The River Crossed:
Reporting Back From Ground Zero

By Angela Montefinise and Tamara Hartman

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, the Queens Tribune was preparing to spend the day covering primary elections and politics when it received a simple cell phone call – one that would change everything.

From her car on the Verrazano Bridge, the Tribune’s art director called to tell the newsroom that something had hit one of the Twin Towers.

The first few hours after that call were a muddled mix of moving forward with the business of a newsroom and trying to understand what was happening to the City. By noon, all other business was thrown aside as the morning’s events began to reach out into the lives and homes of Queens.

The Long Road Home

“From the front lines of disaster, survivors . . . walked the Queensboro Bridge throughout Sept. 11. Some cradled children. Others held hands. And many, finally at a safe distance, paused to look back at the massive smoke cloud where the Twin Towers once stood.”

That was the opening image described in the Tribune’s story of the slow, sad march that so many people made from the smoke-covered island of Manhattan to the perceived safety of neighboring Queens.

During the commute, some shocked residents tried to comprehend what they had witnessed. No one could explain what had happened just after 9 a.m. that day, but everyone had the need to share their story and compare it with others to piece together something logical.

In the newsroom, most phone calls were made on cell phones that only worked part of the time, but every conversation began with, “Are you alright? Is everyone alright?”

The hometown lines between boroughs evaporated and without anyone noticing, a proud borough of Queens became part of the swelling pride of New Yorkers.

Ready To Heal – No One

Though ambulances rushed past the Tribune’s windows and down the closed Long Island Expressway almost every half hour during the afternoon and evening of Sept. 11, by the paper’s first deadline on Sept. 12, the numbers were disheartening.

The “vast majority” of patients coming into Queens hospitals were “walk-ins” who had walked home from Manhattan and decided to see a doctor.

The Tribune reported, “Elmhurst Hospital, 37; Flushing Hospital, 9; Jamaica Hospital, 49; Mary Immaculate, 25; New York Hospital Medical Center of Queens, 30; North Shore Hospital at Forest Hills, 27; Queens Hospital Center, 1.”

Three doctors from Jamaica Hospital reported back to Queens from what would come to be known just as “ground zero” at noon on deadline day. They had been stationed at the foot of what was the Twin Towers. Doctor Reginald Hughes told the Tribune, “We didn’t encounter many survivors.”

The Quiet

Every hour from noon until midnight on Sept. 11, the editor checked in with the “command centers” at the Queens hospitals. Rufus King park had been cleared out for helicopters to transport victims to Queens.

All reporters were on alert to report to hospitals that were active.

At midnight, the Trib editor stopped calling, and called the sleeping assistant editor instead. The message was one of disbelief that wouldn’t sink in until the next day.

“They’re all dead,” was all there was to report.

The Lost

It began with Fire Department First Deputy Commissioner William Feehan.

By the time the Tribune went to press on Sept. 12, his was the only name the paper knew for sure . . . the only neighbor confirmed dead in the attack on the Twin Towers.

But the names of the missing started flooding in immediately.

By the second week of coverage, there were more names than the paper could handle. Firefighters from Rescue 4 were among the first to be found in the debris.

Rescue workers also found Elmhurst pastry chef Norberto Hernandez, who had been working at Windows on the World, Emergency Service Unit 10 Officer Brian McDonnell, Police Officer Paul Talty and Officer Thomas Langone.

By Sept. 18, Bayside resident Alphonse Niedermayer’s body hadn’t been found, but his family decided to hold a memorial mass.

Then there was a list of the missing. It included James Parham of Jackson Heights and Anthony Savas of Astoria, who had been working for the Port Authority.

Local 3 electrician Thomas Ashton, Commonwealth Cricket League Captain Nezam Hafiz, Elevator Operator Steven Strauss of Flushing, and Cantor Fitzgerald’s Joseph Eacobacci of Fresh Meadows never came home. Corona’s Anthony Luparello had called his wife from the 101st floor of Tower Two, but wasn’t heard from again.

Rescue 4 Firefighter Terrence Farrell, Richmond Hill’s Paula Morales, Flushing Firefighter Scott Kopytko and Bayside Firefighter Michael Mullan were all missing.

Moira Kelly of Queens Village was the only female member of the New York City Police Department to be dubbed missing.

And the list kept growing.

The Spirit of New York

The Queens field of dreams – Shea Stadium – was transformed overnight into a command post for “doing something,” “organizing,” and “trying to help.”

Borough Hall volunteers rolled up their sleeves to package donations to be ferried or bused to Manhattan.

There were daily updates from Claire Shulman’s office on what was needed, and nightly a handful of calls from local residents trying to find out who they could give to and how they could help. Reporters were issued a basic fact sheet of emergency numbers, donation needs and help lines so that anyone could answer the phone and pass along the word.

Neighbors of every age and race volunteered, donated and then lit a candle and marched through the streets to prove that Queens was mourning, but not afraid.

The Tribune reached out to the Muslim community of Queens and began a long process of education on the faith and discovered just how much the paper needed to learn about the Afghanistan piece of the world, it’s history and culture. And the borough, which had in a heart beat turned away from it’s differences to pull together as a vital piece of the City, began to turn out in a procession of mourning.

As The Dust Cleared

As the days went on, the list of those missing grew and grew while hope faded.

Eventually, it was clear. There were no survivors.

Over the next two years, reporters attended street renaming after street renaming – the City’s way of honoring those locals who gave everything at the World Trade Center on Sept. 11.

There was a memorial service at “Ground Zero” on the one-year anniversary of the attacks, as well as a memorial march across the five boroughs. The march brought bagpipers across the Queensboro Bridge – a powerful reminder of what happened the day the Towers fell.

The name of every person lost in the tragedy was read, while their family members walked across the empty site where the massive Towers once stood strong.

Many Queens residents made that long walk, placing roses in the center of the site. All of the borough felt their pain, and said a difficult collective goodbye to their friends and neighbors.  

In the months following, Queens residents came together to help those neighbors rebuild their lives and grow strong again.

It’s a process that will never be fully complete.

But it’s one that is too important to give up on.

Rebuilding

It has been said that life will never be the same after Sept. 11, 2001.

It is a simple statement that carries so much truth. The Tribune has captured images of national guardsmen carrying M16s in our airports and bravely masked civilians opening the Queens mail.

There have been memorials and fundraisers. Mourning and stories of incredible courage.

There have been terror warnings, bomb scares, check points and false alarms.

Life has changed.

But this overwhelming news story has a life of its own that doesn’t close in the span of a newspaper or a year and isn’t contained in one borough or one City.

We have reported on terrible sorrow, but also amazing courage, strength of character and ability to survive, unify, and persevere.

We will rebuild together. It’s only a matter of time.