person got his kicks by scaring everyone else? He didnt understand it.

And this time was probably no different. Maybe he would just wait it out and pray he didnt get caught by the dorm adviser. Shawn shut his eyes, trying to encourage sleep, but his mind immediately started to race. Seton Hall had a rule, right there in black and white in the student handbook: if you were caught skipping a fire drill, the fine was a hundred dollars, no ifs, ands, or buts. His mother had worked two jobs all her life so that he and his older sister, Nicole, could wear decent clothing and live in a comfortable apartment. It was because of her sacrifices that they had a better life than most of the other kids who lived on their ragged city block. How could he risk her having to pay money she didnt have?

Willing himself out from under warm covers, Shawn climbed out of bed and stumbled over to his sleeping roommate, Alvaro Llanos. He had only met Alvaro four months earlier, when they were assigned to room together on the third floor of Boland Hall. Alvaro was shy and quiet, and they shared little in common except for their age and their love of baseball, and even then, they rooted for rival teams Shawn for the Yankees, Alvaro for the Mets. Nevertheless, they had hit it off. Alvaro often told people that on freshman orientation day, with students swarming around everywhere, he had pointed to Shawn and told his parents, I think hes going to be my roommate. Sure enough, when they walked into room 3028, there sat Shawn, gabbing on his cell phone. It was meant to be.

Alvaro! Shawn said, shaking his bigger, bulkier roommate by the shoulder.

He barely stirred. Alvaro slept through everything.

One hundred dollars, Shawn thought, and tried again.

Come on, Al, he said impatiently. Theres a fire drill. We have to get dressed. Get up!

Qu pasa? Alvaro asked sleepily. Sometimes, when he was drowsy, he unintentionally reverted to Spanish, the language his Colombian-born parents spoke in their home.

Its a fire drill, Al. Lets go. We have to go outside.