Henry, William

William Henry, Res.1 (D) A day after American special forces killed Osama bin Laden on May 2, 2011, New Yorkers flooded Ground Zero and cheered, as pipers from the Fire Department tooted triumphantly. “It was pretty festive,” says retired Midwood fireman Michael Henry, who went to celebrate the death of the world’s most hated terrorist, whose casualties included his baby brother, Joey. Firefighter Joseph Patrick Henry, 25, was among the first rescue workers to arrive on the chaotic scene 13 years ago on Thurs. Sept. 11, followed by Michael, their brothers Eddie and Danny — one a fireman, the other a cop — and their father Ed, a fire battalion chief who lay trapped for hours beneath huge chunks of rubble from the crumbling World Trade Center before learning the crushing news. His youngest boy had perished along with his entire unit from Ladder 21 in Manhattan. Joey’s body was never found, but his memory has thrived. The Henrys celebrate his birthdays with neighborhood parties, and regale him to new nieces, nephews, and grandchildren, one of whom is named after the handsome, blond and blue-eyed Yankees fan. Memorials to Joey abound in front of his parents’ Bensonhurst home and at Lafayette High School, his alma mater. He is honored on the Brooklyn Wall of Remembrance in Coney Island that his mother Alice helped expand to include all rescue workers killed on 9-11, and he is immortalized at the corner of Bay 44th Street and Shore Parkway, co-named “Firefighter Joseph Patrick Henry Lane.” At the 9-11 Memorial Museum, Joey grins cheekily from a collection of family photographs, including one of him in his Gil Hodges Little League uniform. “He is a part of history now,” says Michael Henry. “Long after we are dead, Joey will live on.” The photograph he cherishes the most is one taken of the four brothers during an Irish fair at Dreier-Offerman Park in Bensonhurst the Sunday before hijackers slammed a pair of jets into the Twin Towers, turned the city into a cauldron of human remains, and made 9-11 a day of abomination. “We were enjoying life without a care in the world,” says Michael. “Who knew two days later this would happen?” That Monday, Ed Henry talked with Joey for the last time. “Dad, can you lend me $20?” asked his son. “Whenever I lend you money, I never see it again!” ribbed Ed. “Don’t worry, Dad, you’ll get it back,” replied Joey, before pocketing the cash with a smile and dashing out of the door to make his 24-hour shift. “See you at the big one!” yelled Ed, repeating a standing joke in their family, three generations deep with firefighters. “We don’t go to any big ones!” hollered back Joey, who, like most rookie smoke-eaters, relished the prospect of swashbuckling with a raging inferno someday. The pain of his brother’s loss can never be extinguished, says Michael Henry, who calls his killers “absolute animals.” “The worst part is seeing his friends get married and have kids,” he says. “Joey missed out on all that.”