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Este informe no está disponible en español. PerspectiveThe New York TimesA Player Will Always Remember The Driver Of Car 61By ALEXANDRA STEVENSONSeptember 23, 2001 We met at the United States Open on the afternoon of Aug. 23. He was Car 61, assigned to drive my mom and me from the tennis center in Flushing Meadows to Manhattan, where I was staying. That's the drill for professional tennis players, from Pete Sampras to Venus and Serena Williams to me, with drivers hired to transport us from our hotel to the practice court and back. Most of the time, I'll tune out the drivers, letting my mom sit up front with them and make small talk while I focus on my workday. But Car 61 was different. I sat in the front. The driver had a big smile and the smartest eyes. I asked the Open officials to give me Car 61. Every day. The driver was Manny DelValle Jr., a 32-year-old firefighter from Engine Company 5 on 14th Street. He was driving at the Open to earn extra money, but he made it clear that he loved being a firefighter. He loved being the first one to the site of a fire call, loved giving kids a tour of his firehouse, loved the idea of saving lives. And now Manny is missing. We were going to have dinner with him on Sept. 13. Two days earlier, Manny climbed the stairs of the burning North Tower at the World Trade Center. He hasn't been seen since. I remember him driving us through his firehouse neighborhood one day, and I remember him swinging by the twin towers. He asked me if I had ever been to the top. "When I was 8," I said. "Bet you can't press your face against the glass and look down," he said. "Yes, I can," I said. And so that's where we agreed to go on Sept. 13 – to put our faces against the glass at the top of the World Trade Center. On Sept. 11, the terrorists struck. Manny had previously left me his mother's number in Massachusetts and his father's number in the Bronx, and these phone numbers were the only ways I could reconstruct a life I really didn't know. Manny was the Bronx-born son of Puerto Rican parents, and went to high school in Brookline, Mass., where his mom lives. While applying for firefighters' school, he graduated from the University of Maryland with a degree in business. With a shaved head, he was totally GQ – the best shirts and ties and pressed khakis. Drivers were required to wear Open ties, but Manny didn't. He looked like Derek Jeter, minus the hair. But he was humble, and it impressed me that he was driving because he wanted to pay off a trip to a cousin's wedding in Puerto Rico. He took my coach, who is from England, to his firehouse for a quick tour. He also took us to Union Square Cafe after I lost to Barbara Schett in the first round of the Open late Tuesday night. Manny, whose shift had ended, came to watch me play, but I didn't know that. Two hours later, when my mom and I came out to return to Manhattan, Car 61 was waiting. Manny tried to cheer us up and gave me a book of quotations that he said he used to bring himself up when he was down. At our post-midnight dinner, I told him about my difficult two years trying to climb back into the ranking and about all the injuries and criticism. He said: "Alexandra, it's like a flick on the wrist. Like a flea, just flick them off." He said that in the Fire Department, you had to stay focused on your event, or you could lose a life. Just focus on tennis and your job, and forget all the other things. He loved Latin music, and on the drive home, he played a haunting song about a woman who leaves her man. He tells her "no te recuerdas?" – don't you remember? When we said our goodbyes, Manny said, "Windows on the World – no te recuerdas." When we spoke on the phone on Sept. 10 to confirm our visit to the World Trade Center, I said, "Hey, Manny, no te recuerdas." He laughed. His best friend was Lt. Gavin McCutchen of Engine Company 258 in Long Island City, who used to work alongside Manny in Engine Company 5. "On Tuesday morning, Manny had finished an overnight," McCutchen told me by telephone. "And it was just after 8:45 a.m. when the call came in that a plane had hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center." So Engine Company 5's assignment was to team up with another company and walk up 80 floors and stretch the hose line. Manny was carrying roll-up lines of hose and an oxygen tank. The last time he was seen, he had stopped on the 10th floor to give a woman oxygen. On the 15th floor, the rest of his unit was called back when the building began to rumble. They looked for Manny, but couldn't find him. I still listen and watch for news of a miracle survivor somewhere in a vacuum on the bottom floors. Manny's father, who was a police officer in East Harlem for 15 years, says he still has hope. "We won't give up until the last moment," he told me. "They give up, we give up." On Wednesday in Brookline, Manny's mother held a memorial mass for him, with hundreds of Boston firefighters in attendance. I think of his mother every day, and of her pain. So I want to do something for her and everyone like me who had been touched by Manny's kindness. I don't know when or how I can do that now, but at least I can tell the world about him. Even though I knew him for only 10 days, I knew we would be friends forever. I was right. Te recordaré, Manny. I will remember you. Alexandra Stevenson, 20, is a player on the WTA Tour.
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