Jim Giaccone - Brothers

 

Some of the experts on TV were saying that the way that the Twin Towers were constructed and the manner in which they collapsed, there was bound to be voids. And inside, those voids was a potential to find survivors. My family and I hung on those words. My older brother, Joe, Joseph Michael Giaccone, had an office on the 103rd floor of the North Tower, and he had gone to work early that Tuesday morning, and he was missing and we were going out of our minds. I immediately tried to gain access, but was turned away again and again, because ultimately too many people were volunteering. It would become too chaotic. 

 

After a couple of days, a buddy of mine called. He was a firefighter up in Harlem, and he told me to meet him at his firehouse. I dressed in his bunker gear and me, him and another firefighter drove on our way down to Ground Zero. When we got down below Canal Street, we started encountering checkpoints, either military or police personnel with automatic weapons. But once they saw we were all dressed as firefighters, they waved us right through. 

 

We parked all the way on the east side. The guy that drove was afraid that we would be blocked in by more emergency vehicles and we walked blocks and blocks west. We were about a block away from the start of the debris field when-- I used to think of myself as somebody who could handle pretty much anything thrown at me. I thought I had prepared myself for what I was walking into. But I became sick. 

 

After I regained my composure, we walked into the pile. There were no words, there were no pictures, there is no way to accurately describe what I saw, what I heard, what I smelled. I have no rescue and recovery training whatsoever. But I saw no voids. It was apocalyptic. My buddy said he wanted to try and meet up with the other guys from his firehouse that were working on the west side of the pile. We were all the way on the east. 

 

We found the best way to go around was, we went down a side street in the side door of an adjacent building, and we went into either the cellar or the sub cellars, because all the main floors were damaged. The buildings were all pretty much city blocks long. So, we walked the distance of the building underground, and we came up on the other staircase across the street and down again and again. Multiple times I saw written on the walls these pleas, usually from firefighters begging for any information for one of their friends who was still missing. Sometimes written in soot with their fingers. 

 

We ultimately came out at the base of the atrium of the Wintergarden building. The Wintergarden building was an iconic, beautiful atrium, and it was completely destroyed. We climbed out onto the pile and we worked on the bucket brigade. Later on, my friend said, “Let’s go back to the firehouse.” I'm pretty sure he picked up on the fact that I was completely and totally defeated. We had become separated from the guy that drove us, and there was no transportation. But a cop offered to give us a ride as far as Midtown. [sobs] Before I got in the car, I called my dad and I told him I was sorry. And I said, “No way Joe is coming home.” 

 

The cop dropped us off on 42nd Street, and I don’t remember what avenue. In fact, I remember stepping up onto the sidewalk to try to get my bearings. A couple walked in front of me with a young boy. I noticed the man did a double take when he spotted me. He stopped and he turned and he stood in front of me, and he started to extend his hand. And even before I could shake his hand, he fell forward and hugged me. He started to cry, and he said, “I'm sorry for the loss of your brothers.” [sobs] 

 

He thought I was a firefighter. It’s amazing to me when you realize how many thoughts can fire off in your brain in the blink of an eye, in a fraction of a second. In that millisecond, I understood that that man needed to cry. In that millisecond, I felt horrible, horrible guilt. In that same millisecond, I reasoned it was okay, because he used the word brother. Thank you very much.