Rescue to Recovery

Father Ed

"I feel much more useful when I'm working out on the pile," comes a new voice to our group of visiting firefighters. The gentleman's black shirt and white collar are oddly highlighted by worn blue jeans, goggles, respirator and an NYPD hard hat. Not normal attire for a Roman Catholic priest.

"Hi, I'm Father Ed Malloy." he says as his gloved palm reaches out to greet each of us. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" Father Ed comments. He tall, slim priest tells us that he's been mixing with the crowds of emergency workers here near the ramp of Fire Station 10, meeting and greeting as many workers as he can.


"What parish you from, padre?" I ask, like I'm familiar with every Diocese in the United States.

“Notre Dame" he answers. I’m thinking of Notre Dame High School in Philly. Maybe the parish out in Astoria. The priest continues "Ahh...I'm president of Notre Dame University." The Indiana Jesuit is here making the rounds, tending to the flock, just like hundreds of other chaplains from dozens of faiths. I notice the small, bookmarked Missal poking from Ed's back pocket.

"It takes fantastic moral strength to work here," he says as he takes a long swig from the Gatorade bottle. Father Ed tells us that the determination of the rescue workers is their most admirable strength.

The banter is interrupted by a squawk from the two-way, and an FDNY Battalion Chief motions for Father Ed to come onto the pile. I tag along with the college president turned rescue worker, staying close to his side like some self-appointed altar boy.

Engine 55's crew has just discovered the remains of a woman, and have asked for a member of the clergy before she's moved away to the morgue. I stand quietly a few yards away, as Father Ed pulls the dusty missal from his pocket to read a short prayer. Then turning to 55's crew he prays, "May the blessing of God Almighty rest and abide upon you and may this sign of the cross be your peace and safety. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit." I join them in the sign of the cross, clasp my hands to the front and bow my head. Normally, we would have already removed our helmets in respect for the deceased, but we're standing under the Widow Maker and it mighty dangerous. So the lids stay on.

I leave Father Ed to his spiritual duties and come off the pile to rejoin my own group. I pause by the command post in front of Ten House, hoping to learn about dramatic rescues in the other sectors. "There are none!" says a retired Fire Captain. "It's all over."

The final days

The scene is directly from "Saving Private Ryan". Battalion commanders calmly give instructions to company level officers, who then move out into the swarm of firefighters to pass along orders to their own crews. Chief’s aides are busy on cell phones and two-way radios coordinating with other sector commanders. Everyone seems to consult the huge map table, with its layers of acetate overlays.

Here in New York City, firefighting is often regarded as a family tradition - a calling that is handed down from one generation to the next. In fact, many firefighting families can trace their roots to the beginning of the "paid" department in the late 1800's.

I ask a lone firefighter if anyone in his company is lost. "We've lucked out', he responds, "but my brother, a cop, is still missing." His eyes water as he answers, and all I can manage to do is touch his shoulder like I understand.

Despite extraordinary effort and teamwork – both above the rubble and below – there have been no more rescues. Surviving New York firefighters and emergency personnel feel that certain that fate alone prevented them from arriving first on the scene. Unable to rest, even after the most grueling of stints, they stand at the edge of the pile, watching – waiting – praying for a miracle.

Many rescuers have developed a profound connection to Ground Zero and their fellow workers. Some speak of this place as ‘sacred ground’. It becomes a ritual that, as out of town volunteers prepare to leave the site for home, operating engineers arrange for a crane and bucket to take them above the field of debris. There they hover above the pile for a few minutes, and say their farewells.

“It was a sense of duty that we had begun a job. We, we had a responsibility and we will see it to the end. As long as there was thought to be remains, as long as it was thought that people were still unidentified, they were will, willing and wanting to continue to look. That was out of a sense of duty, a sense of responsibility.” Father Milton Williams (St. Paul's Chapel)

Rescue and Recovery at Ground Zero has ended. Within a matter of days, Mayor Gulliani reduces the number of rescuers on the piles from thousands -- to just fifteen.

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