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December 6, 2001
Like millions of other Americans, I saw the scenes of September 11, 2001, repeated over and over on the news. I saw a plane crashing, buildings crumbling, smoke billowing, people running, and even a single human body seeming to float from the falling mass of steel and concrete. Unlike many people who were glued to their TV screens with horrid fascination in the days and weeks that followed, however, I distanced myself from the tragedy. None of it seemed real to me. It wasn't a part of me—it was just another piece of gory news that floats through the airwaves, disbursed through the squawk of the radio and the glow of the TV screen.
The day that changed my life was not September 11, but rather December 6. My team had been working at Long Hunter State Park in Lebanon, Tennessee, removing non-native privet from the park land when our Team Leader received a phone call from base. Not more than an hour later, we had our equipment packed up and were on our way to pack our bags. We were needed in New York.
When we got back to our cabins, we all sat in a circle absorbing the significant impact that one phone call was making in our lives. As I looked around the group I could see my own doubts and fears reflected in the eyes of my AmeriCorps*NCCC teammates— we all knew that we were facing one of the most difficult times of our lives.
The next 24 hours were a whirlwind. Phone calls to family and friends, packing, a sleepless night, the trip to the airport, and even the plane ride all seemed like a dream. On December 6, the delicate bubble that I wore like a shroud to protect me from the horror of 9-11 was shattered. On that day, I landed in New York City to assist the American Red Cross with the relief efforts related to the World Trade Center disaster. During the two weeks that we were there, I had a variety of jobs. On my first day I handed out checks to people whose homes or businesses had been affected. What an awesome, easy day that was! After a long day of waiting in line, these people saw me as the bearer of good tidings: I was the one bringing them their checks and sending them home to their families.
Only a day later I was transferred to the Integrated Care Team office. That is where reality finally struck home. As a volunteer, my job was to review files. Along with others, I read and then processed the information that represented the more than 3,000 deceased and severely injured victims—over 3,000 files signifying people with families and lives. Some files contained heart-wrenching details of life before terror struck; others held pictures and stories of happier times. For me, this is when victims and their survivors received names—names that I can never forget. I also worked at the call center, recontacting families of the departed and critically wounded to help them meet their financial needs. This is where the names acquired voices. Instead of just reading bits of files, I heard voices cracking with emotions as stories were told. I listened to reports of loved ones becoming heroes—the man who stayed with the quadriplegic, the airplane captain, the countless others whose stories are pieces of the tragedy.
On the last day, we went to Ground Zero and added an AmeriCorps*NCCC T-shirt to a wall already overflowing with the mementos of thousands of people. Our shirt blended in, representing NCCC as part of the support effort. Each of us left with names written in our minds, voices ringing in our ears, and stories etched in our hearts forever. Days, months, years from today, when a name is mentioned, we will remember—because on December 6, 2001, we became part of September 11. |
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