Few remember there was a mayoral primary election taking place on September 11, 2001. When the attacks began, I was on my way to vote. I recall a middle-aged traffic cop telling me a small plane hit one of the Twin Towers. I remarked that a bomber once accidentally flew into the Empire State Building, killing several.
A young NYPD officer stood outside the polling place. I told him something bad had happened downtown, and to check in with his sergeant, which he did. I went in and voted.
Emerging from the polls, I heard a young fireman at Engine 23 yell a curse, and that a second plane hit the other tower. I didn’t process what he’d said. I watched as that company rolled out. All hands were lost, including a friend’s brother.
I walked home. News came in, some inaccurate, some unbelievable, but quite accurate. I went to give blood.
Subways shut, dust-covered survivors walked dazed all the way up to Midtown and beyond. I consoled a woman distraught at seeing victims jump to their deaths from the World Trade Center.
A young policeman, ashen-faced and trying to compose himself, said he’d heard trapped and doomed colleagues calling for help on the radio.
Bridges and tunnels closed, outer borough friends gathered in my apartment, working cellphones through intermittent service, announcing the fate of others who either lived or remained missing.
Smells of smoke and death reached as far — probably much further — than my place on West 55th Street. Manhattan was never again so eerily quiet until the pandemic.
I woke up the next morning wondering if I’d had a bad dream, then heard a fighter jet zoom overhead.
I’m grateful for first responders rescuing everyone who could be rescued from the World Trade Center — tens of thousands of innocents — and sorry for their losses. The fact that every fireman, paramedic, and policeman did their duty despite mortal danger inspired the country. Our nation wouldn’t have pulled through without their courageous example.
Twenty-four fellow alumni of Saint Francis Prep in Fresh Meadows died because of 9/11, 17 of them first responders, another the pregnant wife of a policeman, and daughter of a fireman. Another 10 alumni lost close family members that day, including a classmate’s father last seen helping the women in his office try to escape. My boyhood parish, Saint Aloysius in Great Neck, lost five.
My grade school classmate Jonathan Ielpi of FDNY Squad 288 was killed evacuating civilians from the South Tower. An older friend and mentor, Michael O’Neil of NYPD’s Counterterrorism Division, died of Ground Zero cancer. Jon’s bravery saved lives that morning, as did Mike’s dogged police work thereafter. Both men had small children. I’ll always be proud of them.
Growing up, older people said wistfully that America could never unite again as after Pearl Harbor. We did, though, on 9/11. We don’t want more tragedies to befall us, but maybe we could unify again if needed.
And while it seems as if our country can’t do hard things anymore, we did after 9/11.
Americans went to work the next day, got the financial markets open in less than a week, cleared the World Trade Center site in about eight months, quickly provided aid for the victims and their families, and slowly but beautifully rebuilt Lower Manhattan while gracefully memorializing the dead. We captured or killed almost all terrorist perpetrators involved, and kept attacks on 9/11’s scale from recurring.
None of those outcomes was clear on 9/12. Many were unlikely.
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An NYPD friend observed on the attack’s first anniversary that hearts break when they’re too full of grief, love, and pride at the same time. God bless those who died because of 9/11, and their families and friends.
Let’s remain vigilant so nothing like 9/11 ever happens again, in honor of the memories and sacrifices of those lost, and in defense of our country, our loved ones, and theirs.
Kevin Carroll served with the Army in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Yemen, and CIA in the Near East, after 9/11.