After 9/11: How survivors continue to carry their stories
“At times, it seems like ages ago. But whenever you start recalling that day, it seems like yesterday.”
Time collapses for Monsignor Jamie Gigantiello, 67, a native New Yorker and now a chaplain for the New York City Fire Department, as he looks back to Sept. 11, 2001, and the hours he spent at Ground Zero that day.
For more than 30 years, Gigantiello has worked as a minister in the boroughs of New York. On that day, he blessed the body of 9/11’s first recorded victim and then-FDNY Chaplain, Father Mychal Judge.
At first, Gigantiello stopped at a triage center near Police Plaza before making his way closer to the site.
“I remember then walking about an hour later down actually to Ground Zero,” Gigantiello said. “And there was a church there, St. Peter’s Church, and I went into the church to say a prayer.”
“There was a police officer, a firefighter in there, and he said, ‘Father Judge, who was the fire chaplain, he got killed, and his body was on the altar,’” Gigantiello said. “And I actually blessed his body.”
Wendy Lanski, 56, a corporate executive who worked in One World Trade Center at the time, also remarked on the way memories from that day can still feel near.
“It’s hard. I mean, 25 years later, you know, sometimes it feels like a long time. Sometimes it feels like yesterday,” Lanski said. “I can remember the sights, the smells, the sounds — just the feeling of walking into my apartment at the time and being like, ‘Jesus, you know, I went to work on a regular Tuesday. I’m a corporate girl. Like, I don’t have some risky job.’”
Lanski worked on the 29th floor of the north tower, the first tower struck that day. She lost one of her best friends on Sept. 11, Abraham Zelmanowitz, because he wouldn’t leave his wheelchair-bound friend behind.
Ken Corrigan, 59, a 16-year volunteer firefighter from the Bronx, not only survived Sept. 11 but also the World Trade Center bombing in 1993.
Twenty-five years later, Corrigan is still losing friends to 9/11.
“My friend Mike Hayes — ‘Whisk’ —” Corrigan said, his voice breaking. “He was an ironworker. He helped clear out the debris. I had no idea that he had been down there for a long time, along with a lot of other friends.”
Corrigan’s thoughts turned to others he had known.
“All these people dying. A good part of those guys were friends of mine that I grew up with,” Corrigan said. “Died of cancer … Guys that were on the piles for months.”
Lanski and Corrigan met Friday outside O’Hara’s Pub for the first time, just down the street from FDNY Ten House and Ground Zero. The pub was severely damaged in the attacks, but after reopening, it quickly became a watering hole for first responders still working at the site. It has since become a gathering place for those who come to remember 9/11. Corrigan asked Lanski about her story.
“I’m like, ‘I’m a survivor.’ He’s like, ‘I was buried in rubble.’ And we just started talking. That’s what happens,” Lanski said, describing the instant connections that can happen between people who lived through 9/11.
Lanski has tried going to counseling as a means of processing her grief and experiences, but it hasn’t always worked for her.
“My company at the time sort of mandated us to go for counseling, and I tried it,” Lanski said, “but there was no precedent in the United States for terrorism [at the time], so I would start telling my story, and the counselors would cry, and then I’d feel guilty, and I’d clam up and not talk. So it was kind of counterproductive.”
Both Corrigan and Lanski said they have found solace in talking about their experiences with others — whether fellow survivors, first responders or simply people willing to listen.
“My therapy over the 25 years has been this: telling people who care, getting education out there,” Lanski said.
Among the memories that have stayed most vivid for Gigantiello is an encounter with a woman in the triage center. He remembers everyone being covered in soot.
“I remember a woman coming up to me, and I just cleaned off her face, and I said, ‘Are you OK?’ And she says, ‘I just need a hug,’” Gigantiello said. “And for about 30 seconds, we just embraced. We said nothing… that really sticks in my mind.”
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