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Published: May 2, 2010
Even in Times Square, where little seems unusual, the Nissan Pathfinder parked just off Broadway on the south side of 45th Street — engine running, hazard lights flashing, driver nowhere to be found — looked suspicious to the group of sidewalk vendors who regularly work this area.
And it was the keen eyes of at least two vendors — both disabled Vietnam veterans who say they are accustomed to alerting local police officers to pickpockets and hustlers — that helped tip off the authorities to the Pathfinder, illegally and unusually parked next to their merchandise of knockoff handbags and $2.99 “I Love NY” T-shirts.
Shortly before 6:30 p.m. on Saturday, the vendors — Lance Orton and Duane Jackson, who both served during the Vietnam War and now rely on special sidewalk vending privileges for disabled veterans — alerted nearby officers about the Pathfinder, which had begun filling with smoke and then emitted sparks and popping sounds.
Over the next several hours, numerous firefighters and officers — from patrol officers to those in specialized units — all did their part in minimizing the potential damage and handling a volatile situation.
But in a city hungry for heroes, the spotlight quickly turned to the two vendors. Mr. Orton, a purveyor of cheap T-shirts, ran from the limelight early Sunday morning as he spurned reporters’ questions while gathering his merchandise on a table near where the Pathfinder was parked.
When asked if he was proud of his actions, Mr. Orton, who said he had been selling on the street for about 20 years, said: “Of course, man. I’m a veteran. What do you think?”
Mr. Jackson, on the other hand, embraced his newfound limelight, receiving an endless line of people congratulating him while he sold knockoff handbags, cheap watches and $5 pashmina scarves all day Sunday in a Times Square that seemed completely back to normal despite a ratcheted-up police presence and a swarm of news crews.
He told and retold his story to tourists, reporters and customers: how he heard the “pop, pop, pop” coming from the vehicle, and then detected “the smell of a cherry bomb or firecracker or something.”
The authorities would later say that three canisters of propane and two red five-gallon cans of gasoline were found in the vehicle, rigged with fireworks and timers.
“There are a bunch of us disabled vets selling here, and we’re used to being vigilant because we all know that freedom isn’t free,” said Mr. Jackson, 58, of Buchanan, N.Y.
“All of us vets here are the eyes and ears for the cops,” he said. “Whether it’s three-card monte games or thieves, we know the cops here by first name — we have their cell numbers,” said Mr. Jackson, who said he had vended on city streets for many years.
He spoke of his time during the Vietnam War, where he served in the Navy from 1970 to 1973 aboard the aircraft carrier Ranger, and how even as a street vendor, he said he tended to a table near the World Trade Center during both the 1993 bombing and the terrorist attacks in 2001.
Fire Department officials were more modest about their role. They said they responded to a report of a car fire at the location, but realized upon arrival that there could be explosives in the vehicle, said Battallion Chief Tom Meara, who was at the scene.
Lt. Mike Barvels of Engine 54, also at the scene, said firefighters moved people away and readied the firehoses, but then decided to leave the vehicle untouched, since the popping and sparking indicated the possible presence of a bomb.
“We took a defensive position and cleared people away,” Lieutenant Barvels said.
Chief Meara said that police emergency crews were quick on the scene and that the bomb squad was called in.
“Just opening the door could make things worse,” the chief said.
Unlike the firefighters, Mr. Jackson certainly chew readily on the cud of heroism offered to him by reporters and tourists who heard about his role.
Wayne Jackson, a self-described “born-again Christian” from Sasketchewan, prayed with Mr. Jackson for several minutes and asked the Lord “that you may alert us to more attempts on this brave country.” Several police officers, sweltering beneath their bulletproof vests, came up to shake Mr. Jackson’s hand. A woman with a British accent, rushed up and said, “Are you the one who saved us? Thank you.”
“It could have been a lot worse,” he told a bank of television cameras and deftly turned to tell a customer, “That’s $8 on the watches.”
As for Mr. Orton, he seemed to be proud of his time in the service, often wearing military fatigues and acting “very militant,” according to Carlos Liranzo, 18, a former neighbor of Mr. Orton’s in Washington Heights.
He said Mr. Orton, who no longer lives in the building, told the story of how a grenade that exploded near him had left him with injuries that included a permanent limp.
When Mr. Orton left Times Square around 7 a.m., he did so to a hero’s reception. As he walked down the street, employees from Junior’s restaurant stood outside applauding him. He briefly entered the restaurant before heading toward 44th Street.
Using a cane and wearing a white fedora, Mr. Orton limped away and hopped a cab home to the Bronx, but not before repeating a terror-watch mantra: “See something, say something.”
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