Louise Buzzelli, Riverdale, New Jersey, and wife of Pasquale Buzzelli, Port Authority, North Tower: People started coming over to the house and the phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing. I didn’t want to talk to anyone unless it was him on the other end.
Pasquale Buzzelli: I was about 15 feet up on the edge of a cliff. For a while they were looking up at me, like, I don’t know how we’re going to get him down from there. Jimmy Kiesling, who was part of their Special Ops and trained for that, luckily he was with them. He carried a bunch of ropes with him. I saw him make his way around me. He climbed around and up this mountain of debris, found his way, climbed down to me, and jumped in right behind me. He goes, “All right, big guy. We’re going to get you down.”
Louise Buzzelli: By the time Pasquale’s mom and my father came—they lived in Jersey City—it was about 1:30 in the afternoon. The worst thing for me was to see her walk through the door and see me with this big belly. She screamed and fell apart. She grabbed on to me, and she was saying, “My son!” She said, “This baby’s got to have a father! This baby’s got to have a father!”
Pasquale Buzzelli: He was tugging on stuff and looking at things. He finally found this pipe—it might have been the standpipe that used to run through the stairs—all mangled. He did a couple of loops with the rope, and he goes, “Throw yourself off the ledge, and I’ll lower you down.” I fell a couple of feet, then the rope got taut, and it grabbed me. I remember spinning a little bit. Little by little, he lowered me down.
* * *
Capt. Jay Jonas: It was soon after I spoke to Billy Blanche, about him saying “It’s really bad out here,” that a ray of light hit the stairway. It was a beam of light, like a pencil coming down. I could see a little sliver of blue sky. I looked down at the guys: “Guys, there used to be 106 floors over our heads and now I can see sunshine.” I says, “This may not be as bad as we thought it was.”
Lt. Mickey Kross: It was clearly sunlight. It was all dirty and full of debris. It looked like pepper was floating around in it, but it was sunlight! I’m amazed. A 106-story building above us and I’m looking up at the sun!
Capt. Jay Jonas: Things started to pick up. We had a little bit better visibility. We could look around. We could see all the areas where we would possibly get out. We thought that we may have been buried under mounds of debris, maybe several stories high. Now we realized we are on the top of the mountain. We found an area where we could breach a wall and we did. We could see outside.
Lt. Mickey Kross: We decided to go one at a time and try to climb out. We climbed up, got to the opening, and we started squeezing our way out.
Capt. Jay Jonas: We looked out initially, and we could see there’s all kinds of buildings on fire. We could see smoke. We could see twisted rubble all around. At this time, firefighter Rich Picciotto wanted out of the stairway. I said, “Wait.” Every decision that I was making was on the side of safety. I says, “Look. We’ve lived to this point. Let’s be careful here before we do anything.” We waited a little while longer, and then we could see a fireman in the distance. “It’s all right. Now we can go.” We had our lifesaving rope with us. It’s a 150-foot-long rope in a bag. We rigged it up so we could lower Rich Picciotto out. He made contact with the fireman we saw in the distance, who was a fireman from Ladder 43. We start sending people out.
Lt. Mickey Kross: Just at that point, a couple of firefighters from the outside had made it to that opening and they helped us come out. They set up a rope because there was nothing to hold on to—it wasn’t like you were coming out on a flat surface. You were coming out on twisted beams, and we were high, maybe about 20 feet in the air.
Capt. Jay Jonas: I knew we had people below us. I didn’t know who they were. It wasn’t until they came up that I knew who they were. That’s when I saw Mickey Kross. I said, “Oh, I didn’t realize it was you.” Mickey came out, and Bobby Bacon from Engine 39. The rest of the guys from Engine 39, it took them a bit longer to get out. We still had Josephine Harris with us. I told one of the rescuers about Lieutenant Warchola in Ladder 5. I said, “They’re on the 12th floor.” He looked at me like this. I said, “Why the look?” He said, “You’ll find out.” There was no 12th floor.
Lt. Mickey Kross: I got to a point where I was looking down the pile, and I saw firefighters coming up. I knew they were fresh troops—they weren’t covered in the dust. I had a bloody nose, and I was totally encased in this dust. I must have been some sight. I saw the guys coming up—it turned out to be guys from my firehouse. I saw my captain, and he said, “Mickey, you’re alive?” They all thought I was dead.
Capt. Jay Jonas: Going across the rubble field we crossed between the North Tower and the smaller buildings. The New York office for the Secret Service, they had their ammunition depot inside the World Trade Center. Munitions started going off as we were crossing, and it almost sounded like a war zone. In addition to everything else that was going on, we could hear bullets going off. We’re thinking, This is bad.
Scott Strauss, officer, Emergency Service Unit, Truck 1, NYPD: While we we’re digging into one of these crevices, we heard gunfire. Not all of us had radios, so we weren’t sure what was going on. We heard fighter jets flying overhead. Now everybody had the luxury—and I know it’s not the best word to use—but they had the luxury of watching this on TV. We were in it. They had news commentators guessing or trying to explain what’s happening. We were in the middle of this, and we were hearing gunfire. We were thinking whoever attacked us is now in a ground fight—they’re coming in and they’re going to shoot the place up and kill many more people.
William Jimeno, officer, PAPD: As the evening progressed, we heard more gunfire, and we didn’t know what it was. Now today we know the ammunition was blowing off. I said, “Sarge, we must be in an ongoing gun battle with the terrorists.”
Capt. Jay Jonas: They were getting ready to whisk me away to an ambulance, and I says, “Wait a minute—where’s the command post?” They said, “Forget about the command post. We got to take care of you.” I said, “No, you don’t understand. There had to be hundreds of people looking for us.” I said, “If somebody gets hurt now, I don’t know if I can live with that.”
The command post was a fire department pumper that was still hooked up to a hydrant. Chief [Pete] Hayden was on top, along with Chief [James] DiDomenico. They were standing on top of the pumper, so they could look out across the debris field. There had to be a couple hundred firemen surrounding the pumper. It was really quite a sight to see. I finally got Chief Hayden’s attention, and I gave him a salute, and I started crying. He looked down, and he started crying too. He said, “Jay, it’s good to see you.” I says, “It’s good to be here.”
Lt. Mickey Kross: There was a table out there on West Street, and a chief sitting at it—like a picnic table. That was the command post for that area—that’s all they had. I walked up to him and he said to me, “Give me your riding list.” Your riding list is what you carry with everybody’s name that’s working. When you start every tour, you fill it out with a pen and a piece of carbon paper. It’s very old-fashioned. You put your name, you put the company name, the date, the tour, battalion, division, officer, and underneath is the chauffeur—that was Ronnie Sifu that day—and who was working: Tim Marmion, Paul Lee, and Pete Fallucca. The original, it’s clipped onto the engine, and the carbon goes in your pocket.
I gave it to him, and he looked at it. He said, “I have your name on the list.” They had me listed as “missing, presumed dead.” I said, “No, I’m here. Take my name off that list.” They had a list like over 400 names. At this point, I remember looking at my watch, and it was 10 after 2:00 p.m.
Capt. Jay Jonas: I had one guy I know, Jimmy Riches, come up to me. He sat next to me at the ambulance. He said, “Jay, I was listening to your radio transmissions. That was unbelievable.” He said, “Did you see Engine 4 in your travels?” I’m thinking to myself, Jeez. Where’s he going with this Engine 4? I said, “No, I didn�
�t see Engine 4.” He said, “Oh.” He says, “My son was working today.” It hit me. I understood the question. Then I came to the realization: Oh, my God! I wonder how many sons are working today?
* * *
Pasquale Buzzelli: I stood up and right away I felt this, this lightning bolt, the shock go through me. I had broken my foot. The firefighter said, “We have a ways to go. Can you make it?” I’m like, “Yeah. I want out of here.” We started climbing and walking. There was one fireman in front of me, one behind me. They tied a rope off, and they each held one [end] in case I fell. I made it probably halfway, maybe three-quarters of the way. The pain in my foot from walking on it, I was sweating—I must have turned pale—so I said, “Guys,” I said, “I need a breather. I need to sit for a couple of minutes.”
They looked at me. They said, “We’ll handle it from here. You relax. We got it.” They got on their radios, and they formed a huge line of firemen over the debris. They brought a plastic gurney over, and they strapped me into it, and they basically dragged me over the rubble out to the west side, where they placed me in an ambulance.
When they put me in the ambulance, the paramedic—first thing—said, “All right, so what hurts?” I was like, “Before we get to that, I need a phone.” I said, “My wife is home. She’s seven-and-a-half-months pregnant. She knows I didn’t get out of the building.” I called my house, and my wife actually answered the phone.
Louise Buzzelli: It was about 3:30 that afternoon, and I happened to walk by the phone—because at that point, everybody else was answering the phone and saying, “No, she hasn’t heard from him. We haven’t heard anything. We’ll call if anything happens.” I walked by the kitchen, the phone was there, and I picked it up. I heard his voice on the other end.
Pasquale Buzzelli: I said, “Louise, it’s me, Pasquale.” She gasped, “Oh, my God, Pasquale! Pasquale! Oh, my God! You’re okay!” I heard this huge uproar in the house.
Louise Buzzelli: He said, “I’m in an ambulance right now.” He said, “I’m borrowing one of the emergency workers’ cell phones to call you. I lost my phone, and I’m on the way down to Saint Vincent’s Hospital. They’re going to treat me down there.” I was like, “Are you okay? What happened? Are you all right?”
Pasquale Buzzelli: I said, “I don’t know how, but I’m alive. I wanted to tell you.”
Louise Buzzelli: I couldn’t believe the day that had happened from 8:30 in the morning until 3:30 that afternoon—a total 180. To know that he was alive, that I still had him and that my daughter and my future children would have a father, it was a blessing. Nothing else really mattered.
* * *
As the afternoon hours passed and rescue efforts solidified above ground, Will Jimeno and the other Port Authority officers trapped under the South Tower lost hope that they’d be found, as did Genelle Guzman, buried not far from where her coworker Pasquale Buzzelli had been rescued.
Genelle Guzman, office assistant, Port Authority, North Tower: I heard the Motorolas—the walkie-talkies—going off and you could hear movements, probably trucks. I could hear noises, but didn’t hear anybody’s voice. Nobody calling out. I called out a couple of times. I called out for help. I was getting breathless and I was going to shut my eyes and hope not to get up.
William Jimeno, officer, PAPD: Things were looking very bleak. I wanted to go to sleep, and not wake up. I remember being able to take out of my left pocket a card and my pen. My pen wasn’t working really good—because of the debris—but I was able to etch into the card, Allison I love you. I put it back in there, hoping that they would find it if they found my body, because at this point I didn’t think we were getting out of there.
Genelle Guzman: I was preparing myself to die. I thought about my mom and my family. I said, “I’m still breathing, I’m alive, and I need to do something.” I need to pray. I said to myself, “God, do me a favor—if I have to die under the rubble, let my family find my body so we can have a burial.” Then I asked for another favor from the Lord, I said, “If I have to die, at least let them get me out of here and see my daughter for one more time. If I make it to the hospital, I’ll at least see my daughter for one more time.” I’d shut my eyes again, wake up, and realize I was still stuck in this building. I said, “God, do me one more favor. I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to be able to see my daughter and my family.” I asked God for a miracle. I asked him to save me. I kept begging the Lord for a second chance. I kept begging him.
“Waiting for the injured”
* * *
At the Hospitals
Hospitals across New York City readied themselves for massive casualties within minutes of the first attack, figuring that the large-scale destruction would surely result in thousands or even tens of thousands of injuries. Even farther away, up and down the East Coast, hospitals in cities like Boston prepared to receive overflow injuries and trauma cases. Throughout the day, injured office workers, Manhattan residents, and first responders did seek treatment, but the arriving patients only ever amounted to a trickle, not a flood. Doctors and nurses were left with the sinking realization that no patients meant no survivors.
Michael McAvoy, associate director, Bear Stearns, Brooklyn: I spent the rest of the day at the hospitals, at the firehouse, or at my friend’s apartment in Greenwich Village. I looked over lists of people who were taken to various hospitals. No John McAvoy, my brother, no James Ladley, my friend who worked for Cantor Fitzgerald. You look at the list and try to will a name onto it.
Tracy Donahoo, transit officer, NYPD: I ended up, at some point, walking from my command to Saint Vincent’s Hospital, ’cause they wanted me to get checked out ’cause I had blood coming out of my ears. I was a mess. When I got to Saint Vincent’s, it was very creepy ’cause there was no one there. I expected so many people to be there, and I’d be waiting a long time to see a doctor. The doctors were very nonchalant when they saw me. They were waiting for the real bodies to come, the real people, and there was nobody there to come.
Harry Waizer, tax counsel, Cantor Fitzgerald, North Tower: I remember arriving at the hospital. I remember somebody asking me a few questions and I asked them to call Karen, my wife, and I gave them her phone number. I remember somebody saying, “We’re going to have to intubate you.” I said, “Do what you have to do.” That’s the very last thing I remember. I don’t remember anything for about seven weeks.
Francine Kelly, registered nurse and nurse manager, Saint Vincent’s Catholic Medical Center: I think we saw 350 to 450 patients within the first eight hours of 9/11. We saw tremendous volumes of patients. We saw in those first couple hours some people who worked in the World Trade Center. We saw burns, shrapnel wounds, crush injuries, people in hypertensive crisis. Then as the day continued, then, we started to see rescue workers come in who were injured in their line of duty. Midafternoon, three or four o’clock, we were working nonstop. Then what happened, unfortunately, is all of a sudden things slowed down. That was very, very difficult for us, because you kept wanting to hear that ambulance siren.
Joe Esposito, chief of department, NYPD: They were waiting for the injured, and they never came.
David Norman, officer, Emergency Service Unit, Truck 1, NYPD: I had a scratched cornea. I was bleeding. I had burns on my legs. They brought us to Saint Vincent’s Hospital. They cut all our clothes off. We’re standing there pretty much naked out on Seventh Avenue, and then they gave us hospital gowns and brought us inside and triaged us at that point. They flushed my eye and some other stuff, and were able to remove some of the debris that was scratching my cornea. And then I got a patch.
Michael McAvoy: I walked back to Saint Vincent’s Hospital on Seventh Avenue. Maybe I should give blood? At the hospital, there were stretchers and gurneys and tons of nurses and doctors, but no new arriving patients.
John Cahill, senior policy adviser to Governor Pataki: We spent that day marshaling state resources for the response. We lined up so many doctors and blood donations, and
the reality was, at the end of the day, very little of that was needed.
“Mom, is America going to survive this?”
* * *
The 9/11 Generation
As the attacks that Tuesday morning unfolded and news spread across the country, it left the nation’s children bewildered and confused—and imprinted on all of them, at all ages, lasting memories.
BABIES
Sheryl Meyer, parent, Tulsa, Oklahoma: My son was going to turn one month old on the 12th. I had planned to take him out for his first walk in the stroller—it was very hot still in Oklahoma—and I woke up to a voice mail from my brother, who simply said, “Turn on the TV.” I sat in shock all morning and, eventually, decided to go out on the walk anyway. I remember such a surreal feeling every time a plane would fly over, as many rerouted flights did until air traffic was suspended. I also remember looking at my son and thinking how one day, he would know about these horrific events. I wish he didn’t have to know such evil exists.
AGE 2
Jenna Greene, parent, Maryland: I was running late, driving my two-year-old son to daycare a block from the White House. We listened to little kid songs like “Wheels on the Bus” during the entire drive—I had no idea what was happening, except I heard a lot of sirens. The director of the daycare met us at the front door, looking frantic. “Go home,” she said. “Turn around right now and go home. It’s not safe here.” I listened to WTOP radio on the drive back, and my son cried and cried—in part because we weren’t listening to “Wheels on the Bus,” but also because even he could tell something very bad had happened.
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