Photograph by photojournalist James Nachtwey - Time.com There are many stories to be told that have touched us deeply, these are just a very small sample of how this has affected so many lives and to recognize and remember the brave men and women of New York and the United States who put aside their own fears to help others. This is also about people who knew they were going to die and even in the face of death, they remembered to call a wife, a mother or some friend or loved one. Photograph by Jonathan Saunders for Time Magazine - Time.com Darren Sasso of Parsippany, N.J. desperately sought word of his fiancee, Maria Santillan, 27, a worker at Canter Fitzgerald's E-Speed subsidiary on the 107th floor of One World Trade Center. "She called her father about 8:55 a.m.", Sasso said, "She was frantic and crying. Then she said, "I have to go". It was the last heard from her. (The New York Daily News - September 12, 2001) Liz Lopez's answering machine was triggered by her husband's cell phone call from within the World Trade Center. "Liz, it's me, Dan. My building has been hit. I made it to the 78th floor. I'm ok but will remain here to help evacuate people. See you soon." Nothing has been heard from Daniel Lopez, 39, of New York since that Tuesday morning call. (The Boston Globe - September 13, 2001) Jane Pauley, NBC Correspondent: "Liz, what words from that phone call (with her husband Jeremy Glick on United Flight 93) give you the most comfort now? Lyzbeth Glick: "We said 'I Love You' a thousand times over and over and over again, and it just brought so much peace to us....he said, 'I love you Emmy', who's our daughter. He told me to take care of her, and then he said, 'Whatever decisions you make in your life, I need for you to be happy, and I will respect any decisions that you make'....that gives me the most comfort." (NBC News - September 13, 2001) Photograph by photojournalist James Nachtwey - Time.com Daphne Bowers of Brooklyn showed up at Bellevue Hospital with a small framed picture of her daughter Veronique, 28, sobbing and being supported by two friends. She told anyone who would listen that her daughter had been wearing a white jacket and black shirt when she had gone to work at the World Trade Center on Tuesday. "She called me when the building was on fire," Bowers said "She called me and said, 'Mommy, the building is on fire, there's smoke coming through the walls. I can't breath.' The last thing she said was, 'I love you Mommy, Goodbye.'" (Fox News Service - September 13, 2001) Moments before (United Flight 93) went down in Pennsylvania, businessman Thomas Burnett, of San Ramon, California, called his wife, telling her he feared the flight was doomed but he and two other passengers planned to take action, the family's priest told The San Francisco Chronicle. The Rev. Frank Colacicco, Pastor of St. Isidore's Catholic Church, said Burnett's wife, Deena, told him Burnett said: "I know we're all going to die. there's three of us who are going to do something about it." Then the priest said, "Burnett told his wife, 'I love you, honey', and the call ended". (Associated Press - September 13, 2001) Photograph by photojournalist James Nachtwey - Times.com Rev. Mychal Judge, 68, a Fransican monk (being carried above by firefighters) and New York City Fire Department chaplain, was killed by falling debris as he was administering last rites to a firefighter mortally injured in the attack. The Franciscan priest had removed his fire hat to pray. Father Judge lived at St. Francis of Assisi Church across the street from Engine Company One/Ladder Company 24. He was so close to the fireman that he slept with a radio scanner in his room and often ate his meals at the firehouse. Photograph by photojournalist James Nachtwey - Time.com Stuart Meltzer, 32, who grew up in Newton, Mass., and began his job at the World Trade Center just last month, called his wife from the 105th floor of the first building shortly after it was hit. He said to her "Honey, something terrible is happening. I don't think I am going to make it. I love you. Take care of the children". (The Boston Herald - September 13, 2001) Mark Bingham Alice Hoglan's son, Mark called her from United Airlines Flight 93, which was hijacked as it traveled from Newark, N.J. to San Francisco, California. Alice Hoglan knew her son was upset as soon as she heard his voice, "Hi Mom, this is Mark," she said her son told her. "We've been taken over. There are three men that say they have a bomb," Bingham, who spoke first with his aunt, also told his mother, "I love you, I love you, I love you." (The Early Show, CBS - September 13, 2001) Kenneth Van Auken Larry King: "Lorie Van Auken is in New York, her husband Kenneth is missing, he was working on the 102nd floor. What does he do, Lorie?" Lorie Van Auken, wife of missing Word Trade Center Worker: "He works for Canter Fitzgerald, and he was on the 102nd floor, and we just haven't heart anything at all." King: "Did you talk to him at all? Did he call home?" Van Auken: "He called home, he left a message, and that is the last I heard from him." King: "Let's listen to the voice of Kenneth Van Auken calling home." Voice of Kenneth Van Auken: "I love you. I'm in the World Trade Center and the building was hit by something, I don't know if I'm going to get out. But I love you very much. I hope I'll see you later. Bye." (Larry King Live - September 12, 2001) Ray Suarez (PBS Correspondent): "The family of Moises Rivas, a chef at Windows On The World, famed restaurant at the top of the World Trade Center, also waited for word. Do you know that he went to work (Tuesday) morning?" Woman: "Yes he did. He called me from there at 9 o'clock exactly, and he told me that he loved me and that was it. He hung up the phone on me because it was an explosion right there." Suarez: "So he already knew something was up?" Woman: "Yes, he just said, 'I'm ok, don't worry. I love you.' and he just hung up." (PBS Newshour - September 12, 2001) Bob McKeown (NBC Correspondent): "As of today, they've located only four hospitalized Canter Fitzgerald employees, each of whom was just arriving at the World Trade Center when the attack took place. And as if all the rest of it weren't too much for one person to bear, one of those 700 employees they haven't found is Howard Lutnick's own brother." Howard Lutnick (CEO of Canter Fitzgerald): "My brother, Gary, yeah, he called my sister, probably 100 people got phone calls after the plane hit. You know, 'We've been hit by a plane and we're evacuating'. I mean, that was the common thread. My brother called my sister a little later he said there was smoke pouring in. There was no way out and he's not going to make it." World Leaders join in the effort to help America Photograph by photojournalist James Nachtwey - Time.com Unidentified Man: "I don't think I am going to get out. You've been a really good friend" (E-mail message from a man in the Trade Center to a friend at the New School University) New York Times - September 12, 2001 Canter Fitzgerald staff in the Los Angeles Office of Bond Traders Canter Fitzgerald LP listened via telephone on Tuesday as chaos unfolded in it's New York office, minutes after the first plane crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center, said a person who spoke with the Los Angeles office Tuesday. After struggling to get a connection to find out what had happened to it's New York office, the Los Angeles staff managed to get through and put the call in on speaker phone. The Los Angeles staff then put the call on it's in-house public address system. They heard a colleague say, "I think a plane just hit us." While the phone call continued to be broadcast over the entire Los Angeles office, the New York office began filling with smoke and people began screaming. "Somebody's got to help us. We can't get out. The place is filling with smoke," someone in the New York office was heard to say. Shortly afterward the connection was cut off. (The Wall Street Journal - September 12, 2001) Brian Sweeney Brian Sweeney, 38, of Barnstable, Mass., a passenger on Flight 175 that crashed into the World Trade Center's South Tower, left a message for his wife, Julie, on their answering machine shortly before 9 A.M. "Hey Jules, it's Brian. I'm on a plane and it's hijacked and it doesn't look good. I just wanted to let you know that I love you and I hope to see you again. If I don't, please have fun in life and live your life the best you can. Know that I love you, and no matter what, I'll see you again." (The Boston Herald - September 13, 2001) Photograph by photojournalist James Nachtwey - Time.com At 8:48, Two 'Normal Guys' Are Transformed New York Times (nytimes.com) September 16, 2001 John Paul DeVito was just sitting down to some paperwork and a second cup of coffee after meeting with a client. Harry Ramos, just back from a week's leave after the death of his mother-in-law, was exchanging greetings with his assistant. Then, at 8:40 a.m. last Tuesday, their building, 1 World Trade Center, lurched violently, like a ship in high seas. Mr. DeVito was nearly knocked off his chair. Mr. Ramos braced himself in a doorway. Light fixtures pulled loose from the ceiling, crashing on the floor. Papers flew. Smoke poured in through holes that suddenly opened overhead. Several employees screamed. Mr. DeVito and Mr. Ramos had no idea what had happened. A bomb, everybody guessed. One man rushed to the firm's south-facing windows and looked out, only to see a crowd gathering 87 floors below in Battery Park City, staring up at the tower. Neither Mr. DeVito nor Mr. Ramos realized there was a gaping gash in the glass and steel just above them, where a Boeing 767 had slammed into the building. All they knew was that their office at the May Davis Group, a small investment bank, was filling with smoke. Mr. DeVito called his wife, Marilyn, and told her he and his staff were in danger . "I love you, Mar," he said. "I love our kids. Take care of the kids." She didn't answer. She was crying. Mr. DeVito, his firm's chief operating officer, and Mr. Ramos, the head trader, were two ordinary people among the thousands caught in the World Trade Center on Tuesday morning, and like countless others they were thrust into chaos and forced to make extraordinary choices. One chose to lead his own staff out of the building, troubled as he did so by the thought that he was abandoning his duty to safeguard the firm, even answer the phones. The other chose to stop and try to save the life of a stranger. Today, one is at home, ecstatic about life itself and wondering how he could have dreamed of staying at his office command post instead of guiding his staff down the stairs to safety. He is, he says, a different person, able to recognize the courage and selflessness in regular people. The other is missing in the rubble memorialized in the constant tremble in the voices of his family and friends. At the time, neither understood the importance of their decisions. They saw themselves as two normal guys, each with 25 years on Wall Street, trying to slug out a living in a bear market. Mr. DeVito, the 45-year-old son of immigrants, with two school-age daughters, living in Chappaqua, N.Y. And Mr. Ramos, whose 46th birthday is today, the father of two sons, one 5, the other 4 months old, living in Newark. Before entering the securities business, he trained to be a carpenter. Tuesday, had, in fact, promised to be Mr. DeVito's first normal workday in weeks. In July, the May Davis Group had been fined, without admitting wrongdoing, for failing to comply with trading rules. And on Monday, the firm had settled a bitter long-running dispute with a major Wall Street firm. The battle had consumed huge amounts of time, drawn renewed regulatory attention and threatened to sink May Davis, a rare minority-owned investment bank. Minutes before the attack, Mr. DeVito had called the National Association of Securities Dealers to say his firm had solved the legal conflict and was ready to resume normal operations. "We're off life support," he happily thought. Nearby, in May Davis's small trading room, Samuel Jimenez Jr., a trading assistant, was signing onto his computer and looked up to greet his boss, Mr. Ramos. "Good morning," Mr. Jimenez said. Then there was the huge jolt. Mr. DeVito ran for the elevator bank. He opened to door to an incomprehensible sight. Where there had once been other offices there was now just a huge void, full of fire and smoke. Instinctively, he grabbed at the pieces of cardboard and metal that littered the floor and began futilely batting at the flames. "What am I doing?" Mr. DeVito suddenly asked himself. "Get back in there. Get the employees." He ran back into his office suite. About a thousand feet below, Owen May, one of the firm's two founders, was driving up in his car. He heard an explosion, but assumed it had come from the construction site across from the World Trade Center. Then he glanced up. Mr. May began counting the floors up, trying to calculate whether the billowing smoke was above or below his firm. Grabbing his cellular phone, he called the office. A sales associate answered, in panic. "I don't know what to do!" she exclaimed. "There's a bunch of us up here." "I know somebody will come to you," Mr. May said. Then the line went dead. Mr. May stared at the building, screaming, "My people! My people!" As he watched, a plane slammed into the other tower. Upstairs, Mr. DeVito was trying to corral his 12 frightened employees, shouting that they had to walk down. Some thought they should stay. Others agreed to leave but wanted to gather their things. But which things? What to take down 87 floors? Some grabbed fire extinguishers. Some tried to pack up their desktop computers. Some ripped up their shirts to make face masks. Mr. DeVito found a gallon jug of water and helped people wet their makeshift bandannas. Then he decided to bring along the jug. Everybody made for the stairs except for Hong Zhu, an investment banker, who was frozen with fear. He told the others he would wait for help. Mr. Ramos cajoled him to the stairwell door. Then Mr. DeVito had misgivings. Should he lead his employees down to safety? Or stay? He decided to take the lead in going down. The others formed a human chain behind him, each putting a hand on the shoulder of the person in front, and descended into the gathering smoke. Nine floors down, the stairwell ended. Emerging into a hallway to look for the next flight of stairs, the group saw wires dangling from cracked ceilings. Sparks popped. Small fires burned everywhere. Office workers were milling in confusion. The smoke was thickening. Mr. DeVito's group began to lose its will. Mr. DeVito was still thinking he should be upstairs. He said so to a trainee, Jason Braunstein. "John! What about your family?" the young man admonished him. "How do you know what to do?" thought Mr. DeVito. Was it his duty to keep his employees together? Or should he just get out of the building as fast as he could? He decided to herd his employees into the next stairwell. But some straggled, and Mr. Ramos was staying behind, directing confused strangers into the stairwell. More people were crowding into the stairwell, though they stopped to let burn victims pass. In the crush, the May Davis employees let go of each other, and Mr. DeVito soon realized he couldn't see everybody anymore. He pounded the walls with frustration. Below the 50th floor, the May Davis group spotted the first firefighters, rushing up the stairs lugging oxygen tanks and other heavy equipment. Mr. DeVito thought he would never forget their unflinching expressions. "Do you want some water?" he said, offering his jug. "I don't need no water," one answered and kept going. Mr. Braunstein touched Mr. DeVito's arm. "John," he said, "this is a good sign. They wouldn't be sending these men up it if weren't safe." Back on the 53rd floor, Mr. Zhu was trailing far behind. He saw his firm's head trader, Mr. Ramos, leaning over a very heavy man, named Victor, who seemed unable to move. Mr. Zhu stopped, wanting to help. "Why don't you lean on both of our shoulders?" Mr. Zhu suggested. They helped Victor to his feet and struggled with him down one flight. Then Mr. Zhu saw that the elevator appeared to be working. They descended to the 44th floor. But there it stopped. They started struggling down the stairs again. When Mr. Ramos went ahead to scout, Victor cried out in fear. "Harry, please help," he begged. "Don't worry, we're not leaving you," Mr. Ramos said. On the 39th floor, Mr. Ramos spotted an open door - a credit union. They decided to go in and rest. The phone rang while they were sitting there. Mr. Zhu answered. It was a customer worried about his account. "What do you mean accounts?" shouted Mr. Zhu. "We need help!" But the caller kept on demanding whether his money was safe. Mr. Zhu hung up on him. Just then, he felt the building shake again. They jumped back onto their feet and trudged down to the 36th floor, but then Victor gave up. "I can't move my legs anymore," he said. "Don't move you legs," ordered Mr. Zhu. "Sit down, and move your butt." He sat and tried bumping down step by step, but soon gave up again. Another fireman, hurling curses, told them to leave Victor and get out of the building. Mr. Zhu continued down, but heard Mr. Ramos behind him saying: "Victor, don't worry. I'm with you." Below on the plaza, Mr. DeVito had by then emerged with what was left of his group. His employees thanked him, but he felt so bad about not knowing where everybody was that he considered himself unworthy. Then, a roar. The neighboring 2 World Trade Center was collapsing. Soon afterward, the other tower toppled, and no one has seen Mr. Ramos since. As everyone on the ground began screaming and fleeing, Mr. DeVito was engulfed by smoke and dust. "I don't know if I'm going to survive this," he thought. Eyes closed, he began walking, bumping into parked cars, falling down, picking himself up, hoping he was moving away from the building. He had no idea how long he walked before he saw a light. It was a music store. When he reached the door people there pulled him inside. Some started taking his picture. "I must look like something from 'The Twilight Zone,' " he thought. Wanting more than anything to call his family, he made his way to a Chinese restaurant, where the owner let him use his phone. He couldn't get through to his wife but told his mother to relay the news that he was alive. He said he would try to make his way to some relatives' home on Leroy Street nearby. First, though, Mr. DeVito wanted a church. He wandered until he came to one near New York University, where he had studied years earlier. It was the first time that day he let himself cry. He dropped to his knees and prayed. Students in the church stared at him and he realized that they had no idea what he had just experienced. A policeman tried to calm him. "You're in a state of shock," the officer said. "I'm not in shock," said Mr. DeVito, weeping and covered with grime. "I like this state. I've never been more cognizant in my life." He continued on to his relatives. They rushed out on the street to hug him. Strangers hugged him, too. Soon afterward, the phone rang. A client, Adam Shuster, head of TeleVend, based in Jerusalem, had tracked down Mr. DeVito at his relatives' home. Mr. DeVito had been trying to raise money for TeleVend, which is developing technology to let people use vending and banking machines by dialing their cellphones. Mr. Shuster had heard of the disaster and was worrying about Mr. DeVito. Then he congratulated his American financier. "You," he told Mr. DeVito, "are an Israeli now." Mr. DeVito was glad to be alive, glad he had decided to help others to safety, thrilled to have watched ordinary people performing simple acts of courage under tremendous pressure. "If you had seen what it was like in that stairway, you'd be proud," he said later. "There was no gender, no race, no religion. It was everyone, unequivocally, helping each other." "I'm sick and tired of hearing on Wall Street that the good guy always finishes last. It's not just that everyone is out for money." "I'm so proud of being American" he added. "Does this make us stronger? Damn right." In the days since, May Davis employees have spent their energies checking in with one another, meeting at homes to exchange stories. Most of all, they have been calling the city's hospitals and checking the lists of Trade Center survivors, trying to find Mr. Ramos. Mr. May, the founding partner, says he knows he will one day be ready to rebuild, but not yet. At the moment, he said, he is too shell-shocked to return to Manhattan. "Basically, everything I had is gone. The only thing I have out of my office is my Palm Pilot," he said. "Every fax, every letter, all our data and files, our corporate finance work -- all gone." Already, some real estate brokers have been calling offering to find new office space. Mr. May told them he isn't ready; his thoughts are not on a new office but on the old building, with Mr. Ramos inside. "I'm still shaking," he said. "I'm focused on this guy Harry." Smoke billowing from the Pentagon, our flag continues to fly proudly displaying the strength of our Nation and it's people
Photograph by photojournalist James Nachtwey - Time.com
There are many stories to be told that have touched us deeply, these are just a very small sample of how this has affected so many lives and to recognize and remember the brave men and women of New York and the United States who put aside their own fears to help others. This is also about people who knew they were going to die and even in the face of death, they remembered to call a wife, a mother or some friend or loved one.
Photograph by Jonathan Saunders for Time Magazine - Time.com
Darren Sasso of Parsippany, N.J. desperately sought word of his fiancee, Maria Santillan, 27, a worker at Canter Fitzgerald's E-Speed subsidiary on the 107th floor of One World Trade Center. "She called her father about 8:55 a.m.", Sasso said, "She was frantic and crying. Then she said, "I have to go". It was the last heard from her. (The New York Daily News - September 12, 2001)
Liz Lopez's answering machine was triggered by her husband's cell phone call from within the World Trade Center. "Liz, it's me, Dan. My building has been hit. I made it to the 78th floor. I'm ok but will remain here to help evacuate people. See you soon." Nothing has been heard from Daniel Lopez, 39, of New York since that Tuesday morning call. (The Boston Globe - September 13, 2001)
Jane Pauley, NBC Correspondent: "Liz, what words from that phone call (with her husband Jeremy Glick on United Flight 93) give you the most comfort now? Lyzbeth Glick: "We said 'I Love You' a thousand times over and over and over again, and it just brought so much peace to us....he said, 'I love you Emmy', who's our daughter. He told me to take care of her, and then he said, 'Whatever decisions you make in your life, I need for you to be happy, and I will respect any decisions that you make'....that gives me the most comfort." (NBC News - September 13, 2001)
Daphne Bowers of Brooklyn showed up at Bellevue Hospital with a small framed picture of her daughter Veronique, 28, sobbing and being supported by two friends. She told anyone who would listen that her daughter had been wearing a white jacket and black shirt when she had gone to work at the World Trade Center on Tuesday. "She called me when the building was on fire," Bowers said "She called me and said, 'Mommy, the building is on fire, there's smoke coming through the walls. I can't breath.' The last thing she said was, 'I love you Mommy, Goodbye.'" (Fox News Service - September 13, 2001)
Moments before (United Flight 93) went down in Pennsylvania, businessman Thomas Burnett, of San Ramon, California, called his wife, telling her he feared the flight was doomed but he and two other passengers planned to take action, the family's priest told The San Francisco Chronicle. The Rev. Frank Colacicco, Pastor of St. Isidore's Catholic Church, said Burnett's wife, Deena, told him Burnett said: "I know we're all going to die. there's three of us who are going to do something about it." Then the priest said, "Burnett told his wife, 'I love you, honey', and the call ended". (Associated Press - September 13, 2001)
Photograph by photojournalist James Nachtwey - Times.com
Rev. Mychal Judge, 68, a Fransican monk (being carried above by firefighters) and New York City Fire Department chaplain, was killed by falling debris as he was administering last rites to a firefighter mortally injured in the attack. The Franciscan priest had removed his fire hat to pray. Father Judge lived at St. Francis of Assisi Church across the street from Engine Company One/Ladder Company 24. He was so close to the fireman that he slept with a radio scanner in his room and often ate his meals at the firehouse.
Stuart Meltzer, 32, who grew up in Newton, Mass., and began his job at the World Trade Center just last month, called his wife from the 105th floor of the first building shortly after it was hit. He said to her "Honey, something terrible is happening. I don't think I am going to make it. I love you. Take care of the children". (The Boston Herald - September 13, 2001)
Mark Bingham
Alice Hoglan's son, Mark called her from United Airlines Flight 93, which was hijacked as it traveled from Newark, N.J. to San Francisco, California. Alice Hoglan knew her son was upset as soon as she heard his voice, "Hi Mom, this is Mark," she said her son told her. "We've been taken over. There are three men that say they have a bomb," Bingham, who spoke first with his aunt, also told his mother, "I love you, I love you, I love you." (The Early Show, CBS - September 13, 2001)
Kenneth Van Auken
Larry King: "Lorie Van Auken is in New York, her husband Kenneth is missing, he was working on the 102nd floor. What does he do, Lorie?" Lorie Van Auken, wife of missing Word Trade Center Worker: "He works for Canter Fitzgerald, and he was on the 102nd floor, and we just haven't heart anything at all." King: "Did you talk to him at all? Did he call home?" Van Auken: "He called home, he left a message, and that is the last I heard from him." King: "Let's listen to the voice of Kenneth Van Auken calling home." Voice of Kenneth Van Auken: "I love you. I'm in the World Trade Center and the building was hit by something, I don't know if I'm going to get out. But I love you very much. I hope I'll see you later. Bye." (Larry King Live - September 12, 2001)
Ray Suarez (PBS Correspondent): "The family of Moises Rivas, a chef at Windows On The World, famed restaurant at the top of the World Trade Center, also waited for word. Do you know that he went to work (Tuesday) morning?" Woman: "Yes he did. He called me from there at 9 o'clock exactly, and he told me that he loved me and that was it. He hung up the phone on me because it was an explosion right there." Suarez: "So he already knew something was up?" Woman: "Yes, he just said, 'I'm ok, don't worry. I love you.' and he just hung up." (PBS Newshour - September 12, 2001)
Bob McKeown (NBC Correspondent): "As of today, they've located only four hospitalized Canter Fitzgerald employees, each of whom was just arriving at the World Trade Center when the attack took place. And as if all the rest of it weren't too much for one person to bear, one of those 700 employees they haven't found is Howard Lutnick's own brother." Howard Lutnick (CEO of Canter Fitzgerald): "My brother, Gary, yeah, he called my sister, probably 100 people got phone calls after the plane hit. You know, 'We've been hit by a plane and we're evacuating'. I mean, that was the common thread. My brother called my sister a little later he said there was smoke pouring in. There was no way out and he's not going to make it."
World Leaders join in the effort to help America
Unidentified Man: "I don't think I am going to get out. You've been a really good friend" (E-mail message from a man in the Trade Center to a friend at the New School University) New York Times - September 12, 2001
Canter Fitzgerald staff in the Los Angeles Office of Bond Traders Canter Fitzgerald LP listened via telephone on Tuesday as chaos unfolded in it's New York office, minutes after the first plane crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center, said a person who spoke with the Los Angeles office Tuesday. After struggling to get a connection to find out what had happened to it's New York office, the Los Angeles staff managed to get through and put the call in on speaker phone. The Los Angeles staff then put the call on it's in-house public address system. They heard a colleague say, "I think a plane just hit us." While the phone call continued to be broadcast over the entire Los Angeles office, the New York office began filling with smoke and people began screaming. "Somebody's got to help us. We can't get out. The place is filling with smoke," someone in the New York office was heard to say. Shortly afterward the connection was cut off. (The Wall Street Journal - September 12, 2001)
Brian Sweeney
Brian Sweeney, 38, of Barnstable, Mass., a passenger on Flight 175 that crashed into the World Trade Center's South Tower, left a message for his wife, Julie, on their answering machine shortly before 9 A.M. "Hey Jules, it's Brian. I'm on a plane and it's hijacked and it doesn't look good. I just wanted to let you know that I love you and I hope to see you again. If I don't, please have fun in life and live your life the best you can. Know that I love you, and no matter what, I'll see you again." (The Boston Herald - September 13, 2001)
At 8:48, Two 'Normal Guys' Are Transformed New York Times (nytimes.com) September 16, 2001
John Paul DeVito was just sitting down to some paperwork and a second cup of coffee after meeting with a client. Harry Ramos, just back from a week's leave after the death of his mother-in-law, was exchanging greetings with his assistant.
Then, at 8:40 a.m. last Tuesday, their building, 1 World Trade Center, lurched violently, like a ship in high seas. Mr. DeVito was nearly knocked off his chair. Mr. Ramos braced himself in a doorway.
Light fixtures pulled loose from the ceiling, crashing on the floor. Papers flew. Smoke poured in through holes that suddenly opened overhead. Several employees screamed.
Mr. DeVito and Mr. Ramos had no idea what had happened. A bomb, everybody guessed. One man rushed to the firm's south-facing windows and looked out, only to see a crowd gathering 87 floors below in Battery Park City, staring up at the tower. Neither Mr. DeVito nor Mr. Ramos realized there was a gaping gash in the glass and steel just above them, where a Boeing 767 had slammed into the building. All they knew was that their office at the May Davis Group, a small investment bank, was filling with smoke.
Mr. DeVito called his wife, Marilyn, and told her he and his staff were in danger . "I love you, Mar," he said. "I love our kids. Take care of the kids."
She didn't answer. She was crying.
Mr. DeVito, his firm's chief operating officer, and Mr. Ramos, the head trader, were two ordinary people among the thousands caught in the World Trade Center on Tuesday morning, and like countless others they were thrust into chaos and forced to make extraordinary choices. One chose to lead his own staff out of the building, troubled as he did so by the thought that he was abandoning his duty to safeguard the firm, even answer the phones. The other chose to stop and try to save the life of a stranger.
Today, one is at home, ecstatic about life itself and wondering how he could have dreamed of staying at his office command post instead of guiding his staff down the stairs to safety. He is, he says, a different person, able to recognize the courage and selflessness in regular people. The other is missing in the rubble memorialized in the constant tremble in the voices of his family and friends.
At the time, neither understood the importance of their decisions. They saw themselves as two normal guys, each with 25 years on Wall Street, trying to slug out a living in a bear market. Mr. DeVito, the 45-year-old son of immigrants, with two school-age daughters, living in Chappaqua, N.Y. And Mr. Ramos, whose 46th birthday is today, the father of two sons, one 5, the other 4 months old, living in Newark. Before entering the securities business, he trained to be a carpenter.
Tuesday, had, in fact, promised to be Mr. DeVito's first normal workday in weeks. In July, the May Davis Group had been fined, without admitting wrongdoing, for failing to comply with trading rules. And on Monday, the firm had settled a bitter long-running dispute with a major Wall Street firm. The battle had consumed huge amounts of time, drawn renewed regulatory attention and threatened to sink May Davis, a rare minority-owned investment bank.
Minutes before the attack, Mr. DeVito had called the National Association of Securities Dealers to say his firm had solved the legal conflict and was ready to resume normal operations. "We're off life support," he happily thought.
Nearby, in May Davis's small trading room, Samuel Jimenez Jr., a trading assistant, was signing onto his computer and looked up to greet his boss, Mr. Ramos.
"Good morning," Mr. Jimenez said. Then there was the huge jolt.
Mr. DeVito ran for the elevator bank. He opened to door to an incomprehensible sight. Where there had once been other offices there was now just a huge void, full of fire and smoke.
Instinctively, he grabbed at the pieces of cardboard and metal that littered the floor and began futilely batting at the flames.
"What am I doing?" Mr. DeVito suddenly asked himself. "Get back in there. Get the employees." He ran back into his office suite.
About a thousand feet below, Owen May, one of the firm's two founders, was driving up in his car. He heard an explosion, but assumed it had come from the construction site across from the World Trade Center. Then he glanced up.
Mr. May began counting the floors up, trying to calculate whether the billowing smoke was above or below his firm. Grabbing his cellular phone, he called the office. A sales associate answered, in panic.
"I don't know what to do!" she exclaimed. "There's a bunch of us up here."
"I know somebody will come to you," Mr. May said. Then the line went dead.
Mr. May stared at the building, screaming, "My people! My people!" As he watched, a plane slammed into the other tower.
Upstairs, Mr. DeVito was trying to corral his 12 frightened employees, shouting that they had to walk down.
Some thought they should stay. Others agreed to leave but wanted to gather their things. But which things? What to take down 87 floors?
Some grabbed fire extinguishers. Some tried to pack up their desktop computers. Some ripped up their shirts to make face masks. Mr. DeVito found a gallon jug of water and helped people wet their makeshift bandannas. Then he decided to bring along the jug.
Everybody made for the stairs except for Hong Zhu, an investment banker, who was frozen with fear. He told the others he would wait for help. Mr. Ramos cajoled him to the stairwell door.
Then Mr. DeVito had misgivings. Should he lead his employees down to safety? Or stay? He decided to take the lead in going down. The others formed a human chain behind him, each putting a hand on the shoulder of the person in front, and descended into the gathering smoke.
Nine floors down, the stairwell ended. Emerging into a hallway to look for the next flight of stairs, the group saw wires dangling from cracked ceilings. Sparks popped. Small fires burned everywhere. Office workers were milling in confusion. The smoke was thickening.
Mr. DeVito's group began to lose its will. Mr. DeVito was still thinking he should be upstairs. He said so to a trainee, Jason Braunstein.
"John! What about your family?" the young man admonished him.
"How do you know what to do?" thought Mr. DeVito. Was it his duty to keep his employees together? Or should he just get out of the building as fast as he could?
He decided to herd his employees into the next stairwell. But some straggled, and Mr. Ramos was staying behind, directing confused strangers into the stairwell.
More people were crowding into the stairwell, though they stopped to let burn victims pass. In the crush, the May Davis employees let go of each other, and Mr. DeVito soon realized he couldn't see everybody anymore. He pounded the walls with frustration.
Below the 50th floor, the May Davis group spotted the first firefighters, rushing up the stairs lugging oxygen tanks and other heavy equipment. Mr. DeVito thought he would never forget their unflinching expressions.
"Do you want some water?" he said, offering his jug.
"I don't need no water," one answered and kept going.
Mr. Braunstein touched Mr. DeVito's arm. "John," he said, "this is a good sign. They wouldn't be sending these men up it if weren't safe."
Back on the 53rd floor, Mr. Zhu was trailing far behind. He saw his firm's head trader, Mr. Ramos, leaning over a very heavy man, named Victor, who seemed unable to move. Mr. Zhu stopped, wanting to help.
"Why don't you lean on both of our shoulders?" Mr. Zhu suggested. They helped Victor to his feet and struggled with him down one flight. Then Mr. Zhu saw that the elevator appeared to be working. They descended to the 44th floor. But there it stopped.
They started struggling down the stairs again. When Mr. Ramos went ahead to scout, Victor cried out in fear. "Harry, please help," he begged.
"Don't worry, we're not leaving you," Mr. Ramos said. On the 39th floor, Mr. Ramos spotted an open door - a credit union. They decided to go in and rest.
The phone rang while they were sitting there. Mr. Zhu answered. It was a customer worried about his account.
"What do you mean accounts?" shouted Mr. Zhu. "We need help!" But the caller kept on demanding whether his money was safe. Mr. Zhu hung up on him.
Just then, he felt the building shake again. They jumped back onto their feet and trudged down to the 36th floor, but then Victor gave up.
"I can't move my legs anymore," he said.
"Don't move you legs," ordered Mr. Zhu. "Sit down, and move your butt." He sat and tried bumping down step by step, but soon gave up again.
Another fireman, hurling curses, told them to leave Victor and get out of the building. Mr. Zhu continued down, but heard Mr. Ramos behind him saying: "Victor, don't worry. I'm with you."
Below on the plaza, Mr. DeVito had by then emerged with what was left of his group.
His employees thanked him, but he felt so bad about not knowing where everybody was that he considered himself unworthy.
Then, a roar. The neighboring 2 World Trade Center was collapsing. Soon afterward, the other tower toppled, and no one has seen Mr. Ramos since. As everyone on the ground began screaming and fleeing, Mr. DeVito was engulfed by smoke and dust. "I don't know if I'm going to survive this," he thought.
Eyes closed, he began walking, bumping into parked cars, falling down, picking himself up, hoping he was moving away from the building.
He had no idea how long he walked before he saw a light. It was a music store. When he reached the door people there pulled him inside. Some started taking his picture. "I must look like something from 'The Twilight Zone,' " he thought.
Wanting more than anything to call his family, he made his way to a Chinese restaurant, where the owner let him use his phone. He couldn't get through to his wife but told his mother to relay the news that he was alive. He said he would try to make his way to some relatives' home on Leroy Street nearby.
First, though, Mr. DeVito wanted a church. He wandered until he came to one near New York University, where he had studied years earlier.
It was the first time that day he let himself cry. He dropped to his knees and prayed. Students in the church stared at him and he realized that they had no idea what he had just experienced.
A policeman tried to calm him. "You're in a state of shock," the officer said.
"I'm not in shock," said Mr. DeVito, weeping and covered with grime. "I like this state. I've never been more cognizant in my life."
He continued on to his relatives. They rushed out on the street to hug him. Strangers hugged him, too.
Soon afterward, the phone rang. A client, Adam Shuster, head of TeleVend, based in Jerusalem, had tracked down Mr. DeVito at his relatives' home. Mr. DeVito had been trying to raise money for TeleVend, which is developing technology to let people use vending and banking machines by dialing their cellphones.
Mr. Shuster had heard of the disaster and was worrying about Mr. DeVito. Then he congratulated his American financier.
"You," he told Mr. DeVito, "are an Israeli now."
Mr. DeVito was glad to be alive, glad he had decided to help others to safety, thrilled to have watched ordinary people performing simple acts of courage under tremendous pressure.
"If you had seen what it was like in that stairway, you'd be proud," he said later. "There was no gender, no race, no religion. It was everyone, unequivocally, helping each other."
"I'm sick and tired of hearing on Wall Street that the good guy always finishes last. It's not just that everyone is out for money."
"I'm so proud of being American" he added. "Does this make us stronger? Damn right."
In the days since, May Davis employees have spent their energies checking in with one another, meeting at homes to exchange stories. Most of all, they have been calling the city's hospitals and checking the lists of Trade Center survivors, trying to find Mr. Ramos.
Mr. May, the founding partner, says he knows he will one day be ready to rebuild, but not yet. At the moment, he said, he is too shell-shocked to return to Manhattan.
"Basically, everything I had is gone. The only thing I have out of my office is my Palm Pilot," he said. "Every fax, every letter, all our data and files, our corporate finance work -- all gone."
Already, some real estate brokers have been calling offering to find new office space. Mr. May told them he isn't ready; his thoughts are not on a new office but on the old building, with Mr. Ramos inside.
"I'm still shaking," he said. "I'm focused on this guy Harry."
Smoke billowing from the Pentagon, our flag continues to fly proudly displaying the strength of our Nation and it's people
