And it came to pass upon the ninth day of September, in the five-and-twentieth year of the new millennium, that Sam of House Springsteen, youngest son of the famed minstrel Bruce the Elder and his noble lady Patti of Scialfa, did take an oath most solemn and brave — to serve as a guardian of the realm against flame and peril, as a firefighter of Jersey City.
In the great hall of the city, beneath banners of the state and the gaze of proud kin, young Sam did stand among fourteen brave souls, shoulder to shoulder, and was sworn into the ancient order of firemen — that valiant brotherhood of those who run toward the blaze when others flee. Thus was he girded in duty, and thenceforth counted among the 666 warriors of the city’s fire corps.
At his side stood his sire, Bruce of the E Street Clan, long hailed as the Bard of the Garden State — a man whose voice hath stirred nations and whose ballads echo still in tavern and temple. Beside him, the lady Patti, songstress and beloved mother, beamed with joy, her heart full with pride and memory.
“It was a long road,” quoth Bruce, when questioned by scribes of the realm, namely the chroniclers of CBS New York. “He is most dedicated, and we are truly elated this day.” And all who saw them knew it was truth.
Sam, now six and twenty winters old, first began his path as a squire of the flame many years past, graduating from the Fire Academy of Monmouth County in the year of our Lord 2014. Ere this day, he served valiantly as a volunteer in three fire-houses, proving his worth through sweat, smoke, and silent courage.
When first news of his knighthood in flame reached the ears of the people, Lady Patti herself took to the public parchment of the realm — Instagram — and with loving hand did scribe:
“🔥 CONGRATULATIONS … You followed your dreams… JC firefighter. 💪 Stay safe 💪 .. ❤️ Love your brave heart ❤️.”
And she did post also a portrait in black and white, a likeness of her son, noble of brow and strong of spirit.
Bruce, too, hath oft spoken of his children and the path he hath walked as father. In days past, he did share with Gayle of House King — lady of the Morning Table — that he, having known the darkness of a troubled bond with his own sire, sought not to pass that burden unto his heirs.
“Yea,” said he, “there were many missteps I did not wish to repeat. I did not want my children to climb from a pit of my making. They shall find their own trials, their own labours — that is the nature of life. Yet we always pass something on… that, too, is life.”
And so, on that hallowed September morn, as horns were stilled and the oath was spoken, it was clear to all that Sam Springsteen had found his calling — not upon the stage of melody, but within the furnace of service. And his family, those great makers of music and meaning, did rejoice in this new kind of song: one not sung with notes, but with courage, sweat, and flame.
Thus is he now counted among the heroes of the realm — fire-wielder, life-saver, and the latest in a line not only of fame, but of fierce-hearted honour.
And the people said: Lo, the youngest Springsteen hath proven himself truly “tougher than the rest.”
So let it be writ. So let it be remembered.
