by Father Raymond Nobiletti, M.M.

Maryknoll Father Raymond Nobiletti (left) and others covered in dust and debris are told to run from the area following the collapse of the south tower of the World Trade Center Sept. 11, 2001, in New York. The priest was among the first on the scene ministering to victims of the attacks. The reflections of priests on how they responded to the events of that fateful day are collected in a new booklet published by the Secretariat for Vocations and Priestly Formation of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops.

A longer interview with Father Nobiletti will appear during September on Maryknoll’s Voices of Our World radio program, that will be posted at http://www.voicesofourworld.org/

The television showed a second plane crashing into the South Tower. The cacophony of screams, confusion and horror radiating from the television and the parish staff, and the subsequent roar of people pouring out into the street changed everything. I was not going down to an accident, but into the eye of an attack on the City of New York.  How could this happen in New York City?

Running south past the federal court buildings and prison, I was battered by the shoulders and flaying arms of the thousands of people evacuating downtown Manhattan… running and tripping on their way north or east across the Brooklyn Bridge.  All of them had the same look of horror on their faces. When and where would the next airplane strike?

One short block from the epicenter of the disaster, the smoke, confusion, falling steel and debris made this area an obstacle course.  I did not stop, hesitate or turn but walked into the center of the triage area of those ministering to the burned, bruised and disoriented being taken out of the burning North Tower. The Millennium Hotel staff was in the forefront of this service. God was present in the compassion shown by all those outside the main hotel entrance.  These were the people of New York at their best.

Just as I put my stole around my neck, a woman being escorted out of the building called “Father.” Her arms were seriously burned.  “Please, call my daughter and tell her that I am alive” she said. She was the first of several victims who dictated phone numbers to me. There was no phone service. It was much later in the day that I realized that the people who collapsed into my arms before completing their request left me with patches of burnt flesh on my clothing.

One woman was brought out on a stretcher so severely burned that only part of her face was visible through the bandages. Not expecting her to survive, I prayed the Lord’s Prayer with her, as her eyes moved in response.  The Word of God became a visible and moving presence for her on that street.

Though we were ministering to the injured from the North Tower, our triage was closest to the South  Tower. At 9:50 a.m. a loud, cracking sound came from that tower.  It was collapsing.  The top 20 floors were tilting toward and falling on top of us while the lower 90 floors were folding like an accordion into the foundation of the building.  I was able to run several yards across Fulton St. to clutch the iron fence around St. Paul’s Church yard. Three other persons behind me with the same idea were only able to grasp one of my legs before we were plunged into the darkness of the falling debris. We remained in the dark struggling to breathe and listening to screams for help.

When we saw light again, there was devastation all around us. The emergency vehicles and equipment were destroyed. And like us, everything was covered with a gray-brown ash.  We stumbled through the area looking for survivors.  A police officer emerged from the rubble. He screamed orders to leave immediately as the North Tower might also come down. I was walking toward Broadway when the North Tower collapsed at 10:28 a.m.  The impact was enough for the air pressure at my back to push me several yards out into Broadway. That police officer saved my life.

The horror of what was happening didn’t allow me to think about myself or realize that I was covered with ash and dripping blood from my nose. Ambulances stopped and offered to take me to the hospital but I refused, believing that there were many more seriously injured who needed an ambulance.

I slowly made my way back to Chinatown amidst the confusion. Passing the famous broad stone steps of the federal and county courthouses in Foley Square, I was recognized by court officers who attend the noon Mass at Transfiguration. They ran up the steps and returned with a water cooler tank and poured the water over me to remove the mysterious ash material. The grey-brown matter did not move, but became a concrete-like crust that covered me from head to toe.

These court officers and the police officer who screamed us off the triage site were instruments of God’s grace. More and more people, both uniformed and not uniformed, began to appear to help those in need in this still very chaotic and confusing situation. They were focused on the needs of others.

Brooklyn-born Father Nobiletti, M.M., is pastor of Transfiguration  Church, Manhattan.

by Msgr. Robert Romano

Msgr. Romano

A decade has gone by since that “day of infamy” of the new 21st century. While 10 years seems like an eternity to some people, I can remember with clarity the events of Sept. 11, 2001. 9/11 has changed my life and my priesthood. It has made me who I am today.
That morning began like any other morning. I remember it was a bright cool clear day. I was preparing for Mass when I heard on the news that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I celebrated Mass. Then I headed out to lower Manhattan along the Gowanus Expressway where I saw the smoke and dust of the already collapsed buildings.
After reporting in with the mayor and police commissioner, I went to the area hospitals where I learned that there were no injured. I went to “Ground Zero” where I saw the carnage for the first time. I was confronted with the sight of the dead and the knowledge that many of the police officers that I knew were missing and feared dead. It was a gut-wrenching feeling to know that one of those who was missing was a friend whose infant son I had baptized only 10 days earlier.

During the months after 9/11, I spent almost every day at the site. For the first several weeks, I celebrated Mass every day for the families who were awaiting word about their loved ones. After hopes of rescuing survivors vanished, the project moved toward recovery. Masses continued every Sunday and holyday for the Emergency Service cops who worked to bring closure for the families by returning their loved ones for burial. The number of cops and families that came to those weekly Masses increased every week. We started with about 15 on the first Sunday after Sept. 11 and ended in May when the last piece of metal was removed from Ground Zero. On that day the numbers were so great that the intersection at Murray and Greenwich Sts. was closed so that I could celebrate Mass. It was something I never thought would happen but I will treasure the memory for all my life.

The years have gone by but the memories are still a part of all who were involved in that one single day and its aftermath that changed the lives of so many and of our nation.

I, along with my fellow police chaplains, have continued to minister to the 23 families of the cops we lost that day and unfortunately to the more than 40 other families who have lost loved ones due to post- 9/11 illnesses. The sad thing is that the evil of that September day continues to take lives and destroy families.

As we contemplate this 10th anniversary, there really has been no closure for the thousands of families who lost loved ones and the millions of Americans whose safety was violated. While Osama Bin Laden has been killed, the threat of another attack is still there.
Those who say that we should put Sept. 11, 2001 to rest and behind us fail to realize that it is not only a part of history but its effects are still a part of our lives. Time does not heal the wounds. We just learn to live with them.

As a priest and police chaplain, my job is to minister to those who are hurting. In these past 10 years, I have felt the love of those who have accepted me as a part of their families and have ministered to me. God was there that day in the “heroes” who performed countless numbers of miracles by saving the lives of so many in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania. We must never forget!

I, continually, thank God for using me as an instrument of His love. May God grant eternal rest to those who died because of 9/11. May God grant consolation to the families and friends of those taken from us and may God bless the United States of America.

Msgr. Romano is the Deputy Chief Chaplain of the New York City Police Department and the pastor of Our Lady of Guadalupe parish, Dyker Heights.

by Ed Wilkinson

Ten years after the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, it’s clear that it was a day that changed all of our lives. The attacks against America awakened us to the terrible threat of terrorism and the reality that it could to any one of us.

I was driving to work that morning when a bulletin came on the Imus radio show. The popular shock jock seemed genuinely stunned as he reported that a plane had hit the Trade Center in Lower Manhattan. At first it seemed to be an air trafficaccident, incredible as it seemed.

For me, it was personal. My sister worked in the Trade Center. I knew she worked high up, but I wasn’t sure in which of the Twin Towers. As I arrived at the office, I stood on the Prospect Expwy. overpass and stared into Manhattan at the landmark building that now resembled a giant Roman Candle. Flames and smoke were jumping out of the upper floors and a steady stream of papers seem to fly out of the structure and out over New York Harbor.

As I ran up to my fourth-floor office, I joined the other staffers who already were pressed against a window watching the historic event unfold. We watched as the second plane crashed and we then knew this was more than an accident.

I thought again of my sister and ran to the phones to call other family members. No one had heard anything from her.
This was Tuesday, our press day, and the news staff began ripping up the planned pages to begin laying out a whole new paper. What was going on and how did it affect the diocese?

We began to get word that Bishop Thomas V. Daily would celebrate a special Mass at noon at St. James Cathedral. Msgr. Guy Puglisi, the Superintendent of Schools, was rushing out to visit local Catholic schools to assess the situation.

As the magnitude of the crisis became more apparent, Catholic Charities was getting ready to send social workers into the field to assist in any way they could. Fire and police chaplains were being called to the scene. Tablet photographers ran to the roof of the diocesan headquarters and began snapping photos of the conflagration.

It was three hours before a call came that my sister had escaped from the 82nd floor office for EuroBrokers. She was calling from Greenwich Village as she made her way north and away from the scene of the attack. She had walked down the staircase and was still in the building when it was hit by the second plane. She didn’t know it at the time but many of her colleagues were not as lucky as she was. It was simply a matter of which stairs she had chosen to use.

We worked late that evening getting the paper to print with the story that would continue to impact us for weeks and years. Our new front page showed the Twin Towers in flames and the headline read “Let Us Pray!”

That’s exactly what we did in the ensuing days. People flocked to churches for special liturgies. Volunteers responded to the call to search for the missing at the site. Some were never found. We are still praying. We still feel vulnerable.

We learned a lot from our response to 9/11. We realized that family and friends were the real valuables in life. We knew enough to search for answers beyond our day-to-day lives.

We can never forget those who were lost that day and those who survived. We can never forget our responses as we tried to make sense of it all.   Ten years later, the wounds may be numbed by time but they are still there, never to be forgotten.