Our family moved to St. Louis Avenue in October just prior to the fire on December 1st. My Dad, Joseph Casale, although an apprentice electircian at the time, was working as a salesman in between jobs. As time would allow it, He and my Mom, Jennie, would often pick up my younger brother, John and myself from school. On this day I was very happy they were there for us and many of the victims. Because we were new to the neighborhood and the school my Father wasn't sure what classrooms my brother and I were in. So, that day when he realized that the school was on fire he ran indoors to look for us and to help the others. In the mean time my Mother continued to look for us elsewhere. The smoke was so thick that Dad must have tried to break out a window on a door or something while on the second floor. He was looking for us and wanting to save the other children but he couldn't bear it any longer. The smoke was too thick. In the mean time my Mother ran into church where I was and so many of us were lead to pray by the nuns.When she found me we proceded out of the church where we found my brother, who was in second grade, standing outside, across the street from the school with his classroom. He was the last in the single file line. I never was so happy to see him. I thought he was lost forever. Then we all ran towards the front of the school only to find my father coming out of the building bleeding severely from his right hand. He wiped his hand on my Mother's blouse and then tried to save some of the children once he saw that my brother and I were safe. He literally picked up children who had jumped from the burning building and put them in the back seat of our car. They were so hurt but my brother and I tried to comfort them while my Dad drove us to St. Ann's Hospital. While at the hospital they examined my Father's hand and sent him away afer they stitched and bandaged Him up. There really wasn't time for Him with so many of the children needing care. But later that night Dad returned to the hospital because He couldn't move his thumb. This time He stayed at the hospital and had surgery because he cut the ligaments in his thmb. That night my brother and I were brought to my aunt and uncle's house on Spaulding. They took care of us while Dad had surgery. He was in the hospital for a while and it was a long time before he was able to move his thumb again. A few months later we were invited to attend inquiries about the fire and our family's picture made it on the front page with my Father being noted as a hero for trying to save so many children. Although He never set out to be a hero only to rescue His children and other innocent victims of that horrific fire, Dad will always be my hero. Each December 1st, when my Mom and I speak, she reminds me that it is the Anniversary of Our Lady of Angels Fire and I softly say, "Yes, I know." And then we always pray for those innocent Angels and the Nuns, who were Angels, too. And since my Dad passed away about 10 years ago, I always think about Him on Dec. 1st and how He so wanted to help and how He risked His life for my brother and I and the others. In my eyes he will always be my hero and my Angel Too! I miss my Dad and all those who died in the fire, including my friend, Maria, and I will continue to pray for you and your families and of course, My Dad, Joseph, who we miss very much. God Bless All of You, especially this eve of All Saints Day. You are all truly Saints and God's special Angels.
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