How one woman experienced Ground Zero
Early on Sept. 11, 2001, we in the West were jolted into the news coverage of an event that was unfolding in lower Manhattan — one that simply could not be comprehended.
Like most people around the globe, I was glued to the television to soak up every possible detail. Something larger and more important than we had ever witnessed was playing out all day, every day. And, we were collectively stunned and grieving.
As a born and raised New Yorker, I was paralyzed with emotion over what I saw. After the second tower was crippled, I remember thinking – out loud – that these buildings would never survive. The city would have to tear them down. I, along with millions of others, could not grasp the fact that the two would fall on their own! The south tower fell at 9 a.m. – the north tower fell at 10:28 a.m.
My family has lived in the west for years and we all felt compelled to make a trek to New York City to see for ourselves how our home town was coping. The 24-hour news coverage was difficult enough to watch but, I can safely say, that standing there, in front of that 16-acre hole, defies description. The sorrow surrounding the site was palpable.
Prior to flying east to ease our collective minds, (as if that was even possible!), I learned of the memorial that had sprung up on the wrought-iron fence surrounding St. Paul’s Episcopal Chapel. The Chapel had been completed in 1766 and is the oldest surviving Church building in Manhattan.
It is across the street from the World Trade Center and it instantly became a place of rest and refuge for rescue and recovery workers. It survived the two attacks without even one broken window, shielded from debris that fell into a sycamore tree on the corner. The fence around the Chapel became the main spot for visitors to place impromptu memorials to the events and people of 9-11 - photos of people who lost their lives, photos of people who were lost, notes written on poster boards, flowers, trinkets – anything and everything that people thought to leave that would demonstrate the deepness of sorrow felt. Objects were from all over the globe, from individuals to entire cities.
The Chapel and that fence were featured constantly in the news. I was spurred on to visit the Bigfork Volunteer Fire Department on Highway 35. I told them I was a New Yorker, going home, and I asked if there was anything I could bring to the site and leave on the fence around the Chapel. The chief was there the day I dropped in. He gave me a t-shirt and he wrote the name of every Bigfork volunteer on the back of the shirt. I packed that tee shirt to New York. I had to gently move a few objects to the right and to the left to make enough room to get the shirt up on the fence.
I chose a spot on the fence that was directly across the street from the NYPD fence surrounding that gigantic hole. It was a proud moment to have Bigfork, Montana, represented.
Several years ago, on 9-11, I became aware of what has now become an annual tradition at Bigfork firehouses. No matter what the weather – pouring rain or sunny and 95 degrees – a lone volunteer takes a shift, in position, in front of the firehouse, next to a shiny fire truck, holding an American flag. The firefighter stands in honor of 343 firefighters lost at Ground Zero on that one day and the many more who lost their lives in subsequent days, weeks, month and years.
Seeing this outward expression of camaraderie and honor catches in my throat every single year – almost the same way standing at Ground Zero did. It’s stunning. And, it keeps the memory of that horrendous terrorist attack on that horrendous day 13 years ago alive. There was an enormous sign hanging from the rooftop of one of the surviving buildings that surround the site, “WE WILL NEVER FORGET.” And, Bigfork will never forget.
Maguire is a resident of Bigfork.