Originally published in The Sunday Business Post, Ireland
Sunday, September 16, 2001

Freckle-faced, red haired Shannon Koch sat in her ambulance outside the centre waiting for the call that never came. Her Princeton, New Jersey, first aid and rescue squad truck was one of about 40 emergency vehicles which had come from as far as Boston, Philadelphia and the far end of Long Island. Each was marked with white tape as “BLS” or “ALS.”

Koch and her team, who had been there since the previous day, explained that dispatchers used the letters to determine which teams could perform basic life support or advanced life support functions. Following a medical assessment, any victims brought here would be tagged: black tags marking those who were beyond saving, red for critical and yellow and green for the walking wounded. The system was ready-to-go but was being closed down due to inactivity.

“Thousands and thousands are already dead,” said Koch. She thought Ellis Island was being used as a morgue, with barges transporting the bodies across the water.

At the firemen’s assembly area around the corner, a member of the New Haven, Connecticut, fire department said: “There is nothing for us to do.”

One woman handed out pamphlets to the hundreds of walking, cycling, roller-blading New Yorkers who had migrated lemming-like to the apocalyptic site. It said: “Unite tonight 7pm. Come outside. Wherever you are tonight at 7pm, stop and step outside or pick a place to gather with others for a citywide moment of silent prayer and hope.”

The people milling about were largely silent, few exhibiting New Yorkers’ naturally loud, gregarious ways. There were no opinions, judgments or demands. Animation returned only when cheers and applause erupted as fire trucks, police cars and ambulances approached. “You saved us. You are our heroes.”

Along the police demarcation line at 14th Street, people did their best to get closer to the scene. Down here, the air was acrid and caught in the back of the throat and nostrils. No mask, water or sweets could soothe the discomfort or wash away the charred smell.

Some individuals wearing masks and stethoscopes produced medical identification cards but Brooklyn detective Paul Carpentieri, covered in dust, told them to turn back, their help was not needed now.

Carpentieri was one of the first on the scene the previous morning. He told of seeing blood staining the sidewalks and body parts, decapitations too awful to describe. When the towers collapsed soon after, the recognisably human elements were covered with dust, thick as a blanket of snow, comprising the ashes of hundreds if not thousands of New Yorkers. He was breathing them in.

At the hospital closest to the scene, St Vincent’s, relatives gathered with photographs of their loved ones. They milled between hospital officials and a cordoned-off press area.

“Have you seen my husband … daughter … colleague? I last saw them on their way to the stairs … at breakfast … on the train … at home. They were wearing …”

The same conversations were taking place over New York’s phone lines as the closely-knit financial community rallied around neighbours, school friends and golf partners. As suburban churches’ missing lists grew, tragic stories began to circulate, particularly about the guys from Cantor Fitzgerald.

“They called their wives and fathers from the roof, they couldn’t get down. It was one man’s first wedding anniversary that day.”

 Uptown, the New York Blood Centre was on high alert as the community tried to help its own. Linda Levi, director of communications at NYBC, said some people waited for up to eight hours.

“There were no complaints and that’s unusual for New Yorkers.

“People were shocked and exhibited great spirit and generosity. They felt it was something tangible they could do.”

In two days, more than 10,000 pints of blood were collected, triple the normal supply. An additional 3,000 pints arrived from other areas of the United States.

Shop windows were adorned with the Stars and Stripes, while cafe chalkboards said “Give blood, save a neighbor” or “God bless America” above the list of daily specials.

On the upper east side, a shop assistant in a small candle shop refuses to play CDs over the sound system. “Silence is the greatest respect we can offer them,” she said.

Margaret E Ward is a New Yorker

Popularity: 24% [?]