Ground Zero — 9/11 Remembrances by Derry's Ray Summers

In September of 2001, the world was changed forever when nineteen Islamic Jihadists from the terror group al-Qaeda planned and executed an attack on our home front. Two planes were flown into the World Trade Center in New York City, and one plane into the Pentagon. A fourth plane was targeted to hit the Pentagon but crashed in a field in Pennsylvania, rerouted by the brave passengers who fought the terrorists aboard. The attacks were meant to weaken the United States by hitting us in areas that showed great American strength. Little did our attackers know that when you hurt Americans, the country stands up and fights stronger than ever.

I am so proud to say I am from that America—the one that stood up and fought. The America where we held each other close and used our individual strengths to pull ourselves from the ashes. I am also proud to say I helped my countrymen that day. My hope in sharing these stories from my time at Ground Zero is that it will help spur thought and care for each other again, to rekindle the sense of humanity we felt for each other after our great tragedy.

How did I come to find myself at Ground Zero on September 11th, 2001?

Derry, New Hampshire, has always been home to me. I spent my entire childhood here. I graduated from Pinkerton Academy in 1995 and promptly joined the U.S. Army after graduation. After six years, I took a break in service to attend New Hampshire College (now Southern New Hampshire University). I was excited to graduate with a degree in Sports Management. Partway through my time at NHC, an opportunity came along to be an internwith the New York Mets. I learned of the opportunity on Tuesday, September 4th, 2001, and knew I had to hustle. My internship started on Monday, September 10th.

I quickly gathered my things and moved to Manhattan to live with an Army buddy on Greenwich Street—just blocks from the World Trade Center. I was able to spend half a day scouring routes and learning about the city. On Sundaynight, the night before starting my dream internship, my friend and I had dinner at the Windows on the World Bar and Restaurant on the 107th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. I had no idea how drastically different the view from that place would be forty-eight hours later.

My internship started on Monday. I was excited and full of optimism, ready to begin my journey and dream of working for a professional baseball team. Even though it was the Mets who broke my young heart in 1986, I will never forget the picture in the main lobby as I came up the stairs—the ball going through Bill Buckner’s legs, the play that cost us the series.

The day was filled with happiness and excitement as I learned what my role would be. “If I can do well here, maybe I can find a job with my beloved Sox after graduation,” I kept thinking. Little did I know that the next day would change my life’s trajectory completely.

On 9/11

The second day of my internship was September 11, 2001. That date seemed so inconsequential then. That morning, I took the 7 train from Manhattan to Queens. When I came out of the subway, I noticed a lot ofcommotion in the station and on the streets that hadn’t existed the day before. I was a New Hampshire kid and thought it was just a normal morning in the big city. Then I noticed the smoke and chaos in the distance.

When I arrived at Shea Stadium, I ran in to see what was happening. The news outlets on television were explaining that planes had been flown into the Twin Towers. By the time I heard the news, both towers had been hit.

I overheard a local Battalion Fire Chief speaking with the Mets’ Vice President of Media Relations, Jay Horwitz,about needing help. He was asking for any medical personnel to help set up a forward triage unit at the stadium forsurvivors. It was 10:30 a.m. The news quickly turned—the North Tower had just collapsed.

I will never forget the look as the chief started begging for help to find any athletic trainers, medical personnel, or anyone who could assist. “We just lost every first responder we had down there,” he said to Jay. The Mets were in Pittsburgh, and there was no medical staff on the premises. “I’ll go,” I said. The chief turned and asked Jay who I was, and he replied, “An intern who started yesterday, I think.” I explained to him my military background and training. The chief had me sign a logbook and put me in the back of an NYPD truck, which transported me to what I quickly learned was being called “the pile.”

I arrived roughly six blocks from the site of the World Trade Center. “This is as far as we go,” the NYPD driver told me. Again, I was just a small-town kid in an unknown part of one of the world’s largest cities, but this time I wasn’t able to see more than fifteen feet ahead of me. The air was thick with debris and dust, but I made my way to the pile. The next ten days of my life were spent there. So many of the experiences live with me every day, but there are three that have not faded from my memory at all. To honor the memory of that day in our history, I want to recount them so the stories of our nation are not lost.

The Firefighter and the Teddy Bear

It was around Thursday, and we had been working the pile for three straight days. We were moving the World Trade Center bucket by bucket with little rest. The rest we did find was at a small local church, Saint Joseph’s. It was a quiet, peaceful place in the midst of all the madness. That third day was the day the heavy equipment was sent in, and we were relieved of moving buckets.

On the block, there was a Burger King we had set up as a makeshift triage unit and headquarters. Right outside, I noticed a scuffle and went to see what was happening. I saw a firefighter fighting his peers, NYPD officers. I thought I could help—maybe someone not in uniform could at least calm the situation. In speaking with him, I learned his wife and daughter were “in that mess” and he was “not going anywhere until he got them out.”

I didn’t have the empathy then as I do today, a father myself now. I reflect on this next moment often. He took a teddy bear from his pocket. He held it in my face and again explained that his wife and daughter were in there and he was convinced that was her teddy bear. After much conversation and emotion, I was able to get him to come with me to Saint Joseph’s to take a break. He did, but I never saw that firefighter again.

I will never forget his face or that bear. While his name escapes me, I pray that he found peace after his world was destroyed. I wanted his story told first. This story needs to live on forever.

Rebirth of Society—Ready or Not

We very quickly started getting supplies shipped in from New Jersey. By Thursday, homeless people who had not left the area started finding the locations where supplies were being held. I was moving body bags from One Liberty Plaza to boats to be brought out to the island. During that time, I witnessed homeless people getting into arguments and causing issues with the NYPD. Everyone was exhausted, and tensions were at an all-time high.

It started to get physical, and I intervened. I pulled the NYPD sergeant aside and asked him which was more important—homeless people stealing socks, or this? I pointed to the pile. He agreed and got his police officers refocused on the mission. I then spoke with the homeless person who seemed to be in charge and explained to them that we, the country, and the families of the lost, needed the NYPD to be focused on the task at hand. The officers had no capacity for attending to petty crime. Ialso reminded them they were standing on a mass grave, and it may be time to respectfully relocate.

We worked tirelessly for another week, but what I didn’t realize then was that, try as we did, we did not find any more victims after that moment.

It was fascinating to me that in the chaos of that day, some aspects of life pushed on like nothing had happened. Life and society had started moving on in its own interesting way, leaving those of us whoworked the pile—even after we left—stuck at Ground Zero for years inside our minds.

Raising of the Flag

We were dealing with tremendous devastation and loss. We couldn’t see more than fifteen feet ahead of us, and everything was chaotic. Shortly before Building 7 collapsed and many of us were briefly buried, there was a break in the clouds and thick debris. A clear blue sky appeared, and thewarm sun shone down on the remains of the World Trade Center.

The only things left standing were large swatches of cement held together by rebar—the outline of where there were once windows letting light filter through. It was unearthly. Silence fell, and workstopped. You could hear a pin drop. Three firefighters raised a beautiful American flag. We cheered, we chanted, and we screamed out: “U-S-A! U-S-A!” An act of complete defiance to those terrible acts that murdered more than 2,700 fellow Americans on that site earlier that day.

This memory is tied directly to the picture made famous. The picture does this memory no justice. Thinking of this moment now makes my hair stand on end. It was the American revolutionary spirit at its finest. It was the evening of September 11th, 2001, and I had just experienced the most surreal and spiritual moment of my life.

— — — — — — —

The purpose of my writing is to help my townspeople, my countrymen, understand the sense of pride we share in our country, in each other, and in our grit during a catastrophic time. I was compelled to write this after watching a documentary on World War II. The creators were remembering the veterans who had passed that year. We refer to them as “The Greatest Generation,” but we let their stories die with them. That breaks my heart. Realizing that my part of history would also go with me, I felt compelled to share my story.

We are so overstimulated and consumed these days. I pray that with more stories that are told about our history, the more we will come back together as a country. We will forget the petty things that don’t matter, and we willunite for a common good—for a common goal. To be united and proud not just of ourselves, but of our nation. We will accomplish more working together than trying to pull each other apart.

 “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
—George Santayana, The Life of Reason, 1905

A deep gratitude to you for taking the time to read this. Please don’t ever forget our history, and never forget September 11th, 2001.