With Skyward Eyes

Twenty-five years ago, September 11, 2001, was a Tuesday. That morning, shortly after 8:30 AM but before 8:46 AM, I drove into the parking lot at the Bergen County Justice Center in Hackensack, New Jersey. I was there that morning to appear at the trial call before the Presiding Judge of the Civil Division, the Hon. Peter Doyne.

As I got ready to turn off my car, exited it, and then walked into the courthouse, the big crisis of the morning was the egg that the Giants had laid on Monday Night Football. They had played in Denver against the Broncos, the first game played in the new Mile High Stadium. It was the first game the Giants had played since getting annihilated by the Ravens in the Super Bowl. Long story short, they looked almost as terrible in Denver in September as they had looked against the Ravens in Tampa in January. 

Within the next two hours, the Giants’ abject failure ceased to exist as a crisis, big, small, or otherwise. I was in Judge Doyne’s chambers with His Honor and my adversary, Pat Little, when the South Tower collapsed. By the time I exited the building and made it back to my car, the North Tower had collapsed, the Pentagon had been attacked, and thanks to the extraordinary determination and grit of the men and women aboard  United Flight 93, it had crashed in Pennsylvania, far short of its presumed destination of Washington, D.C. 

Although I was indoors when all four hijacked airliners crashed on that terrible Tuesday morning, 25 years later, I still reflexively look skyward every time I hear an airplane overhead. It is an involuntary reflex. I have no logical explanation for it otherwise. 

September 11, 2001, serves as the defining moment of my life and, I would imagine, of the life of every other American, who was old enough to experience it, and to understand at least a little, of what had happened. As someone who was not yet born when Pearl Harbor happened or when President Kennedy was assassinated and who was less than 2 1/2 years old when Neil Armstrong set foot on the surface of the moon, September 11, 2001, is inarguably the single, most historically significant day of my life.  

And I am one of the lucky ones. I have family members who had friends murdered that day. I have friends who have family members murdered that day. I lost neither. 

2,977 people were killed on September 11, 2001, including 343 members of the FDNY, 37 members of the Port Authority Police Department, and 23 members of the NYPD. We must never forget, however, the tragedy lies not in the total number of lives lost. It lies in the individual lives lost. Clarence Oddbody said it best in It's A Wonderful Life, "Strange isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?" 

September 11, 2001, should never be forgotten because its impact is no less today for the families who lost a wife, a husband, a daughter, a son, a mother, a father, or more than one family member than it was a quarter-century ago. Each of those who were killed touched so many other lives and each left an awful hole. Grief has no expiration date. 

September 11, 2001, should never be forgotten because a quarter-century after those nineteen murderous cowards killed 2,977 innocents, their actions are still killing people. To date, more than 49,000 people have been diagnosed with cancers related to the World Trade Center and approximately 9,000 people have died from 9/11-related illnesses. Both of those figures shall continue to rise. 

Twenty-five years have passed. Yet, the prayer remains the same... 

May your strength give us strength, may your faith give us faith, 

may your hope give us hope, may your love give us love.

May your love give us love. 

-AK 

Never Forgotten: Christine Anne Olender

Tomorrow marks twenty-five years since September 11, 2001.  A quarter century has passed since that terrible Tuesday morning. It is the duty of the living to remember those killed that day.  It is the duty of the living to make sure that the stories of their lives continue to echo through  the years.  It is the duty of the living to ensure that those who were murdered that day are never forgotten. 

Christine Anne Olender, thirty-nine, spent the final five years of her all-too-brief life as an Assistant General Manager at Windows on the World, which occupied the 106th floor of the World Trade Center’s North Tower.  She was loved by those for whom she worked, those with whom she worked, and those who frequented Windows on the World. She was lauded for her creativity and for her upbeat demeanor.  She hung out after work with the kitchen staff and the wait staff, wore a fireman’s hat to blow the whistle for fire drills, and was a go-to person for her bosses. 

On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, Ms. Olender was at work when hijacked American Airlines Flight 11 was flown into the North Tower by a team of five murderous cowards, impacting the building between its 93rd and 99th floors. The impact severed Stairwells A, B, and C, trapping close to a thousand people. All stairwells were destroyed or blocked between the 93rd and 99th floors. 

She had come in early that morning to help her staff at the annual Risk Waters Group conference, a two-day seminar Windows on the World was hosting. Her work day had been scheduled to begin at 9:00 am. That morning, she arrived shortly after 7:00 am. 

In the face of circumstances that allowed for panic, she did not. Instead she and some of her co-workers organized an evacuation of more than 100 people.  It was not until they tried to lead their group down from the 106th floor that they discovered they could not escape. 

Between 9:01 am and 10:28 am, when the North Tower collapsed, Christine Olender called the Port Authority Police Department four times.  During her first call, she informed the officer to whom she spoke, “We’re getting no direction up here. We need direction as to where we need to direct our guests and our employees as soon as possible.”  He told her, “We’re doing our best. We’ve got the fire department, everybody, we’re trying to get up to you dear.”  He asked her to call him back in two minutes. She did. 

By the time she placed her fourth and final phone call, an already impossible situation had become dire. Smoke was choking the life out of the people stranded on the 106th floor. She told the officer,  “The fresh air is going down fast! I’m not exaggerating.”  He responded, “Ma’am, I know you’re not exaggerating. I have you, Christine, four calls, 75 to 100 people, Windows on the World, 106th floor.”  She then asked him, “Can we break a window?” He told her, “you can do whatever you have to do to get air.”  She simply replied, “All right.”  

On October 10, 2001, her remains were identified and a memorial service was held for her in her adopted hometown, New York City. She was a Chicago native and her family laid her to rest on October 27, 2001, following her funeral mass in Niles, Illinois.  This Fourth of July baby was survived by her mom, dad, older brother, and older sister.  Sadly, by 2021, all four members of her immediate family had died.  

Forever thirty-nine. Forever loved. Forever remembered. 

-AK 

Never Forgotten: Charles “Chuck” Costello, Jr.

Two days from now marks twenty-five years since September 11, 2001. A quarter century has passed since that terrible Tuesday morning. It is the duty of the living to remember those killed that day. It is the duty of the living to make sure that the stories of their lives continue to echo through the years. It is the duty of the living to ensure that those who were murdered that day are never forgotten. 

Charles “Chuck” Costello, Jr., forty-six, was an elevator mechanic and on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, his work took him somewhere it did not typically take him, which was Manhattan.  He was working that morning at a hotel in SoHo, roughly twenty blocks north of the World Trade Center, when he learned that American Airlines Flight 11 had slammed into the North Tower.  Immediately, Mr. Costello headed as fast as he could toward the burning tower in an effort to do whatever he could to help those in danger. 

And what a help he was. He volunteered his technical expertise to work alongside the FDNY and NYPD to override controls that had caused the North Tower’s elevators to stall, which trapped their occupants inside of the cars, unable to get out. Mr. Costello’s expertise, his tools, and his muscle manually forcing open jammed doors freed countless people otherwise marked for death.  

Having performed these selfless acts in the North Tower, Mr. Costello could have sought refuge. He did not. Instead he headed into the South Tower to repeat there what he had done in the North Tower.  Again, his courage, his selflessness, and his expertise saved countless people. 

They cost him his life.  He was inside the South Tower when it collapsed at 9:59 am.  On January 5, 2002, his remains were found in an elevator shaft, resting side-by-side with a firefighter and a police officer.  In his pocket were his driver’s license, union card, rosary, and $77.00. 

Mr. Costello lived in Old Bridge, New Jersey, with his wife Mary and their four children, Theresa, Amanda, MaryKate, and Charlie. Charlie, just six when his father was killed, has followed in the footsteps of his dad, dubbed “The Elevator Man” by the first responders with whom he worked on the final morning on his life. Charlie is an elevator mechanic - and also a volunteer firefighter. 

Forever forty-six. Forever loved. Forever remembered. 

-AK 

Never Forgotten: FDNY Lt. Kevin Dowdell

Three days from now marks twenty-five years since September 11, 2001.  A quarter century has passed since that terrible Tuesday morning. It is the duty of the living to remember those killed that day. It is the duty of the living to make sure that the stories of their lives continue to echo through the years. It is the duty of the living to ensure that those who were murdered that day are never forgotten. 

Kevin Dowdell, forty-six, was a Lieutenant in the FDNY assigned to Rescue 4 in Queens. Lt. Dowdell so loved doing what he did and the firefighters with whom he did it that he chose never to seek a promotion to Captain, since the promotion would necessitate a transfer out of Rescue 4.  He and his wife, RoseEllen, to whom he had been married for twenty-one years, were the proud parents of two sons, Patrick and James. 

Lt. Dowdell was a "family first" man. He worked a second job to help ensure that he could provide a quality education for his sons and provide a comfortable life for his family.  When he was not working, he enjoyed surfing with Patrick and James. He also enjoyed a nice evening out with his bride.  Prior to joining the FDNY in 1981, Kevin Dowdell had been an NYPD Police Officer. During his twenty years in the FDNY, he earned numerous citations. He and Rescue 4 responded to the 1993 World Trade Center Bombing and to the 1995 Oklahoma City Bombing.  On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, he did what he did when others were in grave danger - he headed into the threat with all due speed to save as many as he could.  

Lt. Kevin Dowdell was killed at the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, saving innocents. His remains were never recovered. However, his tools, which he had engraved with his initials and "R4", were found in the rubble of the South Tower.  His sons, Patrick and James, followed their father's footsteps. James, a high school senior in September 2001, graduated from the FDNY Academy in 2006. He was promoted to Lieutenant on what would have been his father's 70th birthday. Upon his promotion to Lieutenant, Lt. James Dowdell was given his father's Lieutenant badge. Patrick, who was a freshman at Iona College in September 2001, re-applied to West Point and was accepted. He graduated from West Point in 2006. After graduation he served a tour in Iraq and a tour in Afghanistan. 

Forever forty-six.  Forever loved.  Forever remembered. 

-AK 

Never Forgotten: Honor Elizabeth Wainio

Four days from now marks twenty-five years since September 11, 2001. A quarter century has passed since that terrible Tuesday morning. It is the duty of the living to remember those killed that day. It is the duty of the living to make sure that the stories of their lives continue to echo through the years. It is the duty of the living to ensure that those who were murdered that day are never forgotten. 

Honor Elizabeth Wainio, twenty-seven, was less than one month away from her twenty-eighth birthday when she boarded United Airlines Flight 93 on the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001.  Having returned from a European trip that included time spent in Italy and in Paris two days earlier, she was headed to California for a company-wide business meeting.  She worked for Discovery Channel Stores as its District Manager for New York and New Jersey. 

After the hijackers took Flight 93, Honor Elizabeth Wainio called her stepmother. During that final phone call with a member of her family, Honor Wainio told her stepmother, "They are getting ready to break into the cockpit. I have to go. I love you. Good-bye."  Ms. Wainio graduated from Towson University in Baltimore, Maryland in 1995. Her family created a scholarship in her honor, the Honor Elizabeth Wainio '95 Memorial Communications Scholarship. Since 2004, the Scholarship has awarded more than $300,000 to forty-four students in Towson's College of Fine Arts & Communications, enabling those students to pursue their dreams...just as Honor Elizabeth Wainio had pursued hers. 

Forever twenty-seven.  Forever loved. Forever remembered. 

-AK 

Never Forgotten: FDNY FF Michael Cammarata

Five days from today marks twenty-five years since September 11, 2001. A quarter century has passed since that terrible Tuesday morning. It is the duty of the living to remember those killed that day. It is the duty of the living to make sure that the stories of their lives continue to echo through the years. It is the duty of the living to ensure that those who were murdered that day are never forgotten. 

Three hundred forty three members of the FDNY died on September 11, 2001, saving innocents at the World Trade Center.  The youngest of the 343 was Probationary Firefighter Michael Cammarata, just twenty-two. He was stationed at Engine 28/Ladder 11, on the lower East Side of Manhattan. On September 11, 2001, he was in the ninth week of his fourteen-week probationary assignment. He and his brother, Joe, older than Michael by fifteen months, had taken the FDNY test in the Summer of 1999. Michael attained a perfect score. Joe answered one question incorrectly. 

Before heading to the World Trade Center with Ladder 11 on that terrible Tuesday morning, Michael called home and left a message on his father's voice mail. "I am going to the World Trade Center. A plane just hit it. Just tell everyone I am all right."

In 1991, Michael was a star on the Staten Island, New York Little League team that played its way to the Little League World Series in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. In 2006, Michael's No. 11 became the first number ever retired in Williamsport. Twenty years later, it remains the only retired number. 

His body was never recovered. However, in the days after September 11, while his family was searching the house for something of Michael's to provide to the FDNY with his DNA as it assembled its forensic database, his mom came upon a tri-folded piece of computer paper on his nightstand that Michael had labeled "If anything was ever to happen to me", on which he had written a list of four items: (1) Take care of Jenna (his girlfriend); (2) Don't mourn as this is the career I chose; (3) Make my spirit live on; and (4) Remember I love you all and will be waiting for you upstairs.  He signed it, "Michael Cammarata Shield #1138".   

Forever twenty-two. Forever loved. Forever remembered. 

-AK 

Never Forgotten: Lauren Grandcolas

Six days from today marks twenty-five years since September 11, 2001. A quarter century has passed since that terrible Tuesday morning. It is the duty of the living to remember those killed that day. It is the duty of the living to make sure that the stories of their lives continue to echo through the years. It is the duty of the living to ensure that those who were murdered that day are never forgotten. 

Lauren Grandcolas, eleven days after turning thirty-eight, woke up on the East Coast on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, with just one goal in mind:  Getting home.  She lived in San Rafael, California with her husband, Jack.  Born in Bloomington, Indiana, this Hoosier was a Longhorn.  She earned her degree from the University of Texas-Austin. It was there where she and Jack first met. She was three months pregnant with the couple's first child. She had recently left her position at Good Housekeeping magazine so she could focus her energy on writing a book intended to inspire women to follow their dreams.  

She had been in New Jersey for her grandmother's funeral.  On what proved to be the final morning of her life, she arrived at Newark Airport earlier than expected. So early in fact that instead of waiting around for the flight she had been scheduled to take, she took a seat on United's 8:00 am flight from Newark to San Francisco. She called Jack, who was still asleep in California (where it was not yet 5:00 am), and left a message for him on their answering machine, letting him know she would be home earlier than expected. On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, the 8:00 am United Airlines flight from Newark to San Francisco was United Flight 93.  

At 9:39:21 am, after Flight 93 had been hijacked, Lauren Grandcolas demonstrated the grace under pressure that those who she loved and who loved her most of all said had been a hallmark of her life.  She called Jack, leaving another message on their answering machine, "Jack, pick up sweetie, can you hear me? Okay. I just want to tell you, there's a little problem with the plane. I'm fine. I'm totally fine. I just want to tell you how much I love you."

Although Lauren Grandcolas died before she could complete her book, her sisters did. They published You Can Do It: The Merit Badge Handbook for Grown-Up Girls. 

Forever thirty-eight. Forever loved. Forever remembered.

-AK