Tattoo Tribute

Firefighters line up for body art honoring fallen 9/11 comrades

By PETULA DVORAK
WASHINGTON POST

The drone of the needle fills the tattoo parlor as Chris Smith etches the biceps of a young tough sitting wide-eyed and frozen in one of the red vinyl chairs of Smith’s Washington, D.C. shop.
That drone — somewhere between a dentist’s drill and an electric toothbrush — is usually the only sound breaking the gruff sang-froid of this tattoo parlor.
Lately though, firefighters have been the ones sitting in the red chairs, baring their skin — and their souls — to the bald, tattooed and laconic Smith.
The subject, not surprisingly, is the extraordinary toll Sept. 11 took on their comrades.
“This guy, a firefighter, he has a huge Pentagon across his back,” Smith says. “It has Jesus and flames coming out of it. The piece is big, and he has to keep coming back to get it done in parts. When he comes in, he talks about all the firefighters who died in New York and all the people who died in the Pentagon, and all the firefighters who could’ve died in the Pentagon.”
That kind of scene is being repeated across the country as tattoo dens become therapy suites for firefighters who are having their skin adorned with images of crying eagles, planes crashing through the World Trade Center, three firefighters raising the U.S. flag amid debris and, always, the numbers 343 and 9/11.
These are new genres of tattoos and customers — from stodgy old-timers who scoffed at body art to young volunteer firefighters who consider themselves veterans if they’ve been to a barn fire.
They all want to feel closer to the 343 firefighters who died in New York on Sept. 11.
“I don’t know what it is. Everyone wants to feel the pain somehow. The needles, the blood, it reminds us of the pain,” says D.C. firefighter Jeffrey Wright. “But it’s like the saying in fire departments: ‘Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.’ ”
At least his new tattoo is forever.
“If you told me a year ago that I’d have a tattoo today, I’d say you were crazy,” says Wright, whose left shoulder is draped in a dinner plate-size tattoo that was finished last month.
It looks like a precise black charcoal rendering of a photo than ran in newspapers across the nation, showing a New York firefighter hunched over, head hung low, with his gloves dangling from his hands. But instead of gloves, Wright had his tattoo artist put a vividly colored American flag in the firefighter’s hands. And the number 343 is at his feet.
Tattoo parlors across the nation were flooded with requests for patriotic tattoos shortly after the terrorist attacks last year.
There were plenty of American flags on the bikini lines of California girls, cartoonish Osama bin Ladens — usually with a meat cleaver in the head — on college boys, and every version of pro-USA slogans, the sort of thing heard or seen in beer and truck commercials.
“It’s kind of nice to see the old stuff coming back, after years of all the trendy stuff these Generation X-ers have had done,” says Chuck Eldridge, a Berkeley, Calif., tattoo artist and historian whose shop has a temporary exhibit of patriotic tattoos throughout history.
Eldridge arrived in San Francisco as a sailor in the early 1960s. He’s now seeing a renaissance of the kind of artwork he saw then.
“In America, for years tattooing has been MTV-influenced stuff, like tribal, Celtic, Japanese stuff. Now we’re back to some of the old-fashioned stuff — flags, eagles, anchors, sailors, bulldogs.”
That late autumn swell of needlepoint patriotism among civilians has waned, tattoo artists say, but it is now raging among firefighters.

 

A desire to personally memorialize Sept. 11 has led firefighters like Jeffrey Wright of Washington D.C. to have the pain and emotion indelibly etched in tattoo form. Wright says, "Everyone wants to feel the pain somehow."
MICHAEL WILLIAMSON / WASHINGTON POST

“We can barely keep up,” says the owner of Island Tattoo in Staten Island, a man who goes by the name Dozer. A New York City firefighter he knows sketched a memorial for the New York City Fire Department; he was hoping the image would be turned into a patch for all its members. “You should get it tattooed on you,” Dozer told him. The idea took root.
More than 300 firefighters in the state of New York have had that same patch tattooed on their bodies.
To get the tattoo, Dozer also requires that before going under the needle, they write a $100 check to the Uniformed Firefighter Association’s Widows’ and Children’s Fund.
“Every day when I look into the mirror, I want to be reminded of what happened and the sacrifice these guys made,” says Roger Hall, a firefighter in Nashua, N.H., who started a Web site called Strike the Box, dedicated to firefighter tattoos and now inundated with photos of tribute tattoos.
“I think it’s like this: Usually, when a firefighter dies, there are alwaysfive, six, seven or eight thousand guys that go to that funeral. We go all over the country for a firefighter funeral, that’s what firefighters do,” Hall says. “But on Sept. 11, so many died that none of them got to have the big funeral that they knew they’d get if they ever died. So I guess a lot of us want to keep paying tribute to them in some way.”
There are nearly a dozen Sept. 11 tattoos among the members of Hall’s tiny, 200-member New England department. On his Web site, Hall also spotlights dozens of old tattoos that proclaim membership in the firefighting brotherhood, with tributes to firefighter-friendly shops across the states.
In Cumberland, Md., a short drive from the Pennsylvania crash site of United Flight 93, firefighters are tattooed with superhero and comic book versions of themselves, says Mark Skiver, owner of Personal Art Tattoo.
“We’ve done Taz coming out of the flames carrying Sylvester. We’ve done a raccoon head on the body of a really buff firefighter. A firetruck coming out of flames. Firefighters have always loved tattoos,” says Skiver, who’s done a few Sept. 11 requests, but not the number that other artists talk about. “To be honest with you, we did more business for Dale Earnhardt’s death than we did after Sept. 11 out here.”
Tattooing is intense work for the artists, who are often hunched, bent or stretched to reach body parts they decorate.
But at no time has the process been as emotionally exhausting as this past year.
“Most of these guys have a story to tell,” Dozer says. “And they relive it while I’m doing their tattoos. So every day, we go back there. Back to Ground Zero ... There’s crying. Lots of crying.”