SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
CONCLUSION
With the black dust dissipating into gray dust, Mel and I separate as he heads to the command post, wherever it is and I start my search for my wife Jean. I am in a dazed and confused state, just suffering through the second collapse, but my instinct tells me I should walk back to our apartment and maybe Jean got home in time.
Walking on Albany Street, where just a short time ago I was being careful not to step on body tissue that is now covered in snow like gray dust. I make my way towards West Street, I notice firefighters attempting to extinguish a handful of cars on fire, a fire officer directs the operation from on top of another vehicle’s roof. I walk passing by L 113’s cab of the rig is on fire, and four ambulances that were positioned at Liberty Street and West, two of them are blown over and the back doors are open. Other than the team of firefighters extinguishing multiple car fires, I do not see anyone else.
Finally I run into a familiar face, it is Lt. John Ryman, I used to work with him in L 5 years ago, he is attempting to gather names of firefighters missing. He jots my name down on another sheet. I don’t feel like, nor do I have time for small talk and I keep walking towards home. I next run into Capt. Paul of L 10, he is assisting a fireboat crew establishing a large diameter hoseline water flow to incoming companies. I tell him about Jean, he knows my wife and I tell him I need to search for her. He tells me to “do it, do whatever you need to do”.
Walking up my street, I am about to enter my apartment house. Tony The ‘Doorman’, immediately comes out, “Fireman, do we have to evacuate?” he says suspensefully. “Tony, it’s me, Dan”. For a second he has a confused look, I am covered in gray. Tony finally realizes it’s me and I ask him; “Did Jean come home, have you seen Jean?”. He stops, and looks overwhelmed with distraught, “No, I have not seen her”.
The elevators are not working and I climb the nine floors to my apartment, number 9F and bang on the door. I left my house keys back in my locker in the firehouse. I bang again, but there is no answer. It’s the last straw and I am overcome with grief. I believe that Jean died with her office colleagues when the Tower collapsed.
I walk back down the nine flights, I am confused as to what action to take. I need a break to sit and pray for guidance, I am swamped with despair and confusion. Outside our apartment is a green bench seat that I sat on, waiting for Jean to come home from work when the weather was nice. It’s our spot and I sit and begin to pray. “Please GOD, keep Jean safe, give me directions, please guide me, what do you want me to do, where do I start”.
My thoughts are interrupted by a photographer who is snapping photos of me. There is nobody else around, and I politely ask him to stop, “this is not a good time, please move on” and the kind photographer obliged.
At that moment I received the message loud and clear from GOD, it’s simple; “ENTER YOUR APARTMENT”. The message is clear and I re enter my apartment building, I find Virgil, one of the building engineers and tell him I need a hammer and chisel. He looks quizzically at me, and I reiterate; “get me a hammer and chisel”. Virgil is back within moments and he and I climb the nine floors to my apartment where I proceed to force entry into my apartment using the hand tools.
As soon as I force open the door, that very second the telephone rings. It is Jeans Aunt Lee and she is inquiring about Jeans welfare, “Where is Jean?”. I tell Aunt Lee that I don’t know, I need to look for her. Immediately Aunt Lee goes into a panic, “She’s dead, IS SHE DEAD?”, I try to console her, I tell her I need to go and look for her, but she persists, and I’m forced to hang up on her. Immediately the phone rings again, and I’m thinking Aunt Lee, but this time it’s my dad, who never calls me. He asks if I’m “OK”, I tell him I am, but I need to go find Jean.
“I KNOW WHERE SHE IS!” he exclaims, I cannot believe what he is saying and he reveals that “Jean is at the ‘Chinatown’ firehouse, do I know where it is?”, I reply; “Of course I do, Dad”, he follows up, “Jean’s Mom called us, she is at the firehouse, she just got off the phone with her Mom!”. With that I slam the phone down, turn my forcible entry handtools back over to Virgil who is witnessing these few amazing minutes. I slam the door shut and relocks, thanking Virgil as I make a mad dash down the nine flights of stairs once again, skipping over every other step.
My truck is right where I left it, now covered in gray, I reach under the bumper where I kept a spare key in a magnetic container and take off. The roads are clear and empty, I pull up to the quarters of L 6, a firefighter is on HW and I ask if he there is a “Beautiful Red Head here”? He points to the tv room door that is closed. I open it and there is my wife, covered in gray and soaked to the bone. She is surprised to see me all covered in gray, figuring I would still be at my study class on Staten Island.
We embrace, and she asks, “Where were you?”, I simply don’t have the energy or strength to elaborate, and say “You don’t want to know”. Jean and I are blessed to be survivors.
Sadly, my partner from Proby school has died, Lt. Joe Leavy of L 15 along with the proby who helped me inspect the rig and had a positive attitude Scott Larsen. In addition, Fireman Pete Bielfeld who I was partnering up with on 9/11 died, he left a note and his keys in a locker at L 10.
Also, killed was Harvey Harrell who I was sitting next to during our Fire Tech prep class on Staten Island just before a firefighter bursting through the doors announcing the WTC has been hit by airplanes.
L 5 sustained a heavy hit, Lt. Mike Warchola, the President of our “Hot Dog Club” working his very last tour, Tommy Hannafin an outstanding basketball player, my mutual partner John Santore, Greg Saucedo, Louie Arena, B2 Aide Faust who spoke "way to fast" and Paul Keating who was finally “on time” perished along with Lt. Vinny Giammona who told me only weeks before that these were our “Glory Days” and about to celebrate his 40th Birthday.
Three employees from the Bank of America where my wife worked were killed. In their memory, BofA purchased and dedicated three engines for replacement.
May we Never Forget the innocent lives of those who perished from such a cowardly act. May we remember those who have died since of illness, those who still suffer and their families.
And yes, Vinny, you are absolutely correct; those were our "Glory Days".
Thanks for reading and allowing me to share. KMG-365