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2002-08-29

September 11, 2001 - - Gerry Keefe

My account has many similarities to others who witnessed the attacks that Tuesday, but unique to me. I am 38 yrs. Old, and live with my wife Kathy and our two daughters in Chatham, NJ, about 30 mins. from Manhattan. And I started this day on the 10th. My work as an insurance broker working from home since 1993, has recently become much more internet-based, and I hadn?t been on an appointment outside the house for many weeks. But on the 10th, Danny (an estate manager in Millbrook, NY) & I had finally picked the 11th as the day we were going to get together for a day of R&R from work (Millbrook is a beautiful country setting with wealthy estates at the foot of the Berkshire Mountains). We had cancelled plans to do this numerous times, but on the 10th Danny called to ask me to come up. I was excited to finally get a day out of the house, and the two-hour drive to Millbrook has always been mind-clearing for me. But as is always the case with the best-laid plans, a wrinkle developed when a client (James) called from Allentown, Pa. and asked if I would drive him to the airport A.M. on the 11th. This was a wrinkle because I always liked to get an early start whenever I drove the two hours up to Millbrook so we could have maximum time to hang out before the trip back.
On the morning of the 11th, James was supposed to be at my house (where he would leave his car while he traveled) at around 8:00 am for a 9:30 flight out of Newark. But he was delayed by traffic coming in. By 8:20, I called Chris (his wife) to see where he was, and she told that he was probably in traffic. One memory I have before James arrived, standing in the driveway alone, was how beautiful the beginning of that day was. The sun was shining and the blue sky was cloudless. A perfect Fall day, and without a doubt my favorite time of year. I was very excited about traveling and enjoying the day. I thought the trip to the airport was going to be a footnote to that day.
We left sometime after 8:30, and as we drove we discussed his new application for insurance and the items we would need to complete underwriting. Once out on Rt. 78 heading East, the World Trade Center Towers appeared as if at the end of the highway (It always reminded me of the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz). But as we drove we were both suddenly aware of the smoke pouring from the side & roof of Tower One. I immediately reflected on years of watching smoke & steam rising from various parts of the City, and dismissed this. Than the sickening feeling that this wasn?t ordinary.
As you approach Newark Airport, you really had a spectacular view of the Trade Centers looming across the Hudson River. Lower Manhattan is laid out as if you were
Viewing it from an observation deck. And as we approached the ramp to the Airport, we switched on CBS 880 radio and heard that a small twin-engine propeller plane had most likely lost it?s way and struck the tower (I remember a man, early on, recounting how low the plane was as it passed over head). The contrast of the smoke rising into that crystal blue sky was sickening. But harsh reality was bearing down . . .in a split second we looked over and saw the huge fireball as the second plane struck Tower Two. We looked on in disbelief. Awestruck. The shock value insulating us from what had actually happened. And cringing to ward off the bite of reality as Tower Two began to hemorrhage smoke. All in a matter of seconds.
We proceeded to the airport, where I dropped him off in front of Terminal C. He and I hadn?t really fully grasped what had happened. I can?t even believe it now. And as I drove off, I remember thinking that I shouldn?t have left him there.
As I exited the airport, I crossed the overpass looking east down Rt. 78, directly at the Trade Centers. And they were completely engulfed in smoke that was trailing South.
I stopped to look. I remember how strange it seemed that the column of smoke rose just slightly above the Towers before it made a beeline South. So we knew the wind was blowing hard up at the top, and fanning the flames inside. But somehow I could just distance myself from the horrors that must have been going on inside those Towers.

**
I spoke with several people who stopped in their cars and we were in shock.
I remember saying to one that ?tomorrow all that will be left is two smoking candles after the tops of the Towers have burned out? (the night before I had contemplated taking my video camera to Millbrook, but had decided against it, now I wished I had).
I drove home, realizing that this was big and that I should record this for posterity. I arrived back at the house about 9:30, and put in a tape (I recorded for 6 hours until the tape ran out at 3:30 on Channel 2). I again tried to reach Danny, but the lines were all busy. So, I drove north, not realizing what had taken over our lives, and listening to CBS 880. They did a terrific job of covering this event. They play that Teletype sound in the background when they announce breaking news, and they were doing this every couple of minutes with updates. As I drove, you could still see the smoking billowing up on the horizon, and still that beautiful Fall day, stained by the most terrible of events. I called Kath, who was at work, from my cell phone. And when I finally got through to tell her what I saw, the news was still sketchy and we were still trying to piece together the details. I didn?t realize that all those people at Ground Zero were trying to reach their loved ones until a while later, and so I stopped using my phone so more important calls could go through. I tried once more to call Danny to see if I should still come up, but all the circuits were busy and I couldn?t get through. I stopped at a rest stop on the NY State Thruway to use a landline, and found it a beehive of activity. I literally left the car running in front of the building and went in (something you would never do in normal times for fear it would be stolen or ticketed).
I went to use the phone and found long lines. I spoke to three other men about the still developing story as I waited, and when I did get to use the phone, it was still busy. So, thinking that going home was too depressing, I drove on to Danny?s.
As I drove and listened to the news accounts, I remember feeling stunned. I looked around and saw other motorists crying in their cars. I waved to one woman who was in tears and she waved back (I just couldn?t stand to watch someone else suffering, especially not today). I could only imagine, along with the rest of the world, the loss of life in those Towers and on the ground. The suffering to come was going to be enormous, I knew that, and this was still just the beginning. At each Toll plaza I went out of my way to greet the plaza attendant and tell them, ?God Bless You?. Somehow nothing seemed out of the ordinary anymore. Everything, and any behavior that made one person feel a little better was worth the effort.
When I arrived in Millbrook, Danny came running out with his rifle and yelled, ?Who is it!? ?What do you want!? and we had a big laugh. It was the tension-breaker we needed. Later, he and I stood quietly staring at CNN for many minutes without saying a word, and than tried to piece it together. When we went back outside, I remember how beautiful it was there. The reality of the day hadn?t reached the sky over Millbrook. You couldn?t see that vile smoke rising into the sky, or hear the sirens in the distance. No, here the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and it was warm and beautiful. I remember thinking that the whole world should be here now, seeing the world in the peaceful serenity we were treated to. But I also remember being afraid for the first time too. Feeling helpless, and afraid that my daughter?s Day Care center would send them home (as was happening to all the schools in Manhattan) and that I wouldn?t be available for them. But that thankfully didn?t happen.
On the way home, I finally reached James and found out that he had just made it out of the airport before it shut down. He said that he entered the airport and it was very active inside. He put his carry-on bag on the security belt, and said that no one even looked at his bag as it went through security (the last act of complacency before terrorism changed everything). He said that he was sent running out of the airport with the announcement that the airport was closed. And in the ten minutes from when I dropped him off, until he came back out, 100?s of police had mobilized around the airport and all the cabs were being sent away. They were forbidden to take passengers, but James jumped into one of the last remaining cabs and they sped away with him in the back and his head down to avoid trouble with the police. He was all right, that was the main thing. And I felt very close to him, because we had witnessed this nightmare together. And nothing could dull that memory.
As evening approached, it seemed like a year since the morning?s events. I drove to the highest point in Chatham (that ironically looks over a graveyard) to look East and see what I could see. And what I saw were 40-50 people who had come there for the same reason. They stood staring off to the East, and that troublesome smoke was still rising in an amazing volume up into the sky and still trailing to the south as it hit the upper winds. No one said a word. There were candles burning on the stone wall, and small flags had been stuck into the cracks. And for several minutes I felt very close to the people there. I stood for a long time staring at the rising smoke, contemplating what had happened. And trying to bring the events of the day into focus, but I still, even today March 25, 2002, can?t completely wrap my mind around what has happened.
The next day Kath was off from work, and we read the morning papers and A.M. drove around the countryside talking. As we had lunch in our dining room, a fighter jet screamed over the house, and that really brought reality home. I thought of two things as we sat together that Wednesday. I remember Walt Whitman recounting how he and his wife had sat solemnly reading the papers the day after Lincoln was shot, without speaking. All day, sitting quietly, reading, having meals and contemplating the new world they were part of. And filled with incredible grief.
I also remember Doris Kerns Goodwin recounting how as a vibrant young college student she had learned of the death of JFK, and thought how this was a turning point. That if this young, handsome man who was on top of the world could be struck down so suddenly, than what of the fate of the rest of us? That was the day she, and this was the day that we, realized for the first time, our own mortality. Before Sept. 11th, we were still young and believed that we would live forever. After that horrendous day, and the months since, we realize that it can all be taken away suddenly, terribly, and with no selection process to alienate the deserving. The common everyday ?Joe? died that day. No heroes in battle to the end, but everyday worker-bees who went off to work and were having coffee or checking their voicemail . . . before they realized that it was all over. And that instead of the big decision they used to have about where to eat lunch, or who can pick-up the kids after work, they were deciding if it was better to jump 1,000 feet to their death (and get it over fairly quickly), burn alive or wait for the building to collapse and welcome oblivion on their own terms.
We all died that day. Innocence died that day. And it did not die in a humane and dignified manner. And if it can happen so quickly to a bunch of ordinary office workers, what fate awaits the rest of us? I?ve read 100?s of obituaries. on the memorial web pages, and seen their faces. And every family member or friend exalts these common people for their uncommon virtues. I was struck by how many were coaches, and Sunday school teachers, or volunteers in their communities. And I reflected that fact against the manner in which they met their ends and the work we all must do to reach their level of commitment to the people around us.
As for the aftermath . . . . I put up the biggest flag I could find and hung it from the side of our house for 6 months, and we mourned the fact that Chatham lost 21 people who either lived here, or were born here. Msgr. Mahoney (the church rectory is next door to me) told me shortly afterwards that he had done a funeral for a Chatham man where only the jaw was recovered (and he was one of the luck few who had anything recovered to bury), but these things didn?t comfort. I go to church more now (I still remember the stunned looks on people?s faces that first Sunday after) and we remember John Farrell who was a local boy and childhood friend of my brother Chris. And I did send a Christmas Card to his widow and kids in Basking Ridge, and a letter to his sister Maureen, who I was good friends with in High School (although I never received a reply). And we made a contribution to the 9-11 Fund. But again, these things seemed functionary. I wish I had given more money to the Fund drives. I wish I had gone to Ground Zero that first day to help out, or given blood as so many did. And I wish I had been more concerned about what happened to James that first day, and I wish that it was easier to talk to family and friends about it, because that would help all of us deal with this life-changing event. Somehow all the petty worries seemed less. And yet some days, I can?t help thinking that those who were lost were the lucky ones. They died in horrific ways, and suffered unimaginable ends, but by 10:30 it was all over for them. There families, friends and all of us who lost our souls that day, but didn?t lose a family member, go on suffering. And we will go on suffering for years. We are a Nation suffering from survivor?s guilt. .
Last night they profiled Peggy Alario from Staten Island on MSNBC, a woman who I saw on the Trade Center Tribute page that first week, and wrote a tribute to her. I revisited her tribute and read all the articles that were linked to that page, and I cried for her and her young family. They agonize more than most. She was the breadwinner of the family, and she wasn?t even supposed to be in the Trade Centers. She worked at One Liberty Plaza for Zurich Insurance, and was on the 105th floor of Tower One for an early morning meeting. So they have the added grief of this devastating hole in their lives and the cruelty of fate that she didn?t need to be there that day. At least others can rationalize that there loved ones worked there and could not have avoided being there when the planes hit.
The bottom line is that there are a million stories out there. And the whole world saw the events as I did, and felt helpless. And it is impossible to admit you feel so very deeply about this because there are so many others who have suffered a much more personal loss than I have. So how can I be so selfish as to complain or grieve. Yet it hurts. I still think about it every day. I even notice when (after 6 months now) a day goes by without thinking about it. For a while I couldn?t watch the 4, 6-hour tapes I had made in the aftermath without crying, but now it seems strange to watch them with diminished emotions, and that brings even more guilt. That I?m beginning to forget this unforgettable event haunts me. My biggest fear is that this won?t impact me enough. That it won?t change my life enough, that I can make the changes that something of this magnitude demands. I fear that we will settle back into complacency and forget that all our lives were changed forever, and that our lives should have a positive corresponding effect, otherwise the bastards win.
I remember the sight of that second plane crashing through Tower Two and seeing that missile come flying out the front of the building. And I reasoned that with the trajectory that it took and the way and timing of which it happened, that this most have been the cockpit, and I had the fondest hope that those bastards had survived the impact with the Tower and were still alive and suffering when they came out the other side and were rushing toward the ground. I leave this letter with the thought that so many people are suffering, and that the enormity of the suffering will be with us for the rest of our lives. But I hope that if God was watching that day that he made sure that Hell got a new lease, so that these people could burn there for a very long time. For although there suffering doesn?t diminish our own, it brings the world back into balance. It allows us to think that there is punishment for one?s misdeeds. God Bless Us ! N.Y.C, Washington, & Shanksville, Pa.

- - - March 25, 2002