That's how John Gill feels, "I know for fact people are back to their old ways. I see it almost every day." Gill, who volunteers for the Almaville Volunteer Fire Department in Smyrna, Tennessee says he and all the volunteers have noticed that they don't get the constant praise and thanks that they were getting after the 9/11 attacks.

"It's not that we think we deserve extra praise," Gill clarifies, "we were firefighters before September 11 and we'll always be firefighters. I guess we all just got a little used to being local celebrities."

After September 11 last year the firefighters enjoyed many of the perks a celebrity would.

"People would be glad to see you where ever you went," says William "Bill" Ward also a volunteer at the AVFD. People would buy you drinks down at VFW, drop you an extra side of fries at Shoney's, nice gestures."

And then there was the sex.

"Oh yeah, the younger guys were in heaven," said Ward. "If guys were in uniform on the street they'd have three women around them all the time. I've never seen anything like it. And I even played minor league baseball."

"People are always appreciative after you put out their house," notes Gill, "we've had families buy us all a big dinner at the firehouse, or make sure all the volunteers get gift certificates, things like that in the past. But last year things got out of hand. People were giving us jewelry out of their house, and the unmarried guys were getting action, a lot of action."

"Men were basically giving us their wives and daughters as thanks for showing up," recalls 22 year old Jim Alcorn. "And the women were willing. I don't think anyone in the department realized what a precious time that was."

Alcorn remembers the day it all changed.

"March 16, there was a big fire over on the edge of town," Alcorn tells the tale. "We rushed out there, put it out and all we got was a handshake. That's it. For months women had been listening to scanners and there'd be a few at the fire tagging along, giving 'immoral support' as we liked to call it. But that night there was nothing. Wife was hot, nothing. Daughter of legal age, nothing. Fully stocked bar saved from fire, nothing. We all looked at each other kind of shocked but we were sure it wasn't coming to an end, sure it wasn't happening."

"Yep, March 16, that was our September 11," laments Alcorn. "We never appreciated what we had until it was gone."