The Neutral Corner

His name is Tommy Orlando and he was one of the toughest guys I knew.

Odds are, if you weren't from Levittown, weren't a member of the FDNY or didn't spend your time watching youth sports in Hicksville, you probably never heard of Tommy Orlando. That's your loss. Not your fault, but your loss nonetheless.

I am going to tell you what you missed because now, it's our loss too. Tommy Orlando died last week. I'm told he fell off a roof while helping a family member install solar panels. He would have been 46 in a few weeks. He leaves behind a wife, Nancy, and two children, Meghan and Thomas. And there are extended families on each side, parents, brothers, sisters, in-laws, nieces, nephews. And his brother Benny, two grades younger at Division Avenue High School, and every bit as tough as his brother.

As a kid, Tommy used to box at Echo Park. He had a heavybag in his garage and boxing trophies and medals in his bedroom. I remember thinking how cool that was whenever I went to their house. I knew Tommy and Benny since about the age of 10.

Whether we were playing street hockey on Crabtree Lane or tackle football at the North Village Green, you always wanted Tommy on your team. The primary reason was because you never really wanted to have to tackle him once he broke into the open field. Tommy was a great athlete and an even greater guy. He was always grinning, this crooked kind of grin as if he knew a joke and you didn't. The joke was usually on the kid who tried to tackle him. But after he ran you over on the field, an hour later he'd be laughing about with you.

The athletic success continued at Division Avenue High School, where Tommy excelled in football, wrestling and baseball. He was our T.O. long before Terrel Owens came along.

Tommy married his high school sweetheart, Nancy Leder. They were the perfect Levittown couple, the type of down-to-earth people that Billy Joel could have written beautiful lyrics about. "Do you remember those days hanging out at the village green?"

Hundreds of people showed up at Tommy's wake. The line wrapped around the building and mourners stood in the frigid cold just for the chance to say goodbye to an American hero. Every Sunday, we watch football players on television and make a big deal of their heroic acts on the gridiron. At a time likes this, I think, what's the big deal? Because Tommy was the real deal.

Tommy was a hero when it counted most -- when no one was looking. Tommy was a hero where it counted most -- inside his home and inside his fire house. He was the best kind of hero because he did the right thing without the fanfare, without the spotlight. He did it simply because it was the right thing to do.

Tommy made it out of one of the Twin Towers shortly before it collapsed on September 11. If anyone was going to walk away from that carnage, we knew it was T.O. The following summer, the International Boxing Hall of Fame was looking to honor a New York City fire fighter during induction weekend. I nominated Tommy. He and Nancy attended the weekend. And I will never forget people like Marvin Hagler, Alexis Arguello, Lou Duva, thanking Tommy for what he had done for our country.

During that weekend, Tommy was so unassuming and was trying to deflect the attention even at a time when the spotlight should have been shining upon him. That was Tommy. That was the last time I saw him.

Somewhere down inside, we all probably felt Tommy was invincible. That was one reason word of his passing was so hard to accept. "He was a bull," said Paul. "He was like a rock," said Cory.

I had lost touch with a lot of high school friends. But by chance, I ran into "Brownie," on a New York City subway last week. Four days later I saw him again at Tommy's wake. "I haven't seen you in years," he said, "Now I see you twice in the same week." As nice as it was to see him, we both could have done without the second meeting.

Thinking back, I had probably seen Tommy's face just about every day of my high school existence -- yet I hadn't seen him once over the last six years. It's hard to reconcile that right now. I will always be sorry for that.

But this is what I will always remember about Tommy Orlando. My junior year of high school, running meat grinders at the end of football practice. A meat grinder is when you sprint the perimeter of a football field until the coaches decide you are tired. I remember being bent over, my chest expanding, gasping for air. But looking up, there was Tommy, standing ramrod straight, clapping his hands. His eyes were clear and focused, looking forward to the next challenge.

I'm guessing that was the same way he walked into the Twin Towers on Sept. 11. He was not the type to flinch. Tommy was the type to stand up and be counted. Especially, when and where it counted the most.

We'll miss you Tommy.

Tommy Orlando at the boxing hall of fame

-- CASSIDY