A Nightmare Two
Years Removed
Stan Kid
September 10, 2003
Editor's Preface:
Tocquevillian Managing Editor Stan Kid was
present at Ground Zero in the days following the horrific
events of September 11th, 2001, working alongside his fellow
policemen and firefighters, digging with bare hands through
the rubble in the hopes of bringing victims out alive - hopes
that we now know were to go mostly unfulfilled.
The account below was written by Stan on September
13th, 2001. I asked him to write an addendum to this piece
for our second anniversary observance, to share his thoughts
on the nightmare now, from the perspective of two years distance.
He respectfully declined, citing the difficulty that he has
in revisiting the nightmare in any way.
There is no distancing oneself from the horror
of September 11th, of course. Two years, two decades - it
doesn't matter. Nothing could ever blunt the horror or diminish
the heroism of that fateful day; the day that changed America
- and the world - forever.
That's as it should be...as it must be. America
dare never forget how she was hurt that day, Americans
dare never forget how they felt that day. The horror, the
tears, the shock, the awe, the anger...the fury, the
cries to almighty God of why? And in the days following
the horror, the square-jawed pride and steely determination
that raced across America like shockwaves radiating outward
from Ground Zero, New York City.
Already there are prominent voices in our
own country and among our "leaders" calling for
America to back off, slow down, don't rush, let the "international
community" handle it, bow down and be humble - in other
words, to forget. How long will it take, how much will
it cost, won't it make other peoples angry?
All of those questions could only be asked
by people who have forgotten.
But Americans haven't forgotten, Americans won't forget,
and those who think that we should forget will be shaken off
like dust from the feet of a free nation awakened to the harsh
reality of a post-9/11 world. In the words of Thomas Paine:
"If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child
may have peace."
Stan changed his mind about that addendum
shortly after, and turned his mind just for a moment to that
clear September day turned so dark, as you see presented below.
May God bless him. May God grant His peace to the victims,
His loving comfort to the families, His protection to our
warriors and His wisdom to our leaders. And may God continue
to bless the United States of America. - ed.
September 10, 2003
In the two years that have passed since I wrote the below,
emotion-driven words, I have not found the courage to return
to Ground Zero. It is hallowed ground, and I have a proprietary
feeling towards it. It would pain me to watch visitors walk
over the footprints of my fellow workers.
It is not the same scene in which I dug and sweated. The
air is no longer fouled by the smoke and stench or the sounds
of construction equipment. It has been sanitized, a clean
hole in the ground that is now a respected tourist attraction.
Soon, all traces of the devastation of September 11, 2001
will have been erased, save for the inevitable memorial monument.
Were I to return, there would be nothing there for me but
ghosts.
My thoughts will be with those ghosts this September 11th.
- Stan Kid
September
13th, 2001
A Brief Respite from Hell
by Stan Kid
I
spent last night and most of today digging through twisted
steel, cement chunks, airplane parts and occasional personal
belongings. I'm now home until either tonight or tomorrow
when I will again return to hell.
First, my sincere thanks. It's heartwarming, particularly
right now, to know that so many of you are there and thinking
of us here in NY.
The writer in me wishes he could put some words here to give
you some idea of what truly happened--some clear word picture
of the horrific devastation that was visited on the WTC. I'm
sorry, I simply cannot.
The best I can do is offer some of my feelings as I arrived
at ground zero. I got there after dark, although, even in
daylight, it is somewhat dark due to the smoke and dust that
are ever-present in the awful-smelling air. My first thought
was that I was seeing a Universal Studios movie set. Then,
my mind flashed to one of the Batman movies, with its eerie,
gothic, dark view of Gotham City. It is also a construction
site--with heavy equipment beep-beeping and roaring, and hard-hatted
workers everywhere--, like one of those excavations in the
city with the windows cut out of the plywood that surrounds
them so you can watch the crews at work. Why is that always
so fascinating, I wonder?
I and my 5 men joined in with others who were already removing
debris and seeking survivors or bodies. It is this group of
men and women I want to tell you about.
In addition to Police Officers and Firefighters and Emergency
Medical Crews and military personnel, there were also civilians--union
men and women--carpenters, engineers, plumbers, steel workers,
electricians, construction workers and more. Teens who volunteered
to bring food and water and fruit and candy to the rest of
us. Salvation Army. All of them working together in impromptu
teams to seek both the living and the dead. Each of them desperate
to find someone.
At one point last night, a Firefighter began screaming frantically.
He and two US Marines were sure they saw a hand waving from
inside a partially toppled building. Immediately, fire apparatus
was brought up and Firefighters went up in a bucket to the
floor where there was a possible survivor. This one Firefighter
kept screaming obscenities to them to get to that survivor.
He was in tears and frantic. The Fire Fighters got out of
their bucket and walked into the very precarious, still-burning
building. After a careful search, it was determined that the
"waving hand" was actually only a bit of insulation
that was blowing in the occasional breeze. We all moved on,
disappointed.
How is it possible that it's so difficult to find anyone?
The ambulances sit on a nearby side street, their trundles
made up and ready. They're covered with dust and their presence
is somewhat unnerving.
This morning, we lined up in numerous bucket brigades, removing
debris to waiting back-hoes and dump-trucks. From the top
of a mountain of what was once the Twin Towers, a construction
worker cried out, "We have one!" My God! The roar
of the crowd of workers would easily have rivalled the sound
of the jets hitting the buildings!
"Water!" Bottles flew up toward the workers. "Back
boards!" They, too, made their way up the line. "We
need a canine unit!" The Labs were brought up immediately.
Medical personnel followed. Then the cry, "We have two!"
The feeling was indescribable. The cheers, deafening.
It took nearly an hour before two, bright orange body bags
came out to almost total silence. I can't begin to describe
the disappointment. The stokes stretchers with the bags were
passed hand to hand down the same line as the equipment had
gone up. They were passed as tenderly and carefully as if
each was holding a living soul.
Then, before my day was over, we got 5 Firefighters out from
under the rubble. Two walked out on their own. I also can't
describe that feeling. I'm hoping against hope for more.
My heart goes out to anyone who has relatives or friends who
worked in the WTC and who have not yet checked in. Please
don't lose hope. Through all this, hundreds upon hundreds
of men and women are doing everything humanly possible (and,
sometimes, it seems, beyond that) to find everyone possible.
They are all working together with no recognition of difference
in occupation, race, color, sex or creed. More often than
not, they addresses each other as "brother" or "sister."
They smile at one another and offer a hand to help one another.
No one sees anyone as other than a fellow human being who
is dealing with an unthinkable tragedy. And, each and every
one of them will keep going until the job is done. Know that.
These men and woman are true heros and I'm so very proud to
have met them and to have stood near them.
I'm tired and dirty and cranky and my right eye is badly irritated
from dust. I'm going to go shower off the mud and dust and
get some sleep. I really want a whole bunch of normal.
©
2003 Tocqevillian Magazine