Host: Dan Kennedy
Dan: [00:00:01] Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy. And this year marks the 16-year anniversary of September 11th. To remember the families and friends that were forever impacted by that day, we're going to listen to their stories today on the podcast.
We met Jim Giaccone through the 9/11 Tribute Museum back in 2013. And back then, he held his story closely. Wasn't sure if he wanted to share it or if he'd ever really be ready to share it. But we're glad and we're honored that he decided to. He did so in front of a live Moth audience right here in New York City. Here's Jim Giaconi.
[cheers and applause]
Jim: [00:00:46] I frequently find myself in the company of other family members like myself, family members who lost a loved one on September 11th to 2001. You see, that morning, my big brother, Joe, went to work early. He worked on the 103rd floor of the North Tower for Cantor Fitzgerald. At 08:46 in the morning, Joe disappeared into thin air.
It's within conversations with these other family members that they'll sometimes mention the fact that they had a sign, a butterfly, a rainbow, even a series of events that they pieced together themselves to convince themselves that they were in the presence of their loved one or watching the workings of their loved one. I would always smile politely, nod my head in acknowledgement that they were speaking to me. But in my mind, honestly, I was rolling my eyes. I'm a very pragmatic, logical, methodical thinker. I need proof.
Even within my plumbing profession, we think of a problem in a ladder pattern and we don't reach for the next rung until we have the answer to the first. I'm also somebody that was haunted by a horrible, reoccurring nightmare that began shortly after September 11th. It would always begin with me standing at the base of a mountain looking up. In front of me was a wide swath of a path. The path was all stone, rocks, outcroppings.
On the right side was a definitive line of trees. On the left side, the same. On these outcroppings were these creatures. They were dog-like vicious, horrible, dark creatures. They scared the hell out of me. Even when I looked at them, everything would turn dark. They were vicious. They would snarl and snap at the air. I would see the mist from their breath. At the top of the mountain was my brother Joe, and he never said a word. And without fail, somewhere along my climb, I would slip and helplessly slide into the grasp of one of these creatures.
And for some reason, I gave a green light to all the other creatures to set upon me, and I would awaken as they were tearing at me. I would sometimes awaken hearing a voice or a scream. As I became more awake, I would realize it was my own. I'd usually be sitting up, covered in sweat, scared, where I couldn't even formulate a word. Then I'd be confused, then I'd get angry and then I'd become depressed.
In 2006, I was approached by a group called Tuesday's Children. It's a group that was formed in the days after September 11th. I'm very active with them. They wanted to know if I was interested in going on a Colorado Outward Bound adventure with other family members. I jumped at the chance. I was always an outdoors person, loved in nature. And then, August, we all made our way to Leadville, Colorado, the highest incorporated city in the nation, over two miles up into the air.
We spent the first two days getting acclimated to camp life, to each other, and especially the altitude. And on the third day, we packed up and we began our trek into the deep woods. And almost immediately, we came upon a river. There was an older gentleman fly fishing. Even though I told him I had no fishing gear, he still insisted on giving me a fishing fly and he said, “This will work in these waters.” I shrugged my shoulders and thanked him for his gift and we continued our hike.
That hike was what I consider one of my life's beautiful moments. Beautiful moment, to me, is defined by when your brain is consciously aware of what you're doing or what you're seeing is, in some inexplicable way, extra special. And you will remember that. It's as if your brain makes a wrinkle for that memory, and it'll never go away. We continued hiking. It was after lunch, and we were hiking along a stream and we came upon a huge log jam that made a natural bridge over the stream.
We used that to get ourselves and our gear over and we climbed up a small embankment through a small clearing into the woods, a short distance, and we set up another base camp that was going to be our home for the next few days. And little Jimmy got a long, flexible stick, got my 12 yards of dental floss and my new gift of the fishing fly. I was going to go back to that stream and I was going to catch some fresh dinner. When I came out of the woods into the clearing, now, I was facing that log jam again. But from this vantage point, I could see what was beyond that log jam.
It was a huge, steep mountain. It had a huge, wide swath of a path cut from the bottom to the top. There was a definitive line of trees on the right, a definitive line of trees on the left. I immediately became frozen, because I knew this was the mountain in my nightmare. This was Joe's Mountain. I wanted to call out to the others, but I had never told anybody but my wife about this nightmare. So, I didn't say a word.
In fact, a short time after September 11, when I would speak of my brother, Joe, to even my closest friends, I would see them become physically uncomfortable. And so, to save their discomfort, I stopped talking about my brother. That night, after dinner, we built a campfire. You could probably imagine, with all those brokenhearted people, there was a lot of emotional Kumbaya moments around that campfire. There was a lot of crying. There was a lot of anger. When it was my turn to speak, I told the others about my nightmare. And that's when we learned from the guide that that was one of the mountains we were scheduled to climb.
That very next morning, we put on our day packs and we set out at dawn. It was a crisp, clear, beautiful morning. We hiked for hours, and we got about halfway up when I have what I consider to be a complete breakdown. For some reason, I went from crying [sobs] to wailing to dropping on my knees, making guttural sounds I had never made before. The others with me were great. They hugged me, they cried with me and together, we got to the top of that mountain. And let me tell you, the top of that mountain was absolutely glorious. It was spectacular.
On the top of that mountain, we found a pickle jar that somebody had left up there with folded up notes inside of it. I found a pen and paper and I wrote down my thoughts and prayers to my brother Joe. One thing I will tell you, is that I wrote that I would never let him be forgotten. You know, reliving this nightmare for you, the nightmare that I was asleep for, and especially the one I was awake for, is uncomfortable. But something more I hope happens.
If you all remember my story, even if you remember my nightmare, you will learn a small way remember my brother Joe. And maybe, maybe I'll create a little wrinkle in your brains tonight for Joseph M. Giaccone, and he will not have vanished into thin air. As you might have guessed after that, I never had that nightmare again. On that mountain that day, I found my proof. Thank you very much.
[cheers and applause]
Dan: [00:10:32] That was Jim Giacconi. Jim lives in Bayville, New York, and owns a small plumbing contracting business. But for the past 10 years, he's been a mentor with Tuesday's Children to two young brothers who lost their father on 9/11. Jim also spends his time volunteering and leading tours at the 9/11 Tribute Museum. His brother, Joe Giaccone, worked on the 103rd floor of the North Tower. He was 43 years old and left behind a wife and two children.
We want to thank Jim for sharing his story with us at The Moth. We also want to thank all of you for listening. Be kind to each other and have a good week.
Mooj: [00:11:12] Dan Kennedy is the author of the books, Loser Goes First, Rock On and American Spirit. He's also a regular host and performer with The Moth.
Dan: [00:11:21] Podcast production by Timothy Lou Ly. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx.org.