Twelve Years After

Twelve years ago, sitting in a classroom in Manhattan, my life changed along with the world.  A female voice behind me interrupted the Professor to announce:

“A Plane just hit the World Trade Center!”

The events of the day as I witnessed them are ingrained in my mind forever.  The view, on the TV in the lobby, of the towers burning, seen as I rushed by.  The gasps from fellow students frozen there as the South Tower collapsed.  Running south on Lexington Ave and finally getting a cab to stop.  Waving my military ID at the driver and insisting he had to take me to my Armory on 25 St. before he left Manhattan. Hearing that the Pentagon had been attacked as well, and beating my fists into my locker in frustration.

I got my first chance at a sense of purpose when my commander realized he had no maps.  It was 11 AM or so and there were still only a handful of us at the Armory.  I found myself running against the human tide forced to walk north out of Lower Manhattan as I headed to the nearest Barnes and Noble on Union Square.  A man looked at me running and said:

“Now I’m really scared!”

The bookstore was closed, but the Soldier banging on the glass got some attention, and the manager promptly handed over every local map they had. No money was exchanged.  I ran the half mile back, moving this time with the crowds.

 At the Armory soldiers were beginning to filter in.  We formed up multiple times under various leader’s instructions.  I remember an active duty Special Forces soldier, home in NY on leave showed up in his Green Beret, because it was all he could think to do.  At one point they called for all trained medics and combat lifesavers (me) to grab our aid bags.  We did.  Then we “stood by.”  Eventually we all realized that most of the survivors were already hospitalized, and the dead were beyond our help.

“Let’s give Blood!”

“We called the hospital and they have donors lined up."

Hurry up and wait.  Finally as night set in we got a mission.  We moved out in buses, headed downtown.  We waited at the City’s Command Post while our commander got our mission.  We posted in four man teams along Canal Street.  We took turns walking down the last mile or so to Ground Zero.  I had been to a war zone before, when I had deployed to Somalia.  Now a war zone had come to my home.

In the morning we went back to the Armory and tried to sleep.

Again the next day was long and frustrating as we once again stood by for instructions.  That night we got a new mission, one we were to keep for almost two weeks.  We deployed shortly before midnight.  This time we were posted as site security right on the ground zero perimeter.  It seems that the FDNY Chief, who was the official incident commander could not keep every Tom, Dick and Harry with a badge or a government ID form just wandering onto a living fire and working rescue/recovery site.

Our job was simple deny access to any and all.  Direct them to sign in at the FDNY tent before accessing the site.  Junior soldiers, unarmed turning away the FBI, CIA, State Police you name it.  The only argument we lost was with the NYPD’s Emergency Service Unit, who were working the site trying to rescue or recover their own.

         

The memories blur over the next two weeks.  That second night it rained.

          

“God Hates Me!”  My CO muttered as the down pour began.

“No!” I rebutted “Allah hates you, God loves you.”

Later that night I turned to my closest mates and said:

“We’re going to spend more time than we thought in Uniform in the coming years!”

I remember writing a poem.  I remember going home one night and getting some real sleep.  I remember getting relieved from our midnight to noon shift and having to direct traffic for an hour.  I remember when Sean G, a fireman and one of our Squad Leaders, finally showed up, in his bunker gear, and the relief we all felt.  And Chris Engledrum, also FDNY dropped by to let us know he had made it.  Chris died, three years later, just North of Baghdad.

I remember the smiling young ladies passing out sandwiches, from the Salvation Army, from the Red Cross, from their own kitchens and their own hearts.  I saw NYC Public advocate and recently defeated mayoral candidate Mark Green at an Outback Steakhouse tent giving out food to 1^st   responders.

I remember Rudolph Guliani’s inspiring leadership.

I remember crying my eyes out at the funeral for Lt. Mike’s sister who died that day.

I remember the FEMA team from San Francisco, their recovery dogs were spent.  The handler told me fourteen days on the job was their limit after that they got to depressed.   I told her I understood.

I remember the Army Psychologist staring out a window, at Jersey City across the Hudson River and asking me what to do next.  I didn't have an answer for him.

I remember being cheered one day as we marched up Hudson St.

I remember how we all came together.

In twelve years much has changed in America.