Firehouse Magazine Reports
10 Days At Ground Zero
CURTIS S.D. MASSEY
From the April 2002 Firehouse Magazine
Part: ONE | TWO | THREE
DAY 5. We hit the ground running. This Saturday morning begins as a rainy, dreary day. Mike and I talk about how lucky we had been with the weather overall and wonder how difficult things would be if it were raining every day. We are fortunate indeed, at least in this respect. Mike runs us by the Javits Center, then by the FBI HQ, before heading on down to the site. We arrive just ahead of President Bush. His motorcade slowly ambles by the tent. We are so busy, it is hardly noticed. The entire scene is shut down tight and nobody moves in or out through the checkpoints. It would have been great to hear what he has to say to the troops, but there is just too much to do. We are planning a thorough, top-to-bottom search of a nearby 53-story building across from the site and will be joined by two out-of-state USAR teams with search dogs.
The missing firefighter count rises again, for the fourth straight day. So many personnel responded who were off-duty they could not immediately be accounted for. It is now at a firm head count of 343, almost 100 above the original estimate. You can’t help but let it get to you. I am stunned by the count. It is equivalent to the size of the entire fire department I used to work for. Yet, every time it starts to bother me, Steve is there, picking me up, always being positive. He keeps saying “There’s gotta be a miracle here.” I, in turn, have to believe that there will be.
Mike heads to the NYPD command post and agrees to meet me in the lobby of 1 Liberty Plaza at 11 o’clock. I turn my attention back to the issue of tracking down those missing prints, as the President’s motorcade passes by once again. The scene opens back up and activity returns to its previous pace. Time escapes me, as does the morning. Before I know it, 11 o’clock arrives. I dash over to the building, figuring to be late and instead walk into an empty lobby, not another soul in sight. It is strangely silent. I’ve been in this building so many times. I glance down at my watch. It is 11:10.
Just as I’m beginning to question if the other guys went to the wrong building, Mike strolls in the front entrance, steady talking away on his cell phone. Typically, he’s dealing with a dozen other things at the same time. As he finishes up his conversation, I take out the building’s pre-fire plan and break it down for the team leaders. Within five minutes, the lobby comes alive, filled with members of two police search teams and two USAR teams. We gather around and discuss the operation.
Since this property is one of my clients, I proudly show off the plan. Everyone is briefed on the stairwell configurations, roof and sub-level access issues, locations of hazardous materials, etc. I then hand out a set of floor plans to each team leader, as there is still no power available for the darkened high-rise. I state, with Mike’s concurrence, that the building almost certainly has to have been searched at least once by now, (although it could not be confirmed) and that it would be wise to leave the dogs in the lobby unless they’re needed. This is a tall and very large building (two million square feet) and the poor dogs are already exhausted from numerous searches.
Suddenly, the chief engineer walks in and tells us that he can get the generator going, giving us basic life safety stuff and one elevator. Having broken down the search patterns to “low” and “high” zone teams, eliminating the long climb to the top for the “high” team is greatly appreciated. Mike and I stay in the lobby, as a command post. The search begins. Mike is on the radio to another USAR search effort on the other side of the site, at the World Financial Center.
As he advises them that our pre-plans are in place for their use, I wander over to a clothing store on the west side of the first floor. The place is a mess, several windows missing, countless suits ruined, everything coated with dust from the collapse across the street. After taking care of another call, Mike sticks his head in and advises me that the store was used as a temporary morgue on Sept. 11, one of several in the area. Numerous people who jumped or were killed in the street by falling debris or even bodies from above were brought here. Standing there, alone, I wonder what it must have been like in here that tumultuous day. It had an unearthly feel to it. Dark, dusty and so quiet. It felt like death. I turned and walked out, not wanting to ponder anymore the horror that took place just four days ago in this once-thriving enterprise.
Just as I made it back into the lobby, the radios crackle, “Evacuate! Evacuate!” Within seconds, guys pour into the lobby and out the front doors. I run up to Mike to determine what’s happening, when he says “Let’s go!” We both make a dash for the exit, along with everyone else, as thoughts race through my mind. Is a nearby building getting ready to fall on us? Have they found a bomb? Are we under attack again? I didn’t know I could run this fast, yet I barely keep up with the other guys. Thoughts of the last building collapsing Tuesday, still fresh in my memory, put me on edge.
Once we reach the street corner and slow to a trot, I turn to the guys and ask what was up with the urgent order to evacuate. I’m told that the building is coming down. I immediately state aloud that the building is perfectly sound and can’t be collapsing. I’ve looked the property over several times from day one and it was evident to me that other than missing a bunch of windows, the structural integrity was unquestionably secure. After quickly convincing everyone that we were in no danger, we restarted our heart rhythms and returned to the lobby to complete our assignment. It turns out that a police officer heard a creak and felt a shift on the floor he was searching, so he ordered the evacuation. I could understand his concern. Having been in the building many times, it does, indeed, move slightly in a stiff wind. It is designed to do so and it does even creak noticeably, but it is as solid as a rock structurally.
We soon complete the search, only to find out by a call to Larry (the owner representative) that it had been searched previously by the FDNY and National Guard. All the effort and stress for nothing. Oh well, a little excitement to add to the day, I suppose. I spend a few minutes petting the dogs before leaving with Mike to go back to the tent. Until now, I never fully realized how valuable these animals are. They certainly have my heartfelt appreciation for their talent and hard work from this point on. They are just as courageous as the rescue workers.
Mike discusses with me his ideas on the scene’s progress. The constant ballet of debris removal and construction equipment activity continues all around us. We pick up where we left off with the guys at the SOC tent, being told that despite several more probes into the pile below grade, there have still been no live hits. Before we know it, the day concludes with the last meeting of the night at the OEM post, reviewing the latest accomplishments of all the agencies involved. It is 2 A.M. and we leave the site for the hotel.
DAY 6. A bright, clear Sunday starts off with Mike and I arriving at the tent about 8 A.M. We are updated about the search teams’ findings from the night before. A subway train is still unaccounted for. We wonder aloud whether the occupants made it out alive, but the search continues nonetheless. The missing firefighter count remains the same as yesterday, finally stopping its ascent.
Mid-morning, my cell phone rings. It is a Port Authority employee and he has something for me – a full set of blueprints for the twin towers’ sub-levels! Finally! I ask where he is, write down the exact address, and tell him not to move and that federal agents are on the way to pick them up. I dash outside the tent and over to the agents. I give the address in New Jersey, with precise directions and they’re off. I advise the fire department and OEM command posts that the drawings will be at the site soon. In less than 45 minutes they return, prints in hand. We rush them into the tent and break them out on a table.
As they are unrolled, it is evident that they will be too complex and difficult to read for them to be of much use to the crews venturing below grade. An idea pops into my mind and I step out of the tent. Pulling out my phone, I call my vice president at his home in Virginia and tell him I need some people up here right away. Within an hour, three are on the way. Two are ex-fighter pilots and know how to work under pressure. By the end of the day, Jay, Bob and Chris arrive at the hotel, software in hand. I advise the OEM incident commander that we need office space and computers. Shortly after my request, my phone rings again. It is the owner of a local architectural firm, offering us use of their facilities first thing tomorrow morning. Finally, things are starting to come together.
As I walk down to West Street, a man approaches me at the check point. He’s a civilian, claiming he has the most high-tech camera and listening device equipment in the world. He says he works for a defense contractor and has been stuck two blocks away with his gear for two days, unable to get through to the right people. I escort him through the checkpoint and over to the ID area. After getting his credentials taken care of, we walk over to the tent and I introduce him to the guys. They advise the incident commander of this latest resource and right away he is put to work, along with his “toys.” Night closes in. Before I realize it, midnight passes. It’s back to the hotel for some rest. I check in with my people and we agree to meet in the lobby, bright and early.
DAY 7. At 7 A.M., Mike, Bob, Chris, Jay and I greet each other. Introductions are made and Mike is off to a meeting. The agents arrive to take me to the site and my people to their new “home away from home” for the next few days, drawings in hand. They jump right into the fray and pump out floor plans in rapid fashion. They work in a building only a few blocks away from the scene, with windows overlooking the site on the 41st floor. They can’t believe what they see – or don’t see anymore. Like the acidic haze which fills the air in lower Manhattan, the sight continually attacks the senses.
The color-coded graphics take about four hours to do per floor. They are combination floor plans and USAR grids, displaying all the support columns on each level. They are assigned eight floor plans to do, the Plaza and Concourse Levels and all sub-grade floors, B1 through B6. When the call comes, the agents rush me over to pick them up and it’s off to a printer in midtown, where 50 copies of each are duplicated in color. Several sets are then dropped off at the Javits Center for the USAR teams, with the rest brought back downtown for the fire, police, OEM and SOC command posts. Three floors are produced the first day. They call it a night 14 hours after they began. Mike and I stay at the site late again, finishing up around 2 o’clock.
DAY 8. The weather continues to hold and things go just as they did the day before. Running around, floor plans getting pumped out, everyone working hard. Still no rescues or signs of life. Admittedly, it starts to wear on me. I feel my energy draining away. The adrenaline is beginning to fade, as common sense tells me we are clearly edging into a recovery operation. Other than three more floors being completed by my people, I remember very little of this day.
DAY 9. Another busy day and the last two floor plans are completed. The agents once again are instrumental in getting them to the command posts. Walking around the site, I am astonished that there have been no fatalities since the first day. A constantly high level of activity has encompassed the area. Monstrous cranes and heavy earthmoving equipment backing up, pulling away debris from the remains of buildings, along with lighter-grade machinery dashing back and forth should have dictated at least a few serious mishaps. However, good fortune abounds, along with a lot of attention to safety by everyone involved.
With fatigue taking its toll, it is surprising no lives have been lost, especially considering the additional risk of unstable window panes and even steel structural members hanging off the facades of surrounding buildings. The ironworkers who walk up to the site and volunteer their expertise, along with all the other skilled laborers who have been coming from the first day on, have proven invaluable. Along with everyone else, they are risking their lives performing highly dangerous work. Their collective contribution has not gone unnoticed and is proving an inspiration to us all.
Coming back up West Street, I pass another contingent of FDNY firefighters returning from a 12-hour shift on “the pile.” Fatigue shows on their faces. The remains of an entire engine company have been found in one area of where a stairwell once stood and I hear the chief calling for multiple body bags over a radio as they walk by. I feel for them and what they must be going through. I am both honored and humbled to even be in the presence of men of this caliber.
DAY 10. I face my last day of work at the site. The remaining two floor plans will be completed today. Hope is clearly diminishing and I am getting depressed. The adrenaline is gone. Harsh reality has taken over. Even though it hasn’t been spoken, we have eased from a rescue into a recovery operation, although it is still officially labeled a “rescue effort.” I am exhausted and must get back to my job and the responsibilities that go with owning a business. Although I feel like I am disappointing the guys I worked with so closely during these most trying of times, life must go on. If I thought
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