The Station Fire. 20 years ago. “41 Signs of Hope” by Dave Kane (1 of 4)

by Dave Kane – for RINewsToday

Photo: Nick

20 years ago the Station Fire took place on February 20th, 2003. We are honored to bring you some excerpts from the book, 41 Signs of Hope. Over the next four days, we take you back to a top of great loss, the memories and comforting of hope of one father, Dave Kane, reflecting on the loss of his son, Nicholas O’Neill.

To begin…

On February 20, 2003, we lost our eighteen-year-old son, Nicholas O’Neill, in the fourth largest nightclub fire in US history. The Station nightclub in West Warwick, Rhode Island was totally engulfed in flames in just ten seconds because of indoor pyrotechnics, flammable materials and other factors.

The book I wrote is not about a fire. It’s about the aftermath of a tragedy:  a continuing echo of signs and spiritual “visits” that I hope you will find both comforting, and uplifting.

Nick was an actor, a musician, a singer, a comedian, a composer, and a prolific writer. When he was just sixteen, Nick wrote a one-act play he called They Walk Among Us. This play is about teenagers who die and return as guardian angels. This wonderful work is not only prophetic, but a moving and inspirational celebration of life and hope!

Since Nick’s passing, his family and friends have experienced a myriad of unexplained signs and events, most of these connected with the number “41”. These occurrences have not only helped comfort us, but have gone a long way to assure us that our loved ones never really die. They are still here, around us and with us, at every moment of every day.

To many people, the stories in my book will have a very familiar ring. They  tell of happenings that at first seem impossible. Most people hesitate to share these tales with others. They worry that their stories will be written off as nothing more than the imaginings of an aggrieved loved one.

But I know better, and the time has come to share  these wonders. I hope my book will bring you comfort, encouragement and trust  in a belief that there is something more, something to embrace with  all your heart. My wish is that these writings will bring you hope!

Call My Father

We named him Nicholas, after the patron saint of children. St. Nicholas, Santa Claus. Of course, many children are named after saints. But we never realized just how special this choice was. It never occurred to us that our son, who displayed so much love and concern for others, especially children, would barely have made his  first step into adulthood – when he passed.

I say “passed” and not “died” because I don’t believe that anyone  ever really dies. They pass into an entirely new realm. One that I can’t prove exists, but that I believe in more every day.

My friend, the late Cindy Gilman, who passed in 2021, after this book as written, was a talented singer who traveled extensively and entertained audiences all over the country. But Cindy had another talent, one she had possessed from a very early age. Cindy was a spiritual medium.

I first heard of Cindy many years ago, when she hosted a very suc cessful radio show. Every week she would take calls from people     who were looking for information on a raft of subjects, but most wanted to know about loved ones who had passed on. I would listen as callers, some with tears in their voices, would ask for something – anything – that would give them comfort and peace.

Cindy would amaze me as she told these people things she couldn’t possibly know. Some years later I asked Cindy to be a guest on my own radio show. She jammed the lines with former listeners wanting to greet her and tell stories of her “on target” readings. And there were many calls from those who had never heard Cindy, hoping she could do the same for them.

I really liked Cindy, and I had always been amazed at her ability and desire to bring hope and spiritual serenity to everyone she encountered. Little did I know that this loving, five-foot- tall woman, who was sitting in my studio giving messages to total strangers, would one day be the courier of a deeply personal message to me.

It was the morning of February 21, 2003. It was the morning after  the disastrous Station nightclub fire in West Warwick, Rhode Island. I was in my car going I don’t know where, doing I don’t know what. I did that a lot in the days that followed the fire.

I got a call on my beeper from Cindy. She left a message offering  to help in any way she could. At first, I wasn’t going to return that call. I just didn’t feel capable of carrying on a coherent conversation. But then I wondered how she had known about Nick, since the media hadn’t even released the name of the victims yet. So, I decided to call Cindy after all.  

When she answered the phone, Cindy’s first words were about how she wanted to help those who had lost family members and friends in the fire. She offered to be on my radio show. She told me that she wanted to reassure those who had lost loved ones. You see, Cindy believed, as I do, that those who have passed are still with us on a spiritual level and are not really gone at all.  

I interrupted Cindy to tell her that we had lost our Nicky in that fire, and she couldn’t believe it. I could hear the genuine shock in her voice!  “I knew it! I should have said something!”  When I heard those words, I felt instant fury. Tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t believe she would say that to ME! I told Cindy that I  had to get off the phone, and I hung up.

I’m sure that my reaction confuses you; it certainly confused me. You see, I never expected to hear Cindy say what she did. Like you, I, over the years have been exposed to people who claimed to have the gifts that I believed Cindy truly possessed. Too many times I was disappointed. I would listen to these “wannabes” flounder around, ask question after question, search for clues, and miss the mark every time. They would say, “that’s what I meant”, or “I was going to say that!”.  Of course, it wasn’t what they were going to say at all!  So, when I heard Cindy use a similar phrase, it shook my belief in someone I had respected very much.

As I look back, I realize that I was exhausted.  I hadn’t slept. I was in a complete fog and completely desperate. I have always believed that the secret to living life is in how we respond to it. My mother used to say that life is like a grinding wheel.  We’re either ground down or polished by it, depending on what we’re made of.

Well, at that moment I had no idea what I was “made of”. My world was crashing down around me, and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

The next morning, after I’d had a little sleep, I started to think about my conversation with Cindy. Although I was still upset, I thought I owed her an explanation for ending our call so abruptly. I called her and tried to explain why I’d been so upset. Her response, as usual, was very gracious. As a matter of fact, there was almost a smile in her voice. You see, Cindy had an explanation for me, too.  

On the night of the fire, Cindy was awakened by a “vision” of what she described as a “charred” boy. This young man kept saying to Cindy, “Call my father! Call my father!” Needless to say, Cindy didn’t know what to do with this. But the boy wouldn’t leave her alone. “Call my father!”

Finally, not knowing what else to do, Cindy opened her personal phone book at random. And there she saw the name “Dave Kane”. Cindy told me that seeing my name gave her an idea. Her plan was to come on my show, tell the story of her visitor and his insistence that  she call his father. It was important for Cindy to try to make this connection.

As it turned out, of course, Cindy didn’t need to go on the air at all.  As soon as she heard what I told her during our conversation on the  morning after the fire, she realized immediately that the young boy in her vision was Nick, and that his message was for me!

Candles

Chris was the oldest boy. Nick was the youngest. But you would never have guessed they were ten years apart. You see, Nick and Chris were closer and more connected than any two siblings I’ve ever known. They shared a deep and abiding love for music, theater, family, fun, church, and each other.  I suppose there are several ways to describe this bond. If I thought about it for a while, some tired old cliché might come to mind. But it would be inadequate. These boys were bound to each other at the  heart; there was a silver cord that tethered them. Since Nick’s passing, that cord has acted as a sort of spiritual clothesline filled with the clean, bright, fresh-scented memories of true brotherly love.

Let me point out here that Chris and Nick were real brothers. They had their disagreements and conflicts. They would do battle and then  make up, just like other brothers. Chris was older and more “laid back.” He’s a gentle, respectful, pleasant young man. Nick, on the other hand, could be a real imp when inclined. He loved to “bust,” and he had a unique way of irritating you while making you laugh until you cried.

One night shortly before the fire, Chris was trying to get some sleep. So, of course, Nick decided to start a sing-along. Positioning himself next to Chris’s bed, Nick loudly strummed his guitar while singing old show tunes. Of course, Nick had changed the word to these songs, inserting instead, shall we say, some rather indelicate lyrics about people he and Chris knew. At this point Chris had two battles going on. One was trying to get to sleep. The other was trying not to laugh. He knew that if he gave in to the latter, that would be all the encouragement Nick needed.

The odd thing about that night was something Nick said. In an effort to enlist Chris’s help in this song fest, Nick chimed: “Okay, Chris, let’s all sing the songs from that great old musical, Carousel.” A short time later, Nick said, “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t even know what Carousel is about!” What Nick didn’t know, at least on a conscious level, is that Carousel is about the passing of a young boy who returns to watch over his family.

From the time Nick was very young, he and Chris shared a special tradition. Chris’s birthday is in June. And every year, as people stood around the table waiting to sing Happy Birthday, Chris would let Nick blow out his candles. This was something they both looked forward to. It became a running joke. “Happy birthday, Chris! Okay, Nicky, blow out the candles.” Of course, this was one tradition that  stopped when Nick passed. Or did it?

In June 2003 we were planning Chris’s birthday celebration. This was a difficult time for everyone. What should have been a happy occasion was clouded by the absence of Chris’s designated candle-putter-outer. For his birthday that year, Chris had asked for a video camera. We had put his present in a gift bag and planned to give it to him during our ride to the restaurant for his birthday dinner. We had several people in the van: Chris, his fiancé, Leah, Gabby, Nick’s girlfriend, Alex, Gabby’s brother, and Joanne. I was driving.

Joanne handed the gift bag to Chris. He reached in and took out his present. Of course, he was very pleased. But, as he started to open the box, he stopped for a moment and said, “I guess I’m going to have to blow out my own candles this year.” It got very quiet. Chris pulled the box open and took out a brochure that was folded on the top. It was then that I heard Gabby gasp, “oh, isn’t that cute!” Then, I heard Chris say, “Oh my God, Mom, look – look!”.

On the front of that brochure was a picture of a 5-year-old boy blowing out the candles on a birthday cake! At first, we were shocked, then we were completely stunned. The young boy whose picture was on the front of this Samsung video brochure, the 5-year-old who was blowing out the candles on a birthday cake, was identical to Nick, when he was five. The resemblance was so remarkable that Gabby thought Joanne and I had put Nick’s picture in the box. Gabby believes this was Nick’s way of keeping a tradition, and so do we – Happy Birthday, Chris!

Part 2 – Saturday

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Author’s Note

I used Microsoft Word ^® to type this story into my computer. When I wrote that Nick was twelve years younger than Chris, the spell checker underlined the words “twelve years,” indicating an error. I checked to see if I had misspelled twelve. I hadn’t.  I didn’t. I tried putting commas in and taking commas out, all to no avail. The error line stayed. When I finished the story, I called Joanne to read it to her. When I read the line that said the boys were twelve years apart, Joanne said, “Ten years.” I changed the twelve to ten, and the line disappeared! I guess this book is going to have more than one editor. DK