At about this time on this day 25 years ago, I was arriving at work. Bergen County’s United Way. Oradell, New Jersey. I was late. I was always late these days because I had to drop my 17 month old daughter off at daycare in the opposite direction.
The first task was checking my voicemail in order to silence that red blinking light from the phone sitting on my desk.
One message. From Chris. Something about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center in lower Manhattan which was about 25 miles away. I can still see in my head what I wrote on my notepad. “8:58. Chris. Plane crashed WTC.” On an otherwise blank page.
I called him back. Voice mail. He called me back. He had been on the phone with his brother in Astoria, Queens, who had called in sick to work that day. He was watching the news. And while they were discussing the broadcast trying to learn more about the plane crash, another plane hit the other tower. On live television.
Much of the next 90 minutes or so was a blur. The World Wide Web was useless. Cell service was limited. We were getting pieces of news from our receptionist who had a small radio at her desk. I can still see her face when she came to us to say the South Tower had collapsed. And then the North. These buildings we saw go up as children. Visited on class trips. Just gone.
But more than that. We knew people. Friends. Neighbors. Former work colleagues from a past life. Nameless people whose faces I saw in Hoboken in my years commuting into NYC who took the PATH to WTC, rather than to 33rd Street like I did.
I remember calling to check on my parents who were safely 100 miles from downtown on the East End of Long Island. I remember my dad, who was from a generation who experienced Pearl Harbor, served in World War II, and witnessed the Kennedy Assassination, telling me this was the worse thing the country had ever seen.
At the building across the street, there were people on the roof, gazing across the clear blue, cloudless sky, for a distant view of the lower Manhattan skyline engulfed in a black cloud.
About a month earlier, I had determined that my foray into the non-profit world should come to an end. I took the job to plan special events and that’s what I wanted to focus on. Not fundraising. I was on the verge of starting a job search. But everything changed that day.
Everyone’s first impulse was to gather those close to us and circle the wagons. Chris called again saying his company was letting everyone go early. He would pick up our daughter at daycare care and meet me at home. I started walking towards our CEOs office to tell him I was leaving.
Before I got to his door though, I remembered our mission. We help people. And at a time of crisis it’s our organization’s job to convene the other helpers in our community. When I opened my mouth to speak at his office door, what came out was, “what do you need me to do?”
I didn’t leave until late that night. I saw those cars in the parking lot of the train station left by many who wouldn’t be coming home. Bergen County, New Jersey accounted for 147 souls lost that day. Long-term health effects of exposure to toxic air at Ground Zero continues to take its toll on the many first responders and volunteers from our communities who went there to help.
Today my feed is filled with first-hand accounts of that day from friends who were much closer than I was.
Bergen County’s United Way in partnership with other community agencies provided assistance to families for years.
And 25 years later, I remain in the nonprofit sector trying to make a difference as a fundraiser.
