On Sept. 13, 2001, Officer Chris Showalter of the Harrisonburg Police Dept. Canine Unit, approached me after speaking with Captain Wilfong of the HPD. They wanted to know if there was any way we could help at the World Trade Center disaster. I called my brother Tom who is a thirty seven year veteran of the NYPD and asked if he could help. Tom put us in touch with Sgt. Murray of the NYPD who was at the command post at Ground Zero. Sgt. Murray said the NYPD would be happy for any help that we could give them. We arrived the night of Sept. 14, 2001. As a retired NYPD Officer myself I have seen a lot of death and destruction.

However, I was not prepared for what I was about to see. It was like walking on an open grave for seven days. Police Officer Showalter and his dog Wilco, who is a cadaver dog, were assisted by Deputy Harry Sutters of the Rockingham Sheriff's Dept. Through the coming week they found twenty seven bodies and enough body parts to fill up several bags. My job was basically going around trying to give comfort and aid to the policemen and firemen. on one occasion I saw a fireman sitting on a five gallon pail and I asked him how he was doing. He pointed to the pile of rubble and replied, "My son is in there". What do you do or say to this? You just look at him and put your arms around him and cry with him. I have never cried and hugged so many men in my life as I did that horrible week in September.

After having seen the pictures in the paper and on TV it wasn't quite the impact as actually walking on the site. At night with the bright floodlights it looked like something out of the movies. It just didn't look real. During the day, you could see the metal girders that were intensely hot, dripping like candle wax. Most times we had to wear masks which we were given to protect us from the smoke and dust. the cement had turned back into a powder and the rubble was many stories high. It was hard to believe that there were so many people buried beneath it. Two chaplains from Oklahoma told me that the Oklahoma bombing was just a drop in the bucket compared to what we were seeing now. Over the week you heard many sad and horrifying stories. On the fourth day I just about had it. I asked God to give me strength to finish out the week.

A chaplain walked over to me and it was an answer to my prayer. He told me that they were short handed and wanted to know if I would work in one of the two make shift morgues for the day. I know it sounds strange but I said yes as it would give me a break from dealing with all the sad stories and grief. My job was to pray over bodies (none whole) and body parts. Most were burned beyond recognition. The tough part was when the policemen or firemen would bring in one of their own. It was tough just looking at their faces filled with pain and questions and asking why. The next day i was back outside. Parents were coming in to have their mouths swabbed to get some DNA evidence. Husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends would bring in toothbrushes and combs so the DNA could be taken of them to see if they would match anyone they might find.

Late at night, when we would leave Ground Zero about ten blocks north, people were lining the streets on both sides. They were cheering, waving flags and giving us food and drinks plus thanking us for being there. As tired and drained as you were, you felt like turning around and going back down to Ground Zero. Also at night, going past the fire houses and police stations filled with flowers and candles and pictures of the fallen heroes, made you wonder how the rest of the firefighters and policemen continued on with their jobs with all their losses.

One evening, the two Officers that came with me, said that the doormen at the hotel we were staying in wanted to speak with me. When I went to him he asked me if I would put up a picture of his brother who had worked in the second tower. I told him that it would be an honor. When he handed me the picture of his brother with his name and the company he worked for, I realized that it was on the eighty second floor of the second tower where the second plane hit. I didn't have the heart to tell him that his brother was probably vaporized when the plane came crashing through the wall and exploded into a fireball in excess of three thousand degrees.

During the week I spoke with several men that were in the second world war and Korea and Vietnam and they all said they had never seen such devastation. I was asked where was God in all of this. My answer was that He was here because thousands of people got out before the building fell. The buildings came straight down instead of falling to the sides which would have killed thousands of more people. I don't know why some lived and others died. That's something we will never know in this lifetime. I talked with people who said they never prayed before but yet now admitted they have been on their knees and asking God's help and forgiveness. One thing I did notice, that there was no race, no color, no religion, just one large group of people working together as a unit.

One day while standing in front of this unbelievable disaster, trying to make sense out of it all, I asked God what did this all mean. Suddenly, out of the smoking ashes, very slowly a monarch butterfly flew up to the sky. It brought tears to my eyes. However, it raised another question. A butterfly is supposed to represent a new life or a new beginning. Did that mean that those people that have just lost their lives were beginning a new life?

As a young boy my dad always told me never to lose my faith. I always thought he meant in my church or religion but now I believe he meant my faith in God. My mom always told me never to go to bed angry or leave the house without telling the ones you love that you love them. Looking back I wonder how many people left for work on Sept. 11 and were angry and didn't tell their loved ones and now won't be able to do so.

Somethings in my own life have changed. Somethings that were once important are not so important. Other things I took for granted seem so much more important. While up in NY I felt like a small grain of sand on a large beach so insignificant. Yet men were coming up to me hugging me, thanking me for being there even asking for Communion which I was proud to give.

Sincerely,

Jim Cook

HPD Chaplain

A man Does not have to be an Angel in order to be a saint.