Finding Light

Dan Nolan still remembers the moment he met an apparent angel. He was 27 years old at the time and about five years into pursuing his lifelong passion of being a firefighter. Not many people know what they want to be at age 4, but Dan did, having watched his Irish-born father spend 42 years fighting fires in and around Hartford, Connecticut. 

But there was something different about this particular day back in the late 1980s when Dan, who was already on the fast track in the field, joined his fellow first responders in an annual “friendly competition” between area fire departments to raise awareness and funds for the Leukemia Society of Connecticut. Dan’s station at the time, Ladder One of Hartford, had joined with other ladder companies to win the competition the last two years, but the team met with defeat against West Hartford the third year. Losing didn’t sit well with the young, competitive Dan. Determined never to lose again, Dan and his colleagues trained harder than ever before in the months leading up to the event’s fourth year. Their collective efforts proved a winning combination as the team took home the gold again. Redemption was theirs, as was the coveted #1 spot. 

Dan’s father, with whom he shares his name, had a commanding presence as a firefighter, father of six, and member of the Hartford community. “I could never fill his shoes,” Dan said, “but I could follow in his footsteps.”

Yet the intense focus on training to win at all costs had taken a toll on Dan this time. The man whose love of his profession inspired him to sleep in his smoke-infused attire following his first fire at age 22 now found himself dehydrated, exhausted, and on the verge of throwing up. He decided to slip away quietly to a more secluded area where he could regroup privately.

Within a few minutes of finding a tucked-away spot, a beautiful, roughly 50-year-old woman approached him to thank him for supporting Leukemia research and for bringing awareness to this form of cancer. Not wanting to show how ill he was in her presence, he thanked her swiftly and shared common sentiments around the event and his group’s participation: happy to help, no problem, honored to be a part of this. 

The woman then started to share more information, including the fact that her daughter had leukemia. As she continued to speak, Dan began to realize that her daughter had actually died from the disease, leaving her mom to make sure her death was not in vain. In that minute, a figurative light went off in Dan’s head. All these years his sole focus on winning had completely overshadowed the reason for competing – to save lives from leukemia. Feeling slightly ashamed, he looked away for a few seconds before turning back to thank the woman. 

But no one was there. 

He searched the immediate vicinity. Nothing. He scanned the site of the victory celebrations. Nothing. He never saw her again.

He also never competed again, choosing instead to give back whatever time, talent, and treasure he could as a partner in the fight against cancer, as a veteran, and as a proud first responder and keeper of the public’s trust. The apparent angel was gone, but his paradigm had shifted permanently, and his heart was forever changed. And that change has fueled his perspective and actions ever since.

Dan retired as Deputy Hartford Fire Chief in 2017, the same post his late father achieved and later retired from in 1994. His brother, John, retired as Captain in 2017, as well. All combined, the Nolan family dedicated 103 years of service in Connecticut’s capital city.

As a deployed solider, who served in Iraq, Kuwait, and Afghanistan, and as a firefighter for 34 years, Dan has witnessed the good, bad, sad, joyful, scary, surreal, happy or horrific, and he tries not to take anything for granted, especially his family, friends, and life. He also believes strongly that through the unimaginable, good can still prevail if one is willing to look for the windows God opens rather than focusing on the closed doors in front of them.

Dan found that perspective challenged, though, in his 18th year of firefighting when hijacked planes crashed into the North and South Towers of the World Trade Center on Sept. 11. With emergency calls going out everywhere, Dan joined hundreds of others in making the trek into New York City, determined to do whatever was needed in the search for survivors, to support fellow first responders, and to secure the area that was now Ground Zero.

“The ash was coming down like snow,” he recalled, “and I realized then that I had only experienced a fraction of the heartache the world can throw at you.” 

Hour after hour, minute by minute, teams would dig and dig, running on adrenalin and sheer hope, only to discover how quickly hope can fade away.  

“No one wanted to say what we already knew,” Dan said. 

Such scenes from Sept. 11, which history records as the deadliest day for firefighters in particular, will always be with him, but so will the compassion and resilience of the human spirit, which he witnessed in the attack’s aftermath and in the many situations he has faced throughout his career. God’s windows versus closed doors, as he would say.

From seeing a family rise above complete devastation following a home fire Super Bowl Sunday to watching parents cope with their daughter’s terminal diagnosis, to witnessing children’s courage in the midst of incredible odds both in the United States and during his service abroad, Dan finds himself humbled daily and even more committed to giving back. 

Whether working with Amy’s Angels, which provides financial assistance to individuals and families dealing with long-term illness or serious injury, serving on the Board of Lea’s Foundation, which helps fund research into the causes of and cures for leukemia and its related cancers, ensuring clean water for kids, or supporting multiple needs in his Waterford, Connecticut, community, Dan routinely steps up to serve and help, even in retirement.

Reflecting a few years ago on his journey to date in a Hartford Courant article, Dan said that he “wouldn't have done anything differently. The good days gave me happiness. The bad days gave me experience. And the worst days gave me lessons.”

And together, they have changed lives, including his own.

By Karen Gerboth @qualityfloat