nmah6573.xml

nmah6573.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2004-08-09

I'm a Detective in the NYPD and on September 11th I was assigned to the police academy on 20th street for my second day of a 3 week intensive Criminal Investigation Course. A supervisor came into the middle of a lecture and explained a "small plane had hit the WTC", at least that was the first report. We left the classroom and climbed the stairs to the roof which offered an unobstructed view of the towers, and I remember all of these gruff Detectives saying the same "holy shit", as they first saw the destruction. I still don't like to admit it, but I called my mom. We spoke briefly and I told her I'd be going down there and not to worry, half thinking it was more a call for her to say I'd be OK like only a mom can. As we hung up, I could hear a collective scream from balconies and rooftops across the area as I caught the image of the second plane wobbling in and finally striking the 2nd tower, blowing a fireball Northbound towards where we were standing. Over the Dept radio, I heard an emergency Service cop tell central to notify the Pentagon that we were under attack. I turned to the guy next to me and we simultaneously said, "let's go".
I spent 3 days digging at ground zero and the next 9 months doing recoveries at the landfill. I had been assigned to undercover narcotics work at the time and as a result couldn't be in the media glare at ground zero. So my Partner Vic and I made the trek from Harlem to Staten Island, too many times to count. It's hard to describe what we found and what we saw. I felt like Vic and I were kind of being tough guys for eachother as we'd work together to lift someone's remains from the rubble. We were, and still are honored to have been involved in the recoveries. It made us sad at times because Ground Zero had crowds of people hugging and cheering the cops that were assigned there. We on "The Hill" had to rely on eachother for support. We'd grumble about how the city wouldn't issue us plaques to go through the $7.00 in tolls everyday, and how the freezing winter nights were more brutal because our boots and jackets were torn on the jagged edges that were everywhere and there were no replacements. We'd spend 2 hours in rush hour traffic each way to get to the 10-12 hour workday that was waiting for us. Still, we didn't need the accolades and the gourmet dinners. We had the southern volunteers sharing stories about peat moss and pecans during the meals they served in the tent. And we had banners and posters made by kids around the country that we read again and again. We had the warming huts. They were the wood structures used to catch a breather and avoid catching a cold as the contractors would remove the debris we had gone through, just to lay down the next load. These huts became Hollywood as corny jokes and silly talents took center stage. We would forget about things for a while as we waited for the front end loader to blow his horn, telling us it was time.
Looking back now, I'm proud of what I did on that day and the months afterwards. I checked a board in the supply tent each day to see that we had found remains that had identified people's lost ones. They would have a picture of the person on these boards as well and it really gave us a boost. I just hope the families know that we served them with honor and dignity, and that we felt the prayers the world had said for us.

I have always flown the flag. A proud Patriot and Grandson of Dominic Bruno, WWII Veteran. It's great to see the flags still flying.