On September 11, 2001, I was 10,000 miles away… on the island nation of New Zealand… sleeping. Even though the attacks took place in the U.S. at around 9 AM on September 11, it was 1 AM, September 12 in New Zealand, due to the time difference. Most of New Zealand was asleep.
The clock radio went off a few minutes to 7 AM, like it always did during the week. And as always, I just lay in bed, half asleep, trying to shake the morning cobwebs loose and listening to the last song being played before the news came on. I’d listen to the news, and then slowly get up to start my day.
The last song played and the news music came on, announcing it was Star-FM news. But something was different. The announcer didn’t start speaking right away… there was a moment of silence… followed by the sounds of sirens, shouting, air horns, screaming, moaning, rumbling, crashing. After years of hearing those sounds all too often, I knew it was the sounds of a tragedy somewhere in the world. Little did I know where… or the scope of it.
To be honest, the first thing I thought of was another bombing in one of the Mid-East countries, with a score or more innocent dead, from some inane attack over something that even God, himself had forgotten about. Then the announcer spoke… and I remember his exact words…”The worst attack against the United States since Pearl Harbor….” He then went on to announce the attacks and how the World Trade Center was destroyed. Still in a sleepy fog, it all seemed like a dream. I heard the words… terrorists… planes…. crash… collapse…. dead… dying…missing… I opened my eyes now…. More awake… please let it be a dream.
A few minutes later the phone rang. It was one of the local fire officers asking me if I was okay.
I said, “Yeah, I just woke up.”
He said, “Did you hear what happened?”
My groggy reply was, “I think so… the World Trade Center???”
He quietly replied, “Yes, Hank. Turn on the news. I just called to see if you were okay.”
I thanked him, threw on a pair of shorts, went to the living room and turned the TV on. All three channels were broadcasting the events that had taken place while New Zealand slept. I sat forward on the sofa in stunned silence… watching the images, listening to the words… much of it still not registering. Oh yes…I was wide-awake now…. there was no longer any doubt about it not being a bad dream.
I watched over and over as the images of the planes striking, the fireballs, people jumping, and finally, the unbelievable collapses, filled the screen of the TV one after the other: the huge dust clouds, dust covered firefighters, police officers, EMTs, paramedics, civilians, vehicles, and buildings: wrecked and burning fire apparatus, police cars, and ambulances; people running, screaming, yelling, shouting, bleeding, in shock…
I could not believe my eyes. For hours, I sat speechless, and watched in horror the events of that fateful morning. My mind was flooded with only one word… “Why?” But I couldn’t speak it. I couldn’t say anything. As the reports began to filter in of terrorist attacks, it dawned on me that somewhere in the world, there were people rejoicing over the tragedy that had struck at the heart of America. I still couldn’t say anything. Then, footage was shown of a bunch of turban wearing, gun-toting heathen bastards… men, women, and children alike, cheering, laughing, shooting in the air, dancing, chanting, shouting. The single thought “Why?” was being rapidly replaced by a torrent of hateful thoughts… the like of which I’ve never experienced in my life. “Nuke every one of those fuckin’ son-of-a-bitch cowards, and send them to their beloved Allah, whom they think it’s so great to kill innocent people for!!! Let them find out what he thinks about them and their actions when they stand before him in judgement!!!!”
Tears began to fill my eyes, and I couldn’t hold it in any more. I began to cry, thinking about all those innocent people that had died for no good reason other than some insane fanatic’s wish. The Anti-Christ has come…. it has risen.
My mind was speeding at 20,000 revolutions-per-minute with thoughts and emotions. Bitterness, hatred, anger, sadness, shock, pity, grief, horror…. every emotion a person could ever feel flooded my mind at once. Yes, even happiness…. happy that as bad as it was, it wasn’t worse. Being in the emergency services all my life, I knew things could always be worse.
After several hours of watching the TV images and listening to the words over and over again, the day’s activities were cancelled and I logged on-line to see what I could find out. My e-mail box was flooded with mail about the disaster…. but I read one that changed the whole tragedy and made it suddenly very personal… “An unknown number of firefighters missing...” WHAT? They didn’t say anything about that on the news??? I mean, deep down inside I knew some firefighters had to have made The Supreme Sacrifice, but an unknown number??
I kept reading my e-mails…. each one worst than the previous one…. “At least 100 firefighters missing… last report is 200 firefighters missing and feared dead…. at least 250 firefighters killed in the collapses….” WHAT??? NOOOOOOO!!!! IT CAN’T BE!!! And then I began thinking about all the FDNY guys I knew and had become friends with over the years, and where they were. Were they working?? Did they go the scene off-duty?? Did the retired guys I knew go the scene?? Oh my God… this can’t be!!! Every one of their names and faces started flashing through my mind. I then logged onto the Firehouse.com website…. what I saw started me crying once again…. more than 300 firefighters unaccounted for and feared dead. Dear God in Heaven… have mercy on their souls and help their loved ones. Please don’t let the count go any higher.
Over the course of the next day or so the figure came to 343 firefighters. I scoured over the casualty lists, not wanting to, but rather having to know. I was looking for the names of my buddies… hoping to God I wouldn’t see them. I immediately recognized some of the names…. I had met them, rode with them, and shared a firehouse meal or two with them. The memories of those days came flooding back…. I smiled and I cried.
That night, the town held a candlelight vigil in a Wanganui park. Prayers were offered; words of comfort, condolence and sympathy were spoken. Being the only American among the group, I was hugged, cried on, and asked to speak. I didn’t say much…. most of it was unintelligible through the sobs.
A few days later I got a phone call from one of the senior fire officers at the Wanganui Fire Station, asking me if I would speak at a memorial service being held at the fire station. At first, I said I couldn’t, and they sadly understood. But I started thinking about it and rang him back the next day…. “Yes, I will speak….” he was very happy.
I sat for five days wondering what I would say… putting down all kinds of words on paper, then deleting them again. The morning of the service, I came up with these words;
"Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen,
When I was asked to speak at today’s service I was unsure of what I wanted to say, as there have been so many different emotions and feelings that I have experienced the last 12 days.
I’ve only been living in New Zealand for a year, moving here from New Jersey, a stone’s throw away from New York City. When I woke up the morning of September 12th to the news of the terrorist attacks against the U.S., I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It wasn’t until I actually saw the footage on TV that I realized it was all very real. Furthering the shock and sadness I felt over the loss of the thousands of innocent lives, were the reports coming in of the hundreds of fire, medical, and police personnel who were missing after the towers collapsed. Being involved in the fire service in the metro New York City area for over 30 years, many of the names of missing firefighters were familiar to me, with some being friends. In the last 12 days, I’ve received confirmation of 36 firefighters bodies having been recovered from the rubble, leaving hundreds more still among the missing, but with the passing of each day the hopes of finding any of them alive greatly diminishes."
At this point, I told the story about the first firefighter to die that day, and the story of Father Mychal Judge. I also gave a wide range of statistics about the tragedy that most people, including the fire service members weren’t aware of. I concluded my speech with ……
"Having been a part of the nationwide family of firefighters in America, I now see that the firefighting family extends worldwide, and it has been heart-warming to see the support given by the people of New Zealand.
While I am not here officially representing the U.S.A., I am an American living in New Zealand, and on behalf of the citizens of America, I say Thank You!"
A photo of me giving my speech that day appeared on the front page of the Wanganui Chronicle the next day. It was 15 minutes of fame I wish I never ever had.
I began to compile the list of names and information needed to place them in “The Supreme Sacrifice,” my daily remembrance of firefighters who lost their lives in the performance of their duties. I got all the info together, but never entered it. The list sits on my desk where I can see it, and I look at it every day… and ask myself the same question…. “Will today be the day I place them into my databases?” For some reason, it seems they deserve more than to just be entered into a series of databases. But in my heart I know they belong there…. If anyone does, every last single one of them does, as do the rest of the brothers and sisters in the databases who have given their all.
I have given a lot of thought now about my databases. They are more that just that. I have come to realize that they are a shrine - devoted to the memory of the members of the worldwide fire service brotherhood who have given their lives for a single cause… their fellow man.
I am now able to pick up the list of names and look at it, with some days having gotten close to the day they’d be entered. The day is near when I will finally devote the time, but more so, the emotion, to enter these fallen brothers to join the ranks of their fallen comrades-in-arms in the shrine of “The Supreme Sacrifice,” so they will never be forgotten
Rest well, Bros... You’ve paid your dues… You owe humanity nothing.
In the years that passed after I wrote the above, it became harder and harder for me to deal with my “Supreme Sacrifice” databases. What occurred on September 11, 2001 was beyond the scope of anything I could ever imagine. I found myself in a state of constant mourning… it was like being at a funeral 24 hours a day. It took its toll on me. In addition to extremely trying matters in my personal life, dealing with the constant stream of firefighter deaths, some of which were needless, wore me out emotionally and mentally, and I began to suffer physically as a result.
In March of 2006, I made a heart-rending decision based on the primal law of self-preservation… I gave up my 14-year research on fire service line-of-duty deaths. Believe me when I tell you, it was not an easy decision to make. It took almost a year for me to finally realize the strain I was under researching the tragic deaths of my childhood heroes.
I know there are some people who found my decision to be quite dismaying. Well, I can’t control what others think, do, or say, and they are entitled to their beliefs and opinions. My answer to them is that for once in my life, I shed the self-sacrifice bullshit and did something for ME, and if anyone has a problem with that, too bad. Trade places with me and walk a mile in my shoes, then come talk to me about my decision.
