The bell tolls for another hero of 9/11
'I'd do it again,' said NYPD sergeant from West Brighton about his work at the pile

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Tuesday, March 11, 2008

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. -- In this town, 9/11 never goes away.

Not for long, anyway.

This weekend's 9/11 story wasn't just that the "Survivors' Staircase" was moved from Ground Zero, to be returned someday as part of the memorial when the new buildings go up.

There was another reminder closer to home.

Staten Island lost NYPD Sgt. Ned Thompson at age 39 on Sunday morning, just hours before one of his favorite events, the St. Patrick's Parade, would step off a couple of blocks from his West Brighton home.

The father of four young girls, a superstar cop in the West Village, lost his battle for life in Manhattan's Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center.

And we lost another Islander who did what he knew to be the right thing in the hours after the Sept. 11 attacks, and who paid a terrible price.

Thompson was a first responder from the Sixth Precinct, just up West Street from the attack site. He worked the bucket brigades in the days following the building collapses, sifting the debris in hopes of finding survivors.

HACKING COUGH
He'd develop a hacking cough later on. Something unusual for a nonsmoker, the doctors said. Then, in December, he was finally diagnosed.

Cancer.

It's a story that has become familiar in this town.

And, after years of fumbling, the city has begun to accept responsibility for such illnesses.

"I'd do it again," Thompson told people of his work at Ground Zero.

And it makes you wonder how New Yorkers got so lucky as to deserve the Ned Thompsons of the world.

Thompson would have never made it as a Hollywood version of what a New York City cop should be. Oh, he looked the part all right. Big and burly, with an open Irish face. But Thompson didn't go in much for blustery attitudes or loud talk.

He was a quiet guy. Funny, in a clever, understated way. With humor befitting an English major out of Villanova University. But never crass.

"It just wasn't his way," said Lt. Mike Casey, Thompson's boss at the Sixth Precinct. "He was always the consummate professional. But if something had to be done, you called Ned. It got done."

He was the go-to guy the higher-ups asked to analyze crime stats. And to plan operations.

"He had a real feel for the work," said Casey. "He was so smart."

Thing was, because he was so cool under stress, Thompson was also the one the bosses would prefer to see leading a squad on the street, and going through the door on a search warrant.

A while back, an NYPD supervisor told a story of being at a meeting at One Police Plaza when Police Commissioner Ray Kelly singled out Thompson for personal recognition after his squad broke a big Manhattan-wide case.

In keeping with his personality, Thompson's family had never heard of his being so honored.

The young sergeant operated the Street Narcotics Enforcement Unit for years in the West Village, supervising thousands of arrests and having a big hand in the latest round of drug clean-up chores at Washington Square Park.

He was very good at that sort of police work, too, it would turn out.

"If we had a few more guys with Ned's intelligence and drive, there wouldn't be any crime," Casey said, only half-jokingly.

A NICE WAY ABOUT HIM
For all his success at gritty police work, Thompson had such a nice way about him, there was just about no one better at personal interaction.

"You're the kind of person people want to emulate and be around," a friend wrote Thompson last week, in his final days. "The sight of you always evokes a smile."

Thompson and his wife, Justine, were at a supermarket checkout counter at the Jersey Shore a few years back when a scruffy guy behind them nudged the off-duty cop 50 miles from home.

"You're Big Nick from Washington Square Park, right?" the person said, using the handle the dealers in the West Village had hung on the cop from West Brighton.

"That's me," Thompson acknowledged.

"You locked me up," the former miscreant said. "But you were a really cool guy about it. Thanks."

Not many cops have the experience of being thanked by the people they put in cuffs. Thompson also had his priorities straight.

As much as he loved his work, he wanted to spend time with Justine and the four little girls. And he did.

Then there were his friends.

Legions of them.

Kids who grew up with Thompson in West Brighton, and shot hoops in his driveway. His college roomies from Villanova, where Thompson was one of the biggest sports fans on the pretty Lancaster Avenue campus.

His pals on the NYPD, the men and women with whom he shared pizzas at John's on Bleecker Street, or knocked down a beer or two at Fiddlesticks after a 4-to-12 tour of chasing the dealers off West Eighth Street.

They've all been revisited once more by 9/11.

"Since Ned's been sick, they've been trying to find someone to take over his job," Casey said yesterday. "The people who know him don't want to do it. They know what it's going to be like trying to fill his shoes."