When a Name Finds You

How one FDNY firefighter became part of my story at the Pierce Manufacturing 9/11 Memorial Stair Climb

Every year, thousands of firefighters, first responders, family members, and supporters gather for 9/11 Memorial Stair Climbs across North America. We climb 110 stories — not because we can truly understand what happened that morning, but because we refuse to let the names of those who never came home be forgotten.

One of the traditions I love most about 9/11 Memorial Stair Climbs is something that happens before the climbing even begins — every participant is entrusted with a name.

At registration, you’re handed a memorial badge bearing the photograph and name of one of the 343 FDNY firefighters who made the ultimate sacrifice on Sept. 11, 2001. Since many stair climbs welcome more than 343 participants, some names are carried by more than one climber. But for those 110 stories, that firefighter becomes yours to remember.

You wear their name over your heart, carrying their memory with every step until the climb is complete.

Last year, I walked into the registration tent, picked up my event shirt, grabbed my memorial card without looking at it, tucked everything into my bag, and headed back to my hotel.

I didn’t think much of it.

The morning of the climb, I pulled on my shirt, attached the memorial tag, and finally looked down at the name.

Instantly, tears filled my eyes.

The reason had nothing to do with chance.

Years before, I had reached one of the hardest crossroads of my career.

I spent a decade as a 911 medical dispatcher. It was meaningful work, but it slowly took pieces of me I didn’t realize I was losing. Eventually, I knew I couldn’t continue. Leaving wasn’t easy. Most people around me had no idea what I had been carrying, so my decision came as a surprise.

I applied for a position in fire communications. While waiting outside the interview room, I heard a familiar voice. It belonged to someone I had worked with in medical dispatch. He had no idea I was there.

When he walked out of his interview and saw me waiting, his face said everything. He told me he wouldn’t mention seeing me to anyone else. Then, almost reluctantly, he admitted something I’ll never forget: he was disappointed.

Not because he wasn’t happy for me, but because he knew if I interviewed well, I’d probably get the position.

We both wanted the same opportunity. I was offered the job. He wasn’t.

But instead of resentment, he offered encouragement. He told me he was proud of me.

That man eventually fulfilled the dream he’d been chasing for years and became a Toronto firefighter. His name?

So there I was, sitting in my hotel room, staring at the memorial tag of FDNY firefighter Michael Clarke, wondering how, out of hundreds of names, this was the one I received.

I texted my friend Mike immediately.

Neither of us could quite believe it.

Since that day, I’ve carried FDNY firefighter Michael Clarke with me wherever I go.

And somehow … I keep finding him.

Months later, while attending FDIC International at Lucas Oil Stadium, I stopped to take a photo with a friend. It wasn’t until later, when I zoomed in on the picture, that I noticed whose memorial banner was hanging directly above the entrance where I had walked in.

Michael Clarke.

Again.

This time, I wanted to know more.

I learned Michael Clarke was just 27 years old and assigned to Ladder 2 in Manhattan. He was the son of a retired New York City police officer and had dreamed of becoming a firefighter since he was a little boy, captivated by fire trucks long before he ever climbed aboard one.

He began his career on Staten Island before being transferred to Ladder 2 on East 51st Street, because he wanted to serve in one of the busiest companies in the city.

Sept. 11, 2001, wasn’t even supposed to be his shift. He had switched shifts with another firefighter.

Michael never married and had no children of his own, but family described him as a second father to his niece and nephew. He loved hunting, fishing, and hockey. He was a goaltender whose favorite player was Patrick Roy — a Canadian who inspired countless young goalies on both sides of the border.

Michael Clarke was eventually recovered from the stairwell between the Marriott World Trade Center and the South Tower.

Like the other 342 firefighters who died that day, he answered the call without hesitation.

As first responders, we often talk about never forgetting. Sometimes those words become routine. Until a name reminds you what they really mean.

For me, that name became Michael Clarke.

The 9/11 Memorial Stair Climb isn’t simply about climbing stairs. It’s about carrying someone else’s story, if only for 110 flights. It’s about making sure that, for one more day, one more year, one more generation, these firefighters are spoken about as people — not just names etched in bronze. It’s because of traditions like this, Michael Clarke continues to climb.

Every year, someone carries his name.

Last year, that someone was me. And I don’t think I’ll ever put his card away.