A Day One Hundred Years In The Making

 

Today is the birthday of my father, William P. Kenny, Sr.  Had he lived, he would be 100 years old.  He, of course, did not live to see this day.  Did not even come close in fact.  Missed it by almost forty-three years. 

On my next birthday, I will be the age my father was when he marked his final birthday, which he did on this very day in 1980.  Six-and-one-half months later he was dead.  

He and I had an absurdly difficult relationship during what proved to be the final year of his life.   He was hard on me and I, in turn, was hard on him.  Truth be told, I have been hard on him for the overwhelming majority of the past almost forty-three years.  While I do not write in this space too often, it was here on this very date three years ago where I wrote him the apology it took me forty years to muster up the spine to write. 

Happy Birthday, Dad.  

WPK, Sr. - The Browning School

circa 1964

-AK 

A Feeling of a Place Where We Ache to Go Again

Today is Thanksgiving.  Wherever, however, and with whomever you spend it, it is my most sincere wish for you and yours that it is a peaceful, safe, and happy Thanksgiving.  

For those of us fortunate to spend today in the company of at least some of those people who we love and who love us, let us be mindful that not everyone shares in our good fortune.  Life is hard for most of us but it can be unfairly so for far too many, and tragically it is far too often.  

If you open your eyes this morning and close them tonight in a place where you are loved and a place where you are wanted, then congratulations.  You are home.  Your vow to yourself, to those you love, and to those who love you is to not take that feeling for granted.  Not today.  Not tomorrow.  Not ever.  Work hard today and every day to honor that feeling and, better still, to earn it. 

Appreciate just how precious it is to feel as if you belong.  It possesses the capacity to fill us up more heartily than one's inhalation of turkey and its accompanying side dishes shall ever do.  Experience teaches us all that that feeling - of love, of belonging, of home - is never guaranteed.  Not today.  Not tomorrow.  Not ever.  

Kindness costs nothing.  It is, however, invaluable.  It might just be the beacon that helps someone find his or her way home who otherwise would not have gotten there.  

Happy Thanksgiving.  

-AK 

A Toast to the Watchmen on the Walls of Freedom

 

Today is the sixtieth anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.  While I do not write too often any more, it was on this very date three years ago on which I wrote what appears here.  

Sunday, November 22, 2020

A Testament to the Endurance of Ideas

Fifty-seven years ago today President John F. Kennedy was assassinated while his motorcade snaked its way through Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas.  He was scheduled to speak at a luncheon before the Dallas Citizens Council.  The speech, which he never gave, remains as relevant and timely today as it was on the date he intended to deliver it. 

Fifty-seven years ago.

On this very day.

We in this country, in this generation, are - 

by destiny rather than by choice - 

the watchmen on the walls of world freedom.

We ask therefore that 

we may be worthy of our power and responsibility,

that we may exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint,

and that we may achieve in our time and for all time

the ancient vision of "peace on earth, goodwill toward men."

That must always be our goal,

and the righteousness of our cause 

must underlie its strength. 

For as was written long ago:

'except the Lord keep the city, 

the watchmen waketh but in vain'...

This Nation's strength and security 

are not easily or cheaply obtained.

There are many kinds of strength

and no one kind will suffice...

Ignorance and misinformation can handicap the progress

of a city or company, but they can,

if allowed to prevail in foreign policy,

handicap this country's security. 

In a world of complex and continuing problems,

in a world of frustrations and irritations, 

America's leadership must be guided 

by the lights of learning and reason -

or else those who confuse rhetoric with reality

and the plausible with the possible

will gain the popular ascendancy 

with their seemingly swift and simple solutions

to every world problem. 

President John F. Kennedy

Speech (not given) to Dallas Citizens Council

November 22, 1963 

-AK 

If you are so inclined, then consider this to be food for thought.  An appetizer if you will for the Thanksgiving feast that you presumably shall enjoy tomorrow.  If any part of your plan for this long holiday weekend includes travel, then be careful out there.

-AK 

Sue's Crew XV?

Joliet Jake and Elwood Blue 

Margaret's mother died on June 2, 2009.  For ten Autumns thereafter we assembled a team, which team we named Sue's Crew in honor of Suzy B., and ran in a 5K dedicated to fighting breast cancer and finding a cure for it.   We last ran in 2018.  Sue's Crew X was our final go-round. 

Sue's Crew X - 2018

Last year, I ran solo in a terrific event that I learned had actually taken place for the past several years, which is the Team ROAR 5K.   It honors Donna Karlis, who died in 2017 at just forty-two years young following a battle against metastatic breast cancer.  It is a labor of love her husband Michael has put together to honor her memory and to help their two daughters celebrate the hero that their mother was.  

This year's Team ROAR 5K at Duke Island Park in Bridgewater Township, New Jersey is Sunday, October 22, 2023.  Gun time is 9:30 am.  I am running in it again this year and, contrary to my generally anti-social nature, I would love some company.  If you are a Sue's Crew alum or you would like to be become one, then reach out to the Missus or to me.  The link to register is here.  When you register, you should be asked if you want to join a team.  Click "Yes" and you should be given the option of joining an existing team, which list of names should include Sue's Crew.  If it does not, for whatever reason, do not sweat it.  Simply let us know you have signed up. 

Here is the plan:  Once you have signed up, and ran at least one time previously with Sue's Crew, plan on wearing your Sue's Crew t-shirt on race day.  If you no longer have it - or if you are like me and are still struggling with your "Covid-19 15" and it now fits somewhat snugly - then let Margaret or me know what size shirt you need and we will bring one in your size with us on race day.  While I do not know whether we have shirts from each of the ten iterations of the Crew, we have quite a few carefully packed away in our basement.  It is more likely than not we have one in your size.  

Long may we run.  

-AK 

The Weekend That Was

Mother Nature tried hard to ruin Tunnel to Towers Weekend.  It failed.  Miserably.  Hell of an event this year as it is every year.

Saturday, September 23

The inclement weather caused us to amend our plans.  Instead of placing our flags at the Memorial and then eating at O'Hara's, Gidg, Margaret, and I ate dinner first and then - in the gloaming - walked over to the Memorial and placed our flags.  

CU Police Department Patch - O'Hara's

Adam S. White

Allison Horstmann Jones 

Antoinette Duger

Brian Thomas Cummins 

Chandler Raymond Keller 

Christopher Ciafardini

Christopher Edward Faughnan 

David Prudencio Lemagne 

FF John Michael Collins FDNY

Frank Bennett Reisman 

Joshua M. Rosenblum 

Joyce Ann Carpeneto 

Leslie A. Whittington 

Nina Patrice Bell

Scott Thomas Coleman 

FF Steven Gerard Siller FDNY

Thomas Irwin Glasser 

Thomas Edward Gorman 

One World Trade Center 

Sunday, September 24

The rain did not abate on Sunday morning.  Gidg and I walked to Pier 11 in the rain, took the ferry to Brooklyn in the rain, and then stood in the starting area in Red Hook, Brooklyn for two and one-half hours waiting for the race to begin.  We were joined there by the great Arnold Gerst, a law partner of mine from my Weiner Lesniak days, who drove down in the rain from Connecticut in the wee small hours of Sunday morning to take part in the Tunnel to Towers for the first time.  

Starting Line - Tunnel to Towers Run - Red Hook

View coming out of Brooklyn Battery Tunnel 

2023 T2T Sand Sculpture

Wall at Ten House 

-AK

The Never-Ending Echo of Footsteps

If you are looking for me this morning, then follow the footsteps...

Sand Sculpture 2016

Sand Sculpture 2017

Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.  

-AK 

 

"The Price We Pay"

 

Adam Mayblum - "The Price We Pay" author

Photo Credit:  Adam Mayblum 

On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, Adam Mayblum went to work.  In September 2001, he worked on the 87th floor of the North Tower (Tower 1) of the World Trade Center.  He was already in his office preparing for his workday when the cowards who had hijacked American Airlines Flight 11 shortly after it left Boston's Logan Airport flew it into the North Tower at 8:46 am, striking the building between the 93rd floor and the 99th floor.   

He tells the story of his escape better than I could ever hope to do.  I know this to be so because shortly after that terrible day, he did.   It is nothing short of extraordinary:  

My name is Adam Mayblum. I am alive today. I am committing this to “paper” so I never forget. SO WE NEVER FORGET. I am sure that this is one of thousands of stories that will emerge over the next several days and weeks.

I arrived as usual a little before 8am. My office was on the 87th floor of 1 World Trade Center, AKA: Tower 1, AKA: the North Tower. Most of my associates were in by 8:30m. We were standing around, joking around, eating breakfast, checking emails, and getting set for the day when the first plane hit just a few stories above us. I must stress that we did not know that it was a plane. The building lurched violently and shook as if it were an earthquake. People screamed. I watched out my window as the building seemed to move 10 to 20 feet in each direction. It rumbled and shook long enough for me to get my wits about myself and grab a co-worker and seek shelter under a doorway. Light fixtures and parts of the ceiling collapsed. The kitchen was destroyed. We were certain that it was a bomb. We looked out the windows. Reams of paper were flying everywhere, like a ticker tape parade. I looked down at the street. I could see people in Battery Park City looking up. Smoke started billowing in through the holes in the ceiling. I believe that there were 13 of us.

We did not panic. I can only assume that we thought that the worst was over. The building was standing and we were shaken but alive. We checked the halls. The smoke was thick and white and did not smell like I imagined smoke should smell. Not like your BBQ or your fireplace or even a bonfire. The phones were working. My wife had taken our 9 month old for his check up. I called my nanny at home and told her to page my wife, tell her that a bomb went off, I was ok, and on my way out. I grabbed my laptop. Took off my tee shirt and ripped it into 3 pieces. Soaked it in water. Gave 2 pieces to my friends. Tied my piece around my face to act as an air filter. And we all started moving to the staircase. One of my dearest friends said that he was staying until the police or firemen came to get him. In the halls there were tiny fires and sparks. The ceiling had collapsed in the men’s bathroom. It was gone along with anyone who may have been in there. We did not go in to look. We missed the staircase on the first run and had to double back. Once in the staircase we picked up fire extinguishers just incase. On the 85th floor a brave associate of mine and I headed back up to our office to drag out my partner who stayed behind. There was no air, just white smoke. We made the rounds through the office calling his name. No response. He must have succumbed to the smoke. We left defeated in our efforts and made our way back to the stairwell. We proceeded to the 78th floor where we had to change over to a different stairwell. 78 is the main junction to switch to the upper floors. I expected to see more people. There were some 50 to 60 more. Not enough. Wires and fires all over the place. Smoke too. A brave man was fighting a fire with the emergency hose. I stopped with to friends to make sure that everyone from our office was accounted for. We ushered them and confused people into the stairwell. In retrospect, I recall seeing Harry, my head trader, doing the same several yards behind me. I am only 35. I have known him for over 14 years. I headed into the stairwell with 2 friends.

We were moving down very orderly in Stair Case A. very slowly. No panic. At least not overt panic. My legs could not stop shaking. My heart was pounding. Some nervous jokes and laughter. I made a crack about ruining a brand new pair of Merrells. Even still, they were right, my feet felt great. We all laughed. We checked our cell phones. Surprisingly, there was a very good signal, but the Sprint network was jammed. I heard that the Blackberry 2 way email devices worked perfectly. On the phones, 1 out of 20 dial attempts got through. I knew I could not reach my wife so I called my parents. I told them what happened and that we were all okay and on the way down. Soon, my sister in law reached me. I told her we were fine and moving down. I believe that was about the 65th floor. We were bored and nervous. I called my friend Angel in San Francisco. I knew he would be watching. He was amazed I was on the phone. He told me to get out that there was another plane on its way. I did not know what he was talking about. By now the second plane had struck Tower 2. We were so deep into the middle of our building that we did not hear or feel anything. We had no idea what was really going on. We kept making way for wounded to go down ahead of us. Not many of them, just a few. No one seemed seriously wounded. Just some cuts and scrapes. Everyone cooperated. Everyone was a hero yesterday. No questions asked. I had co-workers in another office on the 77th floor. I tried dozens of times to get them on their cell phones or office lines. It was futile. Later I found that they were alive. One of the many miracles on a day of tragedy.

On the 53rd floor we came across a very heavyset man sitting on the stairs. I asked if he needed help or was he just resting. He needed help. I knew I would have trouble carrying him because I have a very bad back. But my friend and I offered anyway. We told him he could lean on us. He hesitated, I don’t know why. I said do you want to come or do you want us to send help for you. He chose for help. I told him he was on the 53rd floor in Stairwell A and that’s what I would tell the rescue workers. He said okay and we left.

On the 44th floor my phone rang again. It was my parents. They were hysterical. I said relax, I’m fine. My father said get out, there is third plane coming. I still did not understand. I was kind of angry. What did my parents think? Like I needed some other reason to get going? I couldn’t move the thousand people in front of me any faster. I know they love me, but no one inside understood what the situation really was. My parents did. Starting around this floor the firemen, policemen, WTC K-9 units without the dogs, anyone with a badge, started coming up as we were heading down. I stopped a lot of them and told them about the man on 53 and my friend on 87. I later felt terrible about this. They headed up to find those people and met death instead.

On the 33rd floor I spoke with a man who somehow new most of the details. He said 2 small planes hit the building. Now we all started talking about which terrorist group it was. Was it an internal organization or an external one? The overwhelming but uninformed opinion was Islamic Fanatics. Regardless, we now knew that it was not a bomb and there were potentially more planes coming. We understood.

On the 3rd floor the lights went out and we heard & felt this rumbling coming towards us from above. I thought the staircase was collapsing upon itself. It was 10am now and that was Tower 2 collapsing next door. We did not know that. Someone had a flashlight. We passed it forward and left the stairwell and headed down a dark and cramped corridor to an exit. We could not see at all. I recommended that everyone place a hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them and call out if they hit an obstacle so others would know to avoid it. They did. It worked perfectly. We reached another stairwell and saw a female officer emerge soaking wet and covered in soot. She said we could not go that way it was blocked. Go up to 4 and use the other exit. Just as we started up she said it was ok to go down instead. There was water everywhere. I called out for hands on shoulders again and she said that was a great idea. She stayed behind instructing people to do that. I do not know what happened to her.

We emerged into an enormous room. It was light but filled with smoke. I commented to a friend that it must be under construction. Then we realized where we were. It was the second floor. The one that overlooks the lobby. We were ushered out into the courtyard, the one where the fountain used to be. My first thought was of a TV movie I saw once about nuclear winter and fallout. I could not understand where all of the debris came from. There was at least five inches of this gray pasty dusty drywall soot on the ground as well as a thickness of it in the air. Twisted steel and wires. I heard there were bodies and body parts as well, but I did not look. It was bad enough. We hid under the remaining overhangs and moved out to the street. We were told to keep walking towards Houston Street. The odd thing is that there were very few rescue workers around. Less than five. They all must have been trapped under the debris when Tower 2 fell. We did not know that and could not understand where all of that debris came from. It was just my friend Kern and I now. We were hugging but sad. We felt certain that most of our friends ahead of us died and we knew no one behind us.

We came upon a post office several blocks away. We stopped and looked up. Our building, exactly where our office is (was), was engulfed in flame and smoke. A postal worker said that Tower 2 had fallen down. I looked again and sure enough it was gone. My heart was racing. We kept trying to call our families. I could not get in touch with my wife. Finally I got through to my parents. Relived is not the word to explain their feelings. They got through to my wife, thank G-d and let her know I was alive. We sat down. A girl on a bike offered us some water. Just as she took the cap off her bottle we heard a rumble. We looked up and our building, Tower 1 collapsed. I did not note the time but I am told it was 10:30am. We had been out less than 15 minutes.

We were mourning our lost friends, particularly the one who stayed in the office as we were now sure that he had perished. We started walking towards Union Square. I was going to Beth Israel Medical Center to be looked at. We stopped to hear the President speaking on the radio. My phone rang. It was my wife. I think I fell to my knees crying. The she told me the most incredible thing. My partner who had stayed behind called her. He was alive and well. I guess we just lost him in the commotion. We started jumping and hugging and shouting. I told my wife that my brother had arranged for a hotel in midtown. He can be very resourceful in that way. I told her I would call her from there. My brother and I managed to get a gypsy cab to take us home to Westchester instead. I cried on my son and held my wife until I fell asleep.

As it turns out my partner, the one who I thought had stayed behind was behind us with Harry Ramos, our head trader. This is now second hand information. They came upon Victor, the heavyset man on the 53rd floor. They helped him. He could barely move. My partner bravely/stupidly tested the elevator on the 52nd floor. He rode it down to the sky lobby on 44. The doors opened, it was fine. He rode it back up and got Harry and Victor. I don’t yet know if anyone else joined them. Once on 44 they made their way back into the stairwell. Someplace around the 39th to 36th floors they felt the same rumble I felt on the 3rd floor. It was 10am and Tower 2 was coming down. They had about 30 minutes to get out. Victor said he could no longer move. They offered to have him lead on them. He said he couldn’t do it. My partner hollered at him to sit on his butt and schooch down the steps. He said he was not capable of doing it. Harry told my partner to go ahead of them. Harry had once had a heart attack and was worried about this mans heart. It was his nature to be this way. He was/is one of the kindest people I know. He would not leave a man behind. My partner went ahead and made it out. He said he was out maybe 10 minutes before the building came down. This means that Harry had maybe 25 minutes to move Victor 36 floors.

I guess they moved 1 floor every 1.5 minutes. Just a guess. This means Harry wad around the 20th floor when the building collapsed. As of now 12 of 13 people are accounted for. As of 6pm yesterday his wife had not heard from him. I fear that Harry is lost. However, a short while ago I heard that he may be alive. Apparently there is a web site with survivor names on it and his name appears there. Unfortunately, Ramos is not an uncommon name in New York. Pray for him and all those like him.

With regards to the firemen heading upstairs, I realize that they were going up anyway. But, it hurts to know that I may have made them move quicker to find my friend. Rationally, I know this is not true and that I am not the responsible one. The responsible ones are in hiding somewhere on this planet and damn them for making me feel like this. But they should know that they failed in terrorizing us. We were calm. Those men and women that went up were heroes in the face of it all. They must have known what was going on and they did their jobs. Ordinary people were heroes too. Today the images that people around the world equate with power and democracy are gone but “America” is not an image it is a concept. That concept is only strengthened by our pulling together as a team. If you want to kill us, leave us alone because we will do it by ourselves. If you want to make us stronger, attack and we unite. This is the ultimate failure of terrorism against The United States and the ultimate price we pay to be free, to decide where we want to work, what we want to eat, and when & where we want to go on vacation. The very moment the first plane was hijacked, democracy won.

Take his words to heart.  Let us never forget.  Not today.  Not tomorrow.  Not ever. 

-AK 

The Last Man Standing

 

FF Bill Spade - FDNY Rescue 5 

Photo Credit:  Bill Spade 

Bill Spade served the people of the City of New York as a member of the FDNY for eighteen years, starting in 1985.  In September 2001, he was a member of one of the FDNY's elite rescue units, Rescue 5, in Staten Island.  He was at Rescue 5 on the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001 when he took a call from another firefighter he knew, who told him that a plane had just struck the World Trade Center.  Acting on instinct, he hopped into his personal vehicle and drove as fast as he could to Lower Manhattan.   

He was one of twelve members of Rescue 5 who responded to the World Trade Center on that terrible Tuesday morning.  The other eleven members of the house - who arrived on scene together from the call to which they had been responding when FF Spade received that fateful phone call - all died there.  Bill Spade had just evacuated the North Tower when it collapsed.  By his recollection, he was only about 30 seconds away from the building when he heard an ominous rumble behind him.  The force of the collapse picked him up and threw him into a wall.  When he was in the hospital later that night, his brother informed him that his eleven brothers from Rescue 5 were all missing.   

In 2003, Bill Spade retired from the FDNY, which had placed him on light duty following September 11, 2001.  In 2007, he began giving walking tours around Ground Zero through the 9/11 Tribute Center.  Thereafter, in 2014, he started to volunteer at the National September 11 Museum and Memorial.  He became a docent, leading visitors through the Museum and sharing with them various stories of heroism from that day, including his own occasionally.  

Bill Spade still volunteers as a docent.  He still gives back to a city he has served since 1985.   Twelve members of Rescue 5 risked their lives on September 11, 2001 to save innocents.  Eleven of them died.  As the last man standing, Bill Spade has honored the memory of his fallen brothers for the past twenty-two years.  

-AK 

A Modern-Day Rasputin

FDNY Lt. Joe Torillo with Billy Blazes

Photo Credit:  Melissa Benno

Joe Torillo spent twenty-five years serving and protecting the people of New York City for twenty-five years as a member of the FDNY, including fifteen at Ten House, which was located directly across from the World Trade Center.  He was badly injured in a fire on New Years Eve 1996 and while he was convalescing he was assigned to do so in the Office of Fire Safety Education.  

He took to the assignment.  So much so in fact that eight months into his "light-duty" position, he was named the Director of the program and took to becoming the co-designer of a state-of-the-art children's fire safety learning center, which opened in October 2020.  They named it "The Fire Zone".   In January 2001, Lt. Torillo started working with Fisher-Price to help the company design a firefighter action figure to join as part of its Rescue Heroes lineup, which was named "Billy Blazes".   

On the morning of September 11, 2001, Lt. Torillo was on his way to "The Fire Zone" for a press conference with Fisher-Price to announce Billy Blazes' arrival.  He was on his way there when the North Tower was struck at 8:46 am.  His immediate reaction was one of concern for his brothers at Ten House so he stopped heading towards "The Fire Zone" and diverted straight into hell.  

He had just put on borrowed bunker gear when the South Tower was struck at 9:03 am.  Lt. Torillo's background included a degree in Structural Engineering, which informed his opinion that everyone in the South Tower above the jet's impact point was doomed to die and that both Towers were going to collapse.  

He was helping rescue those trapped in the Towers when, at 9:59 am, the South Tower collapsed.  He was buried alive in the rubble with a fractured skull, broken ribs, broken arm, crushed spine and heavy internal bleeding.  Shortly after being found alive in the rubble, they removed him on a long spine board and placed him on the deck of a boat on the Hudson River in anticipation of getting him to a hospital.  Sadly, the North Tower had other plans for Lt. Torillo.  

The North Tower collapsed while emergency personnel were trying to hold his split scalp together.  He was once again buried alive.  For the second time.  In one morning.  Amazingly, incredibly, and almost unbelievably, this modern-day Rasputin lived to tell the tale.  

Three years later, he wanted nothing more than to return to work.  The doctor told him that he would not clear him to return to duty.  Still, he found a way to help.  He became a speaker, traveling across the United States to speak to groups (including school kids), educating them about fire safety and reminding them of the men and women in our society who put themselves in harm's way to save others, and who do so every day.  

-AK 

A Man on a Mission

John Yates - Pentagon September 11 2001 Survivor

Photo Credit:  StoryCorps

John Yates worked at the Pentagon as a civilian security manager in September 2001.  He was in his office on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, gathered with several of his co-workers watching the news coverage of the World Trade Center attacks, when American Airlines 77 was flown into the Pentagon at approximately 550 miles per hour by the murderous cowards who had hijacked it following its takeoff from Dulles International Airport.   

When it hit the building, it literally knocked John Yates off his feet and sent him through the air.  He crawled through the wreckage and made his way to the Pentagon's center courtyard.  His clothes were cut off him and a doctor starting treating him.  His recitation of what he experienced is nothing short of chilling: 

I was just standing there, because we were talking and watching what was going on in New York.  Then, there was just a tremendous explosion that came from behind me and from my left.  I remember a ball of fire coming over my head.  I remember being blown through the air.  I didn't have any idea where I was when I landed.  The room was instantly black from the smoke.  It was down to within a foot of the floor.  Everything was instantaneously hot.  The temperature in the room went from 75 degrees to 1800 degrees in just seconds.

His next memory is a visit from President George W. Bush in the burn unit of the Washington Hospital Center in Washington, D.C., which visit took place on September 13, 2001.  He spent two and one-half months in that burn unit and then, incredibly, returned to work.  His candor is inspiring about his difficulty with the panic he felt rise up in him every morning when he pulled into the parking lot for days upon his return.  It paralyzed him.  One time it kept him in his vehicle for ninety minutes.  

But he always got out.  He always did.  He did so not just for himself but also for his colleagues who had died on that terrible Tuesday morning.  He continued to work at the Pentagon for fifteen years, retiring in 2016.   After retirement, he and his wife Ellen relocated to North Carolina.  

-AK 

Carolina On His Mind

Visitor Pass for 1 World Trade Center | David Paventi | September 11, 2001

Photo Credit:  David Paventi 

In September 2001, David Paventi lived in Charlotte, North Carolina with his wife, Lynn.  He worked as a banker.  On September 10, 2001 he traveled to New York City for business meetings to be held in the World Trade Center's North Tower.  As you may recall, although September 11, 2001 was a crystal clear, sun-soaked day, its immediate predecessor was decidedly less so.  The  weather that day was so much less so that David Paventi had walked over to to the windows in the office in which he was standing in an effort to see anything.  He could not because of the fog.  The experience so unnerved one of his colleagues that he offhandedly asked aloud, "How do airplanes not hit this building?"  His question, given the state of the world as it existed on September 10, 2001, was met with laughter.    

At 8:46 am the very next morning, it was no longer a laughing matter.  

David Paventi was in an interior (windowless) conference room on the North Tower's 81st floor at 8:46 am on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, when the murderous cowards who had hijacked American Airlines Flight 11 earlier that morning shortly after it had departed from Logan Airport in Boston, flew it into the North Tower's north face, cutting into the building between the 93rd and 99th floors.  The conference room shook.  By his own admission, David Paventi did not know what to make of what had just occurred, thinking it might have been an earthquake.  His colleagues who had lived through the 1993 World Trade Center bombing had no such hesitation.  They exited the room as quickly as they could and headed to the nearest stairwell.  Mr. Paventi followed suit.  

The traffic on the stairwell was intense and it seemed to take forever for those on it to make their way down.  David Paventi and his friend and colleague, Bob, toyed with the idea of trying to get out of the crowded stairwell and finding another escape route.  They ultimately opted against doing so - staying the course and staying in the stairwell in which they had begun their descent.  

Eventually, David Paventi and Bob made it out of the building.  When they reached the courtyard, a police officer told them to run as fast as they could and get as far away from the World Trade Center as they could.  They took her counsel to heart.  As they ran uptown, the two men heard the noise of the South Tower collapsing into the ground below.  The two men eventually made their way to the Queensboro Bridge and began walking across it.  Their goal was Long Island and Bob's brother's house.  They made it.  The following day, the two drove home to Charlotte, North Carolina. 

Several years after that terrible day, the NYPD telephoned David Paventi.  The call was to inform him that the NYPD had recovered his case.  Impossible, he thought, I am looking at my briefcase right now.  However, when he tried to tell the person on the other end of the phone he could not be the person to whom the briefcase in question belonged, he was told, "I'm not arguing, we have a case, and it has your name on it."  

Indeed it was.  It was the travel wallet David Paventi had brought with him to New York for his September 2001 meetings at the World Trade Center.  Its contents included his passport and his frequent flyer card.  Inside of it, someone had placed a note, "D. Paventi - assumed DOA."  

There is an old adage about the perils of making an assumption.  I suspect David Paventi did not waste a moment or a breath on uttering it when he read that note.  The proof is in the living after all, which is exactly what he is doing - and has one - every day for the past twenty-two years. 

-AK 

The 9/11 Surfer

"We All Fall Down" - Pasquale Buzzelli & Louise Buzzelli

Cover Art Credit:  Hope Buzzelli 

In the aftermath of the September 11 attacks, an urban legend grew.  It was the story of a man who survived the collapse of the North Tower by surfing the debris down as the building broke apart and collapsed into the ground below.   That man was Pasquale Buzzelli.  As it turns out, he did not surf the debris down to the ground.  His story of survival is nothing short of extraordinary.  

On September 11, 2001, Pasquale Buzzelli worked for the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey on the 64th floor of the North Tower.  He was a Structural Engineer.  At age 34, he and his wife Louise were expecting their first child.  She was seven months pregnant.  She was home in River Vale, New Jersey when he telephoned her at 10 am to tell her that he and a group of his co-workers were getting out of the building by walking down Stairwell B.  He assured her that he had investigated the proposed escape route and confirmed it was viable.  Everything was going to be okay, he told her.  

Whether either of them believed a single word he said about how everything was going to be okay, shortly after he hung up with Louise he and his co-workers began their trip down Stairwell B with Pasquale in front - leading the way.  He had made it as far as the 22nd floor when the whole building shook and the stairwell started to heave.  He dove for cover to avoid falling debris.  Suddenly, he was in free fall.  

Two hours later, he regained consciousness.  When he opened his eyes and looked around, he was in the great wide open.  He was on a slab of concrete 180 feet below where the twenty-second floor had been.  He was in the open air - on a piece of concrete atop a seven-story stack of debris in the middle of the Pile.   He had badly injured his right leg and right foot.  The pain was intense but it was also purposeful.  It alerted him to the fact that he was still alive, which made getting home to Louise and his soon-to-arrive child his top priority.  

He shouted for help.  At some point, FDNY firefighter Mike Moribito heard him and, having already disobeyed orders not to search the still-burning wreckage of the two towers, and alerted other firefighters that they had a civilian alive who they needed to get the hell out of there.  It took some doing, but get him out of there they did.  Pasquale Buzzelli made it home to River Vale and to Louise.  The couple's first child, Hope, arrived, a couple of months later.  Another daughter, Mia, joined the family thereafter.  

Fourteen of Pasquale Buzzelli's colleagues from the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey who began the descent down Stairwell B with him were killed on that terrible Tuesday morning.

-AK