Today is my 56th birthday, and I will share the day with my wife Hala, and my youngest daughters, Celine and Angelina. They are three of the greatest gifts God has given me.
For many years we have told Celine about a tragic story that ultimately had a happy ending, thanks to the men and women in the FDNY and NYPD, including a Sergeant John Coughlin, of the NYPD's Emergency Response Unit.
Now that Celine is old enough to understand the true meaning of courage and heroism, I recently told her something that I had kept from her for years....the rest of the story, as they say. She responded with this letter:
Dear Mrs. Coughlin,
On August 25, 2000, a woman in the Bronx called 911 for help because her six month old baby was choking and could barely breathe. The police and fire department officers came to their apartment, and when the baby's father, who was working found out, he rushed home. When he arrived at his apartment, he saw all the police and emergency vehicles and was afraid of what happened.
As he came in the door, the first thing he saw was his wife crying hysterically, but then he saw a big policeman, Sergeant John Coughlin of the NYPD, holding the baby in his arms over his head, and the baby was laughing so hard, and she was ok.
Well, that baby was me. My name is Celine Kerik, and my father was the police commissioner at the time, Bernard Kerik.
Today I am 11 years old, and my mother and father have told me that story many many times, but what I had not known until now is that Sgt. John Coughlin, your husband, died when the Twin Towers came crashing down on top of him on September 11, 2001.
After learning and understanding what happened, and since it will be 10 years ago since he died, I wanted to write you this letter.
My father always says he was a hero for all of New York City and the country, and he called him a Teddy Bear with a big heart. But for me, he is my hero for helping keep me alive, and I just wanted to thank him.
My Uncle Besim recently died, and my dad said it was because God needs lots of angels in heaven. I'm sure Mr. Coughlin is one of them. God Bless him, and you and your daughters too.
Sincerely,
CELINE C. KERIK
Today, we celebrated not just my birthday but Celine's life being saved as well. And we celebrated the first responders and all who serve our country. Please pray for them, Sgt. John Coughlin and his family, and all who have put their lives on the line for the people of the United States of America.
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Coughlin. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Coughlin. Sort by date Show all posts
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Saturday, September 7, 2013
REFLECTIONS OF 9/11/2001
September 11, 2001 began like most mornings. It was around 6 a.m. that I gave my wife Hala and 11 month old daughter Celine a kiss before walking out the door of our apartment. Given it was New York City’s primary election day for the mayoral candidates, Hala and I had plans to watch the election results with the Mayor at The Dylan Hotel, on East 41st Street, that evening. I confirmed our plans and told her I’d see her later. Little did I know no one would be voting that day.
I was in sweats, ready for my daily work out in the gym in the back to the Commissioner’s office at NYPD headquarters. The drive from my apartment took about 40 minutes. By the time I arrived, I had read through the crime stats from the night before and had been briefed by the detectives in my car. Nothing, that I recall, was out the ordinary. If we all were lucky, it would be a peaceful day with the election going smoothly.
I went to my office, put a few things on my desk, and then started running on the treadmill while watching the news. It was a blue sky day, the kind you’d want for any election. I finished my workout about 0745 and then went over some paperwork in my office. When I finished, I went to take a shower and was standing in my bathroom shaving when John Picciano, my chief of staff, and Detective Hector Santiago started banging on my outer door. When I opened it, I still had shaving cream all over my face and a white towel around my waist. “A plane has just hit Tower One,” they said, almost in unison. I looked up at the TV over my treadmill and saw the news coverage. I walked quickly through my office to my conference room to look at the Towers...a clear shot from my windows. I was horrified by what I saw.
The devastation to the North Tower, 1 World Trade Center (WTC), was mind-boggling. I wondered how a small plane could have done so much damage. The news began reporting that it was a jet airliner. A jetliner?
Within minutes I was there, standing on West Broadway on the north side of the building, right next to 7 World Trade which housed the Mayor's Office of Emergency Management. The front of it had been damaged by the explosion of the airplane hitting the building. There was no way to get into the building or to the Office of Emergency Management. There was debris falling from the top of the North Tower. People were running out buildings, screaming and crying. A police sergeant ran towards me and my men, screaming for us to get back. "Back up, back up!" he yelled, "They're jumping!"
As most Americans watched their television in horror as men and women jumped to their deaths from the 95th floor of the building, I witnessed their last moments alive. One by one, then two and three at a time, they jumped and fell to the ground. I felt completely helpless. There was no way to stop them...or to help them. They were escaping the towering inferno in the only way they could.
About 15-20 feet to my right, just off the curb, was a hot dog vendor who too realized what he was seeing. He began screaming at the top of his lungs, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” He moved closer to me, gesturing and grimacing wildly. Then, he simply stood still, still screaming but not moving. He was so loud I couldn’t hear what my people were shouting to me. I yelled for them to get him back and out of the way. They moved him behind me and north of Barclay, and, luckily they did because had he stood there much longer, he would have died instantly from more falling debris.
Unanswerable questions
The city's response was in motion and, as bad as it seemed at that moment, it was about to get severely worse, not only for New York City, but the entire nation. As I turned around to give an order to one of my men, an enormous explosion and fireball blew out of the north side of the South Tower around the 85th floor. As I looked straight up, I was confused at first. What the hell just happened? Then I heard a member of the NYPD aviation unit on the radio say that a second jet airliner had just hit the South Tower on the south side, opposite of where I was standing. In that instant, I knew we were at war. An enemy was attacking us. I yelled for John Picciano, my chief of staff, to get me air support and close down the airspace.
How many planes did they have? Were they also on the ground? Where would they strike next? Would they try to kill the mayor? Me? My mind was racing with unanswerable questions.
We ran for cover as debris from the plane and building showered down on top of us. A two foot chunk of metal from the plane struck one of my detectives in the back of the leg, nearly knocking him to the ground.
I told my staff to call the mayor's car and divert him. Have him meet me at West Broadway and Barclay. Forget meeting at 7 WTC; it was too dangerous. About three minutes later, the mayor arrived, jumped out of his truck and ran up to where I was standing. Joe Lhota, his deputy mayor, was there too. I began telling them about the second plane hitting Tower Two just minutes before, just as I was standing there. We were looking up at the buildings and saw the rainstorm of white papers, chunks of metal, and….people. Suddenly the mayor realized that people were jumping to their deaths to escape the raging fire. He looked at me, stunned. It was obvious that we were likely to lose everyone and everything above the impact area of where the planes had hit. We realized this was like nothing we had ever been through before.
The mayor grabbed my arm and said, "We're in unchartered territory." I assumed at the time that he was referring to the damage and devastation to the Towers and at the size of the response to come. However, in the days that followed the attack, and realizing an enemy had succeeded in the unimaginable—a catastrophic attack in the heart of our country's financial district—those words had a whole new meaning.
There were no warning signs of the attack, but New York City's first responders in the FDNY, NYPD, EMS and Port Authority Police could not have accomplished more than they did that morning given the circumstances. With strength, determination, valor and grace, they executed plans and protocols that had been developed over the years, resulting in the evacuation of more than 100,000 people from lower Manhattan and the impact zone, the rescue and evacuation of thousands from the two buildings, and the establishment of one of the largest crime scenes in U.S. history, all in the face of death that, by day's end, claimed nearly 400 of their comrades.
‘We’ve got this, Boss’
The mayor and I wanted to see the damage to the other side of the buildings so we walked to the fire department’s temporary command center. We met with the Fire Department's First Deputy Commissioner, Chief of Department, and Chief of Operations, three of the most experienced fire fighters in the country with well over 100 years of combined experience. Also there were Father Mychal Judge, the Fire Department's Chaplain, and Sergeant John Coughlin from the NYPD Emergency Services Unit (ESU). They briefed us on their assessment of the damage and the response. As the mayor spoke to Father Judge, I spoke to Sergeant Coughlin. Despite the death and devastation around them, they were all examples of grace under pressure. John briefed me on the ESU teams on site; you would have thought he was briefing me on a minor water main leak. He was confident, courageous, and defiant. "We’ve got this, Boss," he said, and he knew I believed in him. Just 10 months earlier, he had helped save my baby daughter's life when she was choking. I already knew Coughlin was a hero. They all were. As we walked away, heading back north on West Street, I told him to stay safe. Father Judge blessed us all. It was the last time I would see any of them alive.
One of my detectives had commandeered a small office on the corner of Barclay Street and West Broadway for use as a temporary command post. We walked from West Street back to that office. The mayor called the White House from a hard-line phone. He wanted to ask for military support. After finally getting through, he was told that the Vice President would come on the line momentarily. All of the sudden, the mayor abruptly hung up the phone, looked at me and said, "That's not good. They said they're evacuating the White House and they think the Pentagon has just been hit."
Before I could get my mind around his words, the building we were standing in began to tremble as if a freight train were coming through the side of it. Joe Esposito, the NYPD Chief of Department, burst through the door and yelled, "It's coming down!" Someone yelled, “Hit the deck!” A bunch of the mayor’s staff dove onto the floor. Some crawled under desks or tables. The building was rattling. No one screamed or yelled, but I could see the fright in their faces. I was standing, holding onto the wall and a file cabinet. None of us knew what was really going on. From where I was standing, I could see the windows in the corridor that led into the office. All at once, they were exploding. Something was happening outside…everything was shaking.
The South Tower of the World Trade Center complex, one of the biggest buildings in the world, crashed to the ground. We didn’t see it, but we heard it. Almost instantly the office was filled with smoke, dust, and a gassy smell.
When the rumbling stopped, my security team rushed the mayor, the others, and me to the back of the office. There was a door that entered into the hallway. One of my men was yelling into his portable radio, "Code Black!" the distress signal if the mayor or police commissioner was in trouble. The hallway connected to a maze of hallways, each with a door at the end. One by one each door was checked. Locked. We couldn't breathe. We were suffocating. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and mouth. I remember thinking: "All the shit I've been involved in... burning buildings, gun battles, drugs busts…and I'm going to die in an office!"
We couldn’t stay there
I didn’t know how much time we had. No one could rescue us because no one knew where we were. I doubted the “Code Black” was even transmitted due to all the crap in the air and whatever else was going on outside. I thought of my wife and baby. Little did I know, Hala was watching the news coverage, and they were reporting the mayor and I were missing.
We were surrounded by locked doors. The smoke and dust in the air were getting thicker. Breathing was becoming more difficult. I thought we were going to die there. Then, to our utter amazement, we heard keys jangling. Someone was opening one of the doors. We rushed in that direction and when the door opened, two maintenance men were about as stunned to see us as we were them... especially for them to see the mayor and me. We all took deep breaths of clean air. But we knew we couldn’t stay there. I asked them where the other doors went and if there was a back way out of the building. They said yes and we all headed for the far door that they opened with a set of keys. We all moved quickly down this new hallway, went through another door, and found ourselves in the lobby of 100 Church Street.
We were now four blocks away from the Towers, and as I looked out of the windows in the lobby of the building, my first thought was that we had suffered a nuclear blast. Everything outside was white. Ash covered the streets, cars, and buildings. There was nearly an inch of dust on the ground. As we walked outside, what struck me perhaps more than anything was that there was no sound. None. It was almost as if we had been placed in a soundproof room. The silence was beyond eerie…it was frightening. What had really happened? We didn’t know. People were walking around in a daze. Some looked like plaster statues. Some were crying. I heard someone mumble, "It's down...the Tower's down....it's completely down."
Many of the mayor's staff wanted him to return to City Hall, but I thought otherwise. I didn't know how many more planes there were or what the next targets could be. I wondered if ground attacks were planned. I told the mayor, "You cannot go back to City Hall. It is too dangerous for you there. You have got to get out of here."
I needed to keep him alive. Continuity of government is critical at a time like this. I don't think he was thinking of it that way, but for me, it was no different than the U.S. Secret Service keeping the president airborne and out of Washington, D.C. until they could determine further threats.
We began walking north. We had to set up a command center, but where? It was still difficult to breathe but not as bad as when we were stuck in that office. Then came that noise again. People behind us and around us began running and screaming. "It's coming down," and within seconds, the North Tower collapsed. Another blizzard of ash, dust and soot. Again, it was difficult to breathe.
First we went into a hotel and then a fire station. I ultimately recommended that we use the New York City Police Academy as a command center. It was nondescript and out of the way. When I spoke with the press and media, I told them to them to keep the location secret. If there were enemy on the ground, I did not want them to know the whereabouts of the mayor, governor or the command center.
Greatest rescue mission
By 12:30 p.m., the mayor, fire commissioner, nearly every city agency head and I met at the academy to begin managing the crisis. Governor George Pataki and his senior staff responded. The mayor and I later went to Saint Vincent's Hospital to check on casualties. Doctors and nurses were standing and sitting outside, waiting for those who might need medical attention. Few arrived. Little did I know then, that was a good sign for all of us. It meant the first responders had done a better job than anyone could have imagined. More than 100,000 people had been rescued or evacuated from those buildings and the surrounding area. This was one of the greatest rescue missions in U.S. history, and the men and women of the New York City Fire and Police Departments, EMS and the Port Authority Police were responsible.
I returned to police headquarters late that afternoon. Joe Dunne, my first deputy, came into my office to tell me the families of the 23 missing police officers from the NYPD were assembled in the auditorium, waiting for me. Meeting the families was one of the most difficult moments of that day, but it was also one of the most inspirational. Fearing the worst, I tried to remain hopeful and optimistic. I shared their pain, but I also had great pride in our department...its heritage, its camaraderie and its ability to take care of its own. The family members were an inspiration to all of us. I often think that they were a greater inspiration to me than I may have been to them.
Late that night, the mayor left the academy for home, and I left for my office. Before going to headquarters, I returned to what became known as "Ground Zero." I needed to see it again. I walked through the smoke and debris and saw a small group of people walking toward me. It was the mayor and his staff. We met for a moment. We barely spoke. We stood there looking at the damage and devastation. For me, it was like looking into the gates of hell, the smoke and fires and the smell. It was hard to breathe. I thought of those we were missing. I thought of the men and women who were there working. How could this happen and why? All in one day, I had witnessed the worst and the best in humanity...the evil that had attacked us and the courageous men and women, working tirelessly around the clock in an attempt to rescue any possible survivors.
I slept in my office that night. I woke to the sound of fighter jets patrolling our skies. New York City was a war zone. I cried and I prayed to God for strength.
Completely gone
Every day I witnessed great heroism and experienced great loss, as did all of America. Any of us who were at Ground Zero for any period of time saw things that would haunt the strongest of men. I clearly remember the day I got the news that they found two of my cops. I went to Ground Zero immediately. Every worker at the site came to a standstill as I walked toward my First Deputy Joe Dunne and the Chief of Department Joe Esposito. There were hundreds of workers, but it was still and silent. When I got to Dunne and Esposito, I said, "Who is it?" They told me the names of the two cops. I then asked, “Where are they?”
They both pointed towards two orange Home Depot buckets, 10 to 15 feet away from where I was standing. I slowly walked toward the buckets, looked around and saw nothing. When I got up to the buckets and looked inside, each contained an exploded gun, a magazine, and, I believe, a set of keys and handcuffs. There was no body, vest, boots, uniform or belts...there was nothing else. These men were completely gone. Dunne had tears running down his face. He said, "There's nothing else."
To this day, I hate the sight of orange buckets.
The initial shock of finds like this was overwhelming to all of us. Some people took it harder than others, and some never recovered. The psychological impact of war can be devastating, and this was the first battleground in this war with our new-found enemy. The men and women serving on that battlefield we call “Ground Zero,” including many volunteers from across the country, somehow found the strength to work through these circumstances, through the death and devastation. The emergency responders deserve so much more credit than people have given them, not to mention the inference by many that they do not deserve the medical attention they have asked for. Anyone who refuses or questions medical support for the men and women who worked on those piles for days, weeks, and months at a time has absolutely no conception of what they went through.
In the three and a half months that followed, we were not perfect, but did the best we could. As I have watched other crises around the world in the 10 years since, I stand even more proud today of our first responders. Their successes and sacrifices have been unprecedented, and I believe there are none better.
Prior to September 11, 2001, I had already decided and announced I would leave office on December 31, 2001, with Mayor Giuliani, even though Mayor-elect Michael Bloomberg had asked me to stay on as his police commissioner. Crime was down to a five year low, the morale of cops was up, community relations were stronger, and in just 13 months, we had reduced the response times nearly 50 percent for the first time in more than 10 years. I was proud of my accomplishments as police commissioner, but not as proud as I was of the men and women who worked under my command.
Day in and day out, they put their lives on the line for the people of the City of New York, but it was not until 9/11 that the entire world got to see them at their best. They never cowered, and they did not flinch. In the face of death, their strength, dignity, valor and grace were unparalleled, just as with their brothers and sisters in the FDNY and Port Authority Police.
May God bless those who were there, those we have lost since, and the families they left behind.
And may God continue to bless the United States of America.
I was in sweats, ready for my daily work out in the gym in the back to the Commissioner’s office at NYPD headquarters. The drive from my apartment took about 40 minutes. By the time I arrived, I had read through the crime stats from the night before and had been briefed by the detectives in my car. Nothing, that I recall, was out the ordinary. If we all were lucky, it would be a peaceful day with the election going smoothly.
I went to my office, put a few things on my desk, and then started running on the treadmill while watching the news. It was a blue sky day, the kind you’d want for any election. I finished my workout about 0745 and then went over some paperwork in my office. When I finished, I went to take a shower and was standing in my bathroom shaving when John Picciano, my chief of staff, and Detective Hector Santiago started banging on my outer door. When I opened it, I still had shaving cream all over my face and a white towel around my waist. “A plane has just hit Tower One,” they said, almost in unison. I looked up at the TV over my treadmill and saw the news coverage. I walked quickly through my office to my conference room to look at the Towers...a clear shot from my windows. I was horrified by what I saw.
The devastation to the North Tower, 1 World Trade Center (WTC), was mind-boggling. I wondered how a small plane could have done so much damage. The news began reporting that it was a jet airliner. A jetliner?
Within minutes I was there, standing on West Broadway on the north side of the building, right next to 7 World Trade which housed the Mayor's Office of Emergency Management. The front of it had been damaged by the explosion of the airplane hitting the building. There was no way to get into the building or to the Office of Emergency Management. There was debris falling from the top of the North Tower. People were running out buildings, screaming and crying. A police sergeant ran towards me and my men, screaming for us to get back. "Back up, back up!" he yelled, "They're jumping!"
As most Americans watched their television in horror as men and women jumped to their deaths from the 95th floor of the building, I witnessed their last moments alive. One by one, then two and three at a time, they jumped and fell to the ground. I felt completely helpless. There was no way to stop them...or to help them. They were escaping the towering inferno in the only way they could.
About 15-20 feet to my right, just off the curb, was a hot dog vendor who too realized what he was seeing. He began screaming at the top of his lungs, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” He moved closer to me, gesturing and grimacing wildly. Then, he simply stood still, still screaming but not moving. He was so loud I couldn’t hear what my people were shouting to me. I yelled for them to get him back and out of the way. They moved him behind me and north of Barclay, and, luckily they did because had he stood there much longer, he would have died instantly from more falling debris.
Unanswerable questions
The city's response was in motion and, as bad as it seemed at that moment, it was about to get severely worse, not only for New York City, but the entire nation. As I turned around to give an order to one of my men, an enormous explosion and fireball blew out of the north side of the South Tower around the 85th floor. As I looked straight up, I was confused at first. What the hell just happened? Then I heard a member of the NYPD aviation unit on the radio say that a second jet airliner had just hit the South Tower on the south side, opposite of where I was standing. In that instant, I knew we were at war. An enemy was attacking us. I yelled for John Picciano, my chief of staff, to get me air support and close down the airspace.
How many planes did they have? Were they also on the ground? Where would they strike next? Would they try to kill the mayor? Me? My mind was racing with unanswerable questions.
We ran for cover as debris from the plane and building showered down on top of us. A two foot chunk of metal from the plane struck one of my detectives in the back of the leg, nearly knocking him to the ground.
I told my staff to call the mayor's car and divert him. Have him meet me at West Broadway and Barclay. Forget meeting at 7 WTC; it was too dangerous. About three minutes later, the mayor arrived, jumped out of his truck and ran up to where I was standing. Joe Lhota, his deputy mayor, was there too. I began telling them about the second plane hitting Tower Two just minutes before, just as I was standing there. We were looking up at the buildings and saw the rainstorm of white papers, chunks of metal, and….people. Suddenly the mayor realized that people were jumping to their deaths to escape the raging fire. He looked at me, stunned. It was obvious that we were likely to lose everyone and everything above the impact area of where the planes had hit. We realized this was like nothing we had ever been through before.
The mayor grabbed my arm and said, "We're in unchartered territory." I assumed at the time that he was referring to the damage and devastation to the Towers and at the size of the response to come. However, in the days that followed the attack, and realizing an enemy had succeeded in the unimaginable—a catastrophic attack in the heart of our country's financial district—those words had a whole new meaning.
There were no warning signs of the attack, but New York City's first responders in the FDNY, NYPD, EMS and Port Authority Police could not have accomplished more than they did that morning given the circumstances. With strength, determination, valor and grace, they executed plans and protocols that had been developed over the years, resulting in the evacuation of more than 100,000 people from lower Manhattan and the impact zone, the rescue and evacuation of thousands from the two buildings, and the establishment of one of the largest crime scenes in U.S. history, all in the face of death that, by day's end, claimed nearly 400 of their comrades.
‘We’ve got this, Boss’
The mayor and I wanted to see the damage to the other side of the buildings so we walked to the fire department’s temporary command center. We met with the Fire Department's First Deputy Commissioner, Chief of Department, and Chief of Operations, three of the most experienced fire fighters in the country with well over 100 years of combined experience. Also there were Father Mychal Judge, the Fire Department's Chaplain, and Sergeant John Coughlin from the NYPD Emergency Services Unit (ESU). They briefed us on their assessment of the damage and the response. As the mayor spoke to Father Judge, I spoke to Sergeant Coughlin. Despite the death and devastation around them, they were all examples of grace under pressure. John briefed me on the ESU teams on site; you would have thought he was briefing me on a minor water main leak. He was confident, courageous, and defiant. "We’ve got this, Boss," he said, and he knew I believed in him. Just 10 months earlier, he had helped save my baby daughter's life when she was choking. I already knew Coughlin was a hero. They all were. As we walked away, heading back north on West Street, I told him to stay safe. Father Judge blessed us all. It was the last time I would see any of them alive.
One of my detectives had commandeered a small office on the corner of Barclay Street and West Broadway for use as a temporary command post. We walked from West Street back to that office. The mayor called the White House from a hard-line phone. He wanted to ask for military support. After finally getting through, he was told that the Vice President would come on the line momentarily. All of the sudden, the mayor abruptly hung up the phone, looked at me and said, "That's not good. They said they're evacuating the White House and they think the Pentagon has just been hit."
Before I could get my mind around his words, the building we were standing in began to tremble as if a freight train were coming through the side of it. Joe Esposito, the NYPD Chief of Department, burst through the door and yelled, "It's coming down!" Someone yelled, “Hit the deck!” A bunch of the mayor’s staff dove onto the floor. Some crawled under desks or tables. The building was rattling. No one screamed or yelled, but I could see the fright in their faces. I was standing, holding onto the wall and a file cabinet. None of us knew what was really going on. From where I was standing, I could see the windows in the corridor that led into the office. All at once, they were exploding. Something was happening outside…everything was shaking.
The South Tower of the World Trade Center complex, one of the biggest buildings in the world, crashed to the ground. We didn’t see it, but we heard it. Almost instantly the office was filled with smoke, dust, and a gassy smell.
When the rumbling stopped, my security team rushed the mayor, the others, and me to the back of the office. There was a door that entered into the hallway. One of my men was yelling into his portable radio, "Code Black!" the distress signal if the mayor or police commissioner was in trouble. The hallway connected to a maze of hallways, each with a door at the end. One by one each door was checked. Locked. We couldn't breathe. We were suffocating. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and mouth. I remember thinking: "All the shit I've been involved in... burning buildings, gun battles, drugs busts…and I'm going to die in an office!"
We couldn’t stay there
I didn’t know how much time we had. No one could rescue us because no one knew where we were. I doubted the “Code Black” was even transmitted due to all the crap in the air and whatever else was going on outside. I thought of my wife and baby. Little did I know, Hala was watching the news coverage, and they were reporting the mayor and I were missing.
We were surrounded by locked doors. The smoke and dust in the air were getting thicker. Breathing was becoming more difficult. I thought we were going to die there. Then, to our utter amazement, we heard keys jangling. Someone was opening one of the doors. We rushed in that direction and when the door opened, two maintenance men were about as stunned to see us as we were them... especially for them to see the mayor and me. We all took deep breaths of clean air. But we knew we couldn’t stay there. I asked them where the other doors went and if there was a back way out of the building. They said yes and we all headed for the far door that they opened with a set of keys. We all moved quickly down this new hallway, went through another door, and found ourselves in the lobby of 100 Church Street.
We were now four blocks away from the Towers, and as I looked out of the windows in the lobby of the building, my first thought was that we had suffered a nuclear blast. Everything outside was white. Ash covered the streets, cars, and buildings. There was nearly an inch of dust on the ground. As we walked outside, what struck me perhaps more than anything was that there was no sound. None. It was almost as if we had been placed in a soundproof room. The silence was beyond eerie…it was frightening. What had really happened? We didn’t know. People were walking around in a daze. Some looked like plaster statues. Some were crying. I heard someone mumble, "It's down...the Tower's down....it's completely down."
Many of the mayor's staff wanted him to return to City Hall, but I thought otherwise. I didn't know how many more planes there were or what the next targets could be. I wondered if ground attacks were planned. I told the mayor, "You cannot go back to City Hall. It is too dangerous for you there. You have got to get out of here."
I needed to keep him alive. Continuity of government is critical at a time like this. I don't think he was thinking of it that way, but for me, it was no different than the U.S. Secret Service keeping the president airborne and out of Washington, D.C. until they could determine further threats.
We began walking north. We had to set up a command center, but where? It was still difficult to breathe but not as bad as when we were stuck in that office. Then came that noise again. People behind us and around us began running and screaming. "It's coming down," and within seconds, the North Tower collapsed. Another blizzard of ash, dust and soot. Again, it was difficult to breathe.
First we went into a hotel and then a fire station. I ultimately recommended that we use the New York City Police Academy as a command center. It was nondescript and out of the way. When I spoke with the press and media, I told them to them to keep the location secret. If there were enemy on the ground, I did not want them to know the whereabouts of the mayor, governor or the command center.
Greatest rescue mission
By 12:30 p.m., the mayor, fire commissioner, nearly every city agency head and I met at the academy to begin managing the crisis. Governor George Pataki and his senior staff responded. The mayor and I later went to Saint Vincent's Hospital to check on casualties. Doctors and nurses were standing and sitting outside, waiting for those who might need medical attention. Few arrived. Little did I know then, that was a good sign for all of us. It meant the first responders had done a better job than anyone could have imagined. More than 100,000 people had been rescued or evacuated from those buildings and the surrounding area. This was one of the greatest rescue missions in U.S. history, and the men and women of the New York City Fire and Police Departments, EMS and the Port Authority Police were responsible.
I returned to police headquarters late that afternoon. Joe Dunne, my first deputy, came into my office to tell me the families of the 23 missing police officers from the NYPD were assembled in the auditorium, waiting for me. Meeting the families was one of the most difficult moments of that day, but it was also one of the most inspirational. Fearing the worst, I tried to remain hopeful and optimistic. I shared their pain, but I also had great pride in our department...its heritage, its camaraderie and its ability to take care of its own. The family members were an inspiration to all of us. I often think that they were a greater inspiration to me than I may have been to them.
Late that night, the mayor left the academy for home, and I left for my office. Before going to headquarters, I returned to what became known as "Ground Zero." I needed to see it again. I walked through the smoke and debris and saw a small group of people walking toward me. It was the mayor and his staff. We met for a moment. We barely spoke. We stood there looking at the damage and devastation. For me, it was like looking into the gates of hell, the smoke and fires and the smell. It was hard to breathe. I thought of those we were missing. I thought of the men and women who were there working. How could this happen and why? All in one day, I had witnessed the worst and the best in humanity...the evil that had attacked us and the courageous men and women, working tirelessly around the clock in an attempt to rescue any possible survivors.
I slept in my office that night. I woke to the sound of fighter jets patrolling our skies. New York City was a war zone. I cried and I prayed to God for strength.
Completely gone
Every day I witnessed great heroism and experienced great loss, as did all of America. Any of us who were at Ground Zero for any period of time saw things that would haunt the strongest of men. I clearly remember the day I got the news that they found two of my cops. I went to Ground Zero immediately. Every worker at the site came to a standstill as I walked toward my First Deputy Joe Dunne and the Chief of Department Joe Esposito. There were hundreds of workers, but it was still and silent. When I got to Dunne and Esposito, I said, "Who is it?" They told me the names of the two cops. I then asked, “Where are they?”
They both pointed towards two orange Home Depot buckets, 10 to 15 feet away from where I was standing. I slowly walked toward the buckets, looked around and saw nothing. When I got up to the buckets and looked inside, each contained an exploded gun, a magazine, and, I believe, a set of keys and handcuffs. There was no body, vest, boots, uniform or belts...there was nothing else. These men were completely gone. Dunne had tears running down his face. He said, "There's nothing else."
To this day, I hate the sight of orange buckets.
The initial shock of finds like this was overwhelming to all of us. Some people took it harder than others, and some never recovered. The psychological impact of war can be devastating, and this was the first battleground in this war with our new-found enemy. The men and women serving on that battlefield we call “Ground Zero,” including many volunteers from across the country, somehow found the strength to work through these circumstances, through the death and devastation. The emergency responders deserve so much more credit than people have given them, not to mention the inference by many that they do not deserve the medical attention they have asked for. Anyone who refuses or questions medical support for the men and women who worked on those piles for days, weeks, and months at a time has absolutely no conception of what they went through.
In the three and a half months that followed, we were not perfect, but did the best we could. As I have watched other crises around the world in the 10 years since, I stand even more proud today of our first responders. Their successes and sacrifices have been unprecedented, and I believe there are none better.
Prior to September 11, 2001, I had already decided and announced I would leave office on December 31, 2001, with Mayor Giuliani, even though Mayor-elect Michael Bloomberg had asked me to stay on as his police commissioner. Crime was down to a five year low, the morale of cops was up, community relations were stronger, and in just 13 months, we had reduced the response times nearly 50 percent for the first time in more than 10 years. I was proud of my accomplishments as police commissioner, but not as proud as I was of the men and women who worked under my command.
Day in and day out, they put their lives on the line for the people of the City of New York, but it was not until 9/11 that the entire world got to see them at their best. They never cowered, and they did not flinch. In the face of death, their strength, dignity, valor and grace were unparalleled, just as with their brothers and sisters in the FDNY and Port Authority Police.
May God bless those who were there, those we have lost since, and the families they left behind.
And may God continue to bless the United States of America.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
9/11 Anniversary a Sober Reminder to Be Ready
On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, just minutes after two jetliners slammed through towers I and II of the World Trade Center, Mayor Rudy Giuliani, I, and several others stopped at a temporary command post on West Street to survey the damage of the two buildings.
We met with Sgt. John Coughlin of the NYPD’s Emergency Service Unit and three of the most experienced men in the New York City Fire Department: First Deputy Commissioner William Feehan, Chief of Department Peter Ganci, and Chief of Operations Raymond Downey. They were standing beneath two of the largest buildings in the world that had just been devastated by terror, yet didn’t blink an eye. I was encouraged by their determination and humbled by their bravery. As we walked away from them, the Fire Department’s legendary chaplain, Father Mychal Judge, blessed us with the sign of the cross.
It was the last time I would see them alive.
As we approach the eighth anniversary of the attacks of 9/11, I think of those men and the other men and women like them, who sacrificed their lives to save others. I think of the innocents in the buildings and planes, and those we lost at the Pentagon and in Shanksville.
More so, I think of how this particular anniversary should be an overwhelming reminder to all of us that an attack like this can happen again, even eight years later!
It was just over eight years between the first bombing of the World Trade Center on Feb. 26, 1993 and the terrorist attack on Sept. 11, 2001. It was eight months into President George W. Bush’s first term, when we realized that the shores of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans no longer protected us from the elements of war. We also learned of a new enemy that very few Americans had even heard of.
Osama bin Laden, radical Muslim extremism, and al-Qaida became household words overnight, as the fear of another attack lingered. We learned that this evil and unconventional enemy does not differentiate between civilian and military targets and has no limits in when it comes to mass murder and the annihilation of its enemy, including innocent women and children. We have since learned that it has no real leadership, is not run by an identifiable government, is larger in numbers than our enemies of World War II and has the ability to penetrate our international borders as well as to infiltrate our communities within.
So, here we are eight years after the infamous attacks on 9/11, and eight months into a new president’s administration, exactly where we were in 2001. Al-Qaida and Muslim extremism still threaten our nation, and our war against terror continues, both here and abroad.
Are we better off today than we were on Sept. 10, 2001?
The answer is yes we are — much better. But as we approach this eighth anniversary, we must also admit that we could be in a far better position today if our political leadership would put an end to partisan politics and look out for us as much as they do themselves.
The information age has brought us a far more educated terrorist, one who has access to the Internet and the international press and media so they are watching every move we make, just about in real time.
Our government’s operational secrecy seems almost impossible at times due to leaks of classified information and material. Some blame the journalists; I blame the traitors who release the information in the first place, because besides breaking the law, they jeopardize our national security as well as the lives of the men and women on the front line in this war.
As if that isn’t frightening enough, our political leadership today seems determined to keep the halls of Congress in chaos, focusing on partisan politics while failing to get anything accomplished. The better and brighter members of the House — Democrats and Republicans alike — are being stymied by those whose efforts are focused more on looking out for themselves, ingratiating themselves with a new president, or getting themselves re-elected.
The CIA director is complaining that partisan politics are interfering with operational capabilities and deteriorating the morale of the men and women who place themselves in harms way daily in their fight for our freedom, and the freedom of others.
The Department of Defense has been requested to redirect funds intended for the war, to fund such things as four jets at a total cost of over $500 million that would be used specifically for House members to travel around the world. Some of the same members of Congress who endorsed the purchase of the new aircraft ridiculed and lambasted senior officials of the auto industry when they traveled to Washington, D.C. for hearings. Talk about a hypocrisy.
If reports are accurate, 10 lawmakers — six Democrats and four Republicans — spent 11 days on an international junket in some of the most breathtaking spots on earth, diving and snorkeling at Australia's Great Barrier Reef, watching New Year's fireworks in New Zealand, and sleeping in a luxury Hawaiian hotel. They claimed it was a fact-finding mission to study climate change.
The cost to taxpayers: $500,000.
If House and Senate members are accountable to no one in their own organizations or parties, perhaps the American people need to pay closer attention to what’s going on. Perhaps we should be looking at term limits in the House and Senate . . . maybe we would get a lot more done, particularly by those politicians who in their second term would have nothing to lose. Perhaps then they would act in our best interest.
As it stands today, the ruling party blames the other for past and present failures, and when their incompetence becomes so transparent that their political poll numbers begin to plummet, they all blame the president.
Failure and incompetency in government should not be tolerated at any level, particularly when it comes to our national security. However, our present system seems to allow incompetency through this blame game, preventing real results.
If we learned anything from the attacks of 9/11, we learned that the people and groups that carried out the attacks have enormous patience. They toyed with us between 1993 and 2001 with the bombings of the Al Khobar Towers in Saudi Arabia, our embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, and the USS Cole in Yemen.
Today, North Korea, Iran, and Venezuela continue their threats against us and our supporters, while bin Laden and his band of thugs pursue their promise of an attack far more spectacular than Sept. 11.
With that in mind, I have to wonder if our national security is where it should be today and are our domestic and international intelligence programs running efficiently? Are there accountability programs in place to ensure we’re not missing things as a result of interagency strife or turf wars as we have in the past? Do the men and women in our armed forces have the equipment they need to fight this war and keep them safe? How about our federal and local law enforcement agencies — do they have the tools they need to get the job done? And can we guarantee that the president is going to be given accurate and real-time information to make the decisions he must to protect our homeland?
Personally, I find it amazing that President Barack Obama’s directive to close down Guantanamo Bay hasn’t already been accomplished because we still don’t have a plan in place as to what we are going to do with the prisoners.
Are we going to try them in special military courts or civilian courts on U.S. soil? Are we trying them as enemy combatants of the U.S. — which they are, or are we trying them as violators of U.S. criminal law? If we’re not holding them at Guantanamo, where are they going and more importantly, do we then have the right by law to hold them?
What are the real answers and what takes so long to create a plan?
Have we seriously looked at our constitution and the laws of our land, when it comes to dealing with this new enemy and the war against terror? The answer is no, we have not. If we had, the Guantanamo Bay issue and others like it could have been resolved by now.
Our political leadership should have addressed and resolved many of these issues over the past eight years but its self-serving and partisan interests have prevented it from doing so, just as it is today.
When it comes to our national security, this must stop.
As we approach the eighth anniversary of the worst terror attack in our nation’s history — more damaging than that of Pearl Harbor — you have to ask, did we learn our lesson the last time and have we fixed our flaws to make sure it cannot happen again?
We have tried, but not enough.
Just as it was for Bush in 2001, it has been eight years since the last attack on the World Trade Center, and we are now eight months into Obama’s first presidential term.
Will history repeat itself? As someone who lived through it the last time, I pray and hope not.
But being a realist, I know that the enemy, both here and abroad, continues to wait — testing our patience, our courage, and our leadership. It is not if but when the next attack on our country will come. We ignored the warnings after the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center and never imagined an attack like that of Sept. 11, 2001.
Insist that our lawmakers stop the partisan in-fighting and put our national security before their own self-interests so they can fix the flawed programs and systems before it is too late.
The lives of the American people depend on it.
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