JPG

I met Pitts when I circuitously wandered into the Firemen's Garden in Alphabet City. The garden is a living memorial to Marty Celic, a fireman who lost his life in the line of duty while fighting a blaze in the abandoned tenement that once stood where the park is now.

Working simultaneously in the theater and art worlds, Pitts also voluntarily maintains this postage stamp-sized swathe of green. Instrumental in documenting and recounting the history of the ever changing neighborhood and its numerous community parks, he methodically crisscrosses the soft earth, removing autumnal debris from the benches, and keeping the weeds and leaves from burying this quiet, urban oasis: a far cry from the labor he encountered nearly 10 years ago when he first entered the lot. After decades of neglect, weeds and junk trees choked the grounds. He took it upon himself to saw, chop and rake the memorial back to health.

As we chat, the gentle rustling of leaves, buzzing of mosquitos and occasional starling charging through the branches above are the only sounds filling this .169 acre plot. Enveloped in this cool, sweet air, we could be almost anywhere...anywhere but Manhattan it seems.

In Jewish lore, there is said to be 36 hidden righteous individuals walking the earth in every generation. These unsung heroes work behind the scenes, maintaining balance in the everyday lives of the people (and universe) around them. I think of Pitts in this way, how without his steady service, the park would be swallowed whole by nature, and in turn, so, too, the memory of a 25 year-old firefighter.

"This is my call to action," he says, his eyes sweeping the yellowing canopy of trees. "I wandered in here ten years ago for probably the same reasons you did today. And I want to make sure others continue to do so."

In the JPG-COMMUNITY OP-ED photo essay.

Also in the I and Thou photo essay.

Also in the Jobs photo essay.

Also in the Contact Lens photo essay.