Glimmer of Hope In WTC Rubble

On Sunday, Sept. 9, Brian Ronan drove his family to Woodlock Springs, Pa., to visit the retired elevator mechanic who years ago lived next door to Ronan's wife, Mary Lou, in Queens Village, where the couple grew up.

"The guy's name is Vinnie Arlotta," Ronan said, "and he knows I'm a golfer, and he knows the kids love his house because, besides being a beautiful house, he put an elevator in it. We spent the day there. The kids saw deer. They went to a place where they have, like, a carnival, and it was just a nice day. Coming back, we're going over the Throgs Neck Bridge, and it was 'quiet time' because I'd had it with the noise, and all of a sudden my middle son yells out, 'Dad, I can see the Twin Towers!'

"I said, 'Yeah, we have to go there sometime soon.' I hadn't been there with my wife for years, maybe 15 or 16 years. We were dating around the time they opened up the Vietnam Memorial on Water Street. That was the last time." Ronan, who lives in Plainview, decided on the spot that the next family trip with Mary Lou and the three boys - Matthew, 8, Nicholas, 6, and Michael 3 - would be to the World Trade Center.

Sept. 11 was Ronan's last day on patrol in the Nassau County Police Department's Second Precinct in Woodbury. The following day, he was to start a new assignment as precinct clerk. History interrupted, and, instead, the department assigned Ronan and others to work in lower Manhattan, Ronan at 6th Avenue and Houston Street, near a firehouse that had lost seven of its members the day before. With him was "another 10 or 15 guys," he said. "No traffic of any sort was permitted past us."

A lump lodged in Ronan's throat and swelled from time to time as he watched the faces of people staring blankly at the huge plumes of smoke billowing from the wreckage in the distance. He watched a parade of citizens bringing dry socks to the firehouse, and undershirts, and flowers, and bottled drinks, and messages of love, honor and sympathy, all day long.

"And so much food," he said, "it had to be diverted to a nearby church." On occasion, he said, "people with the saddest faces thanked us for our heroism. We were being honored for sacrifices others had made. Condolences were offered to us to extend to the firefighters. One set up a makeshift memorial from all the flowers they received. It was enough to break anyone's heart."

Ronan left his post for an hour to escort two women to neighboring apartments within the perimeter. They wanted to try to retrieve their cats. The sky grew darker and the ash thicker as they neared the buildings. They entered the two apartments in total darkness and managed to retrieve the three cats. The one woman has since written twice to Ronan, thanking him.

"Finding solace for even one person was an accomplishment that day," he said. "As we walked back to our bus [to Long Island], we were treated like heroes from a throng of cheering onlookers. I didn't feel much like a hero, and the lump wasn't going away."

Ronan had that Friday off. He needed to go back, and he wanted to be nearer The Pile and to do work that felt more useful. He wore boots and brought a shovel. Downtown, he encountered a construction worker he knew as a former resident of Plainview.

"I was glad he appeared out of nowhere," Ronan said, "because as you get closer, you get more skeptical about going there. But he had worked a lot in that area, and he knew all those buildings by name. He saw them the way you see faces. He was glad to see me, too, because I could credential my way into places. We spent eight hours together, cleaning up Liberty Park, forming a chain to relocate medical supplies and finally helping clean up around The Pile. I have a close friend who is a firefighter who has since been there a lot. I don't know how he does it. I spent one day. I really feel bad for him.

"But while I was there, something shiny caught my eye. I dug it out of the ash to see that it was a flat, round, Christmas ornament. On the front is a picture of the World Trade Center behind the Statue of Liberty. The plastic coating on the front is all broken and embedded with ash. I cleaned it off a little and stuck it in my pocket. It's now prominently displayed on my Christmas tree. When I look at it, I wonder who it belonged to, on whose tree it hung. The lump still forms in my throat when I read the inscription on the other side. It reads: 'World Trade Center, New York, Peace on Earth.'"