🇺🇸 Dad was an initial survivor of the 9/11 World Trade Center attacks. Sadly, he is now officially recognized as one of the thousands of victims who died (from respiratory failure) due to the toxic fumes that he breathed that day.
🇺🇸 On the 25th anniversary of 9/11, we are at a point in American and global life where the events of 9/11 are turning from living memory into historical facts that you learn about in school or on the internet.
🇺🇸 In the next few years, 50% of Americans will either be born after 9/11 or be too young to remember the events of that horrific day that changed how we lived our everyday lives.
🇺🇸 As a dutiful daughter, I am honor-bound to annually share our story as just one of the collective 9/11 voices so that we never forget, especially for the younger generations.
🇺🇸 The loss of life in wars, battles, and attacks has a lasting impact on history. 9/11 was no exception, with nearly 3,000 people dying in coordinated attacks at the World Trade Center buildings in New York, the Pentagon, and a field in rural Pennsylvania.
🇺🇸 In the years since the attack, tens of thousands of first responders, law enforcement, and survivors have died (or become gravely sick) due to cancer, respiratory, or other fatal illnesses because of their exposure to noxious gases, dust, and chemicals.
🇺🇸 “MORE PEOPLE HAVE DIED FROM 9/11-RELATED ILLNESSES THAN WERE LOST IN THE
THE INITIAL SEPTEMBER 11, 2001 ATTACKS,”
according to the 20th Anniversary Special Report from the “Never Forget the Heroes” Act and CDC. U.S. Attorney General Merrick Garland wrote in the report, “…IT IS IMPORTANT TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THE TRAGEDY OF 9/11 CONTINUES” (25 years later).
🇺🇸 25 years ago, Dad was one of the survivors covered in soot, dust, and blood from the attack on the Twin Towers. Like many New Yorkers, we felt the Twin Towers were special. It was a place where we worked, shopped, and dined. Mom had also worked at the Twin Towers. She was one of the first Hispanic women to be a Senior Advisor in the New York Dept. of Labor Equal Employment Opportunity office. Thanks to Mom and Dad, we all had summer jobs at the Twin Towers. We saw its towering beauty every day, and it held many precious memories for us—even the memory of Dad working in the Twin Towers during the 1993 bombings.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, our family faced a terrifying ordeal that lasted over ten hours when we feared we had lost my dad. Like many New Yorkers, he commuted regularly. At the time, while working in New York, he stayed at our residence in Brooklyn Heights, my childhood home. Our family home was located in the Washington, D.C. area. I was a young and trusted Senior Public Relations Spokesperson working directly for federal government agencies and the White House. Dad’s commute was a quick 45-minute airplane shuttle from New York to D.C., a routine he maintained as an International Delegate for the International Longshoremen’s Association for the past 40 years. I remember hearing the early reports on the car radio stating that a “flying object” had crashed into the North Tower. Without hesitation, I made a U-turn on Route 7 near Bailey’s Crossroads in Falls Church and Alexandria to return to the condominium where my mother was. I knew exactly where Dad would be—in his beautiful office on the 19th floor of the South Tower at the World Trade Center, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the Art Deco ground-floor plaza. He was there every weekday morning at 7 AM, rain or shine.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, the city that never sleeps was at a standstill with confusion everywhere. We were glued to the T.V. and searching for my Father’s face in the crowds of displaced New Yorkers, now with dirt, ash, and blood covering their bodies. Watching the once majestic Twin Towers crumble like a pile of garbage was like watching a family member die right before me. Our phones kept ringing with people asking if Dad was ok or alive. We often broke into prayer for the safety of Dad and everyone.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, our despair about Dad’s whereabouts was only heightened further when we heard and saw a plane fly dangerously over our condominium building. A few short minutes later, a massive explosion was felt, and we later learned it was the plane aimed at the Pentagon.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, Dad was in his office on the 19th floor in the (2nd) South Twin Tower when he and those in his office heard the loud crash of the plane hitting the North Twin Tower. New York is a bustling city with frequent noise from cars, buses, taxis, emergency vehicles, and thousands of New York City inhabitants. The noise of the plane crashing did not initially set off panic. In those early morning hours, the offices inside were kind of quiet. These were the early days of being online; it was dial-up Internet like AOL. Cell phones were around, but they were more simplistic flip phones and BlackBerry devices: no iPhones or Androids. Information was received by turning on the radio, watching CNN, or local TV news. In my Dad’s office (and like so many others in the 2nd Tower), they did not realize it was a plane that crashed into the North Tower.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, however, Dad intuitively felt something was wrong. He told his secretaries and co-workers that they needed to leave the building. Dad insisted they all evacuate. Early reports were starting to come on the news about an “unknown aviation” that had crashed into the 1st Twin Tower. Widespread confusion and panic spread through the office about what was happening outside and what they were hearing on the news and radio. Later, we learned that some people from other floors, like the 80th floor and above, took the elevator down and reached the ground floor but were told to return to their offices for safety. Even the earnest journalists of that era struggled to report accurately on the horror unfolding before their eyes so quickly. No one could believe a plane would hit the Twin Towers. Up to this time, we had never used words that have now become part of our domestic vernacular vocabulary: terrorism, terroristic attack, homeland security, TSA, etc. We all know about it now after the events of September 11.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, Dad and some of the people in his office were present for the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. They had those memories in their minds. The secretaries were worried and thought they should stay in the building. They didn’t want to be in the way if a “real emergency” was occurring downstairs on the street level. My Dad was adamant that they leave. Due to who Dad was—both in his executive leadership and the trust placed in him—they decided to exit the South Tower. As a human chain, hand in hand, they started going down the staircase.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, as they were going down the staircase, another plane hit the South Tower–their building. The main lights immediately went out, and only the emergency lights were flashing. The A/C shut off, and the cramped stairwell grew hot. Ash, soot, debris, and concrete were coming down the stairwell. People were frightened, coughing, choking, and wheezing. Some were already bleeding from cuts and scrapes and injured by the falling debris. Visibility was limited.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, Dad always carried new embroidered handkerchiefs with his initials or his name in his suit jacket. Always one to think of others and never thinking about himself first, he immediately gave them to his secretaries and co-workers when it started to become difficult to breathe on the stairwell. Naturally, that meant he only had his arm to cover himself.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, a poignant memory is the brave New York City firefighters, law enforcement, and first responders who knowingly risked their lives as they were climbing up the stairs of the Twin Towers while everyone was trying to get out of the burning Towers. With the attack, the elevators were rendered non-operational and became an enclosure of fire, smoke, and, sadly, the final moments of many people trapped inside. Consequently, firefighters and first responders had the grueling task of climbing (with all their heavy gear) through small, crowded stairwells filled with panicked people trying to get out, so they could try to save lives.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, Dad, and our family, have always supported law enforcement, firefighters, and first responders, in every sense of the word. When Dad saw them climbing the narrow stairway, he thanked them and squeezed their shoulders, even if it was just a moment of encouragement. Each of them responded or patted his hand back. They had to check every floor as they went up to make sure no one was injured or left behind. Since they had to stop often, a moment occurred between Dad and a young fireman. He was in his early 20s. Underneath all his gear, Dad patted his face to say thank you, and the young fireman stopped and put his hand over Dad’s hand. He closed his eyes, and Dad felt the weight of this young fireman’s face resting on his hand. For a brief moment, it was just like a father and a son together. Dad gave him the support he needed to carry on. Dad gave him a blessing; the fireman shared his gratitude and kept climbing up the steps. Dad never saw this young fireman or any of those first responders again. He inquired with his connections. However, he never saw them again because every single one of those heroic firefighters and first responders who saved so many people never made it out of the Tower themselves.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, after some time, Dad, his secretaries, and co-workers finally made it to the street level. They had just literally crossed the street, making it out of the South Twin Tower, before it came crashing down to a pile of rubble at 9:59 A.M. It collapsed right before their eyes. They were covered not only in ash and soot but also in debris, glass, and concrete and metal rubble that had cut and injured them as well.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, it was told to us numerous times over the years by so many of Dad’s grateful secretaries, coworkers, and those working in the office that if Dad had not persisted and convinced them to exit and start their descent down the stairwell at the precise time that he did, they would not have made it out. The South Tower collapsed a few precious moments after they got out. His actions on that fateful day saved lives.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, it was a slow march over the Brooklyn Bridge. A massive exodus of ash-covered people left Manhattan and walked across the bridges to Brooklyn and Queens. The images shown on television looked like, and were called, a “slow death march.” People’s clothes were bloodstained and torn. It was obvious that many were injured and some critically wounded. Along with thousands of others, Dad managed to walk slowly across the bridge back into Brooklyn Heights. A walk that normally takes about 20-30 minutes now took hours because of the pace, the injuries, and the massive number of people.
🇺🇸 25 years ago, Dad finally arrived at the Cathedral Basilica of St. James, where I was baptized as a child in Brooklyn Heights. My Father, a tired and broken man, knelt in reverence while covered in dirt, ashes, cuts, and blood. Overcome with emotion at the sight of him, the Priest rushed over. A survivor of the tragedy came directly to church before even going to his own home. Lovingly, he started to wipe the dirt, ash, and blood from my Father’s face with his priestly robes. He prayed over my Father and embraced him.
🇺🇸 25 years later, the horrendous memories are seared in the minds of many. The earthly and disfigured remains of the victims before the Towers collapsed; their precious souls were strewn about the streets of Manhattan. Devastatingly, the survivors were mourning, knowing they could not help them as much as they wanted to, and that they couldn’t even respectfully cover what remained of the physical bodies for their families to find.
🇺🇸 As his daughter, I can tell you that my Father was never the same after 9/11. The man who woke up on the morning of September 11th and the man who woke up on September 12th were two totally different men. As thankful to God that we were (and will always be) for the tremendous blessing of him surviving that day, Dad had irrevocably changed. Though he was always wonderful and sweet to everyone he met, a huge part of him was lost on 9/11, and it never returned. Men of his generation, especially trailblazers like him, often don’t go to counseling or therapy. They just deal with things on their own and try to keep moving forward. However, you can never forget what your mind can’t unsee. It’s like being in a war and coming home shell-shocked or with PTSD.
🇺🇸 To protect my Mom and me, there are things that he kept private and inside, including the true atrocities of that day. It’s often a common thread amongst survivors. However, throughout the years, many of those same survivors ultimately still became victims of 9/11, just like my Father.
🇺🇸 Post-9/11, he still worked for more than another decade in New York. 50 years of an epic and storied career as an International Delegate and Executive with the International Longshoremen’s Association. He didn’t even have to work the decade after 9/11, but Dad wanted to make sure that everyone was back on solid footing after the attacks. My Dad was blessed with wonderful health all his life. The only thing he died from was the toxins he breathed on 9/11. We were blessed to have him with us for almost 19 additional years. Yet, as his daughter, I grieve, and I’m angry that 9/11 robbed us of extra years. Especially because our Joshua, who has autism, was Dad’s constant companion. His youngest grandson shared an incredible bond that bridged the generational gap of the 80+ years between them.
🇺🇸 On the 25th anniversary of this national tragedy, our prayers and thoughts again are for the families who did not have these last 25 years of memories with their loved ones.
🇺🇸 May we remember and pray for the victims and all those still suffering the effects of 9/11 physically, emotionally, and mentally.
🇺🇸 May we remember that 9/11 didn’t end on September 11, 2001. The impact of this heinous act of violence and terrorism continues today, every time another life ends through cancer, respiratory failure, or another illness because of the toxic air they breathed.
🇺🇸 May God give everyone the comfort they need. We will never forget, and we will remember our fallen heroes, brothers, and sisters today and always.
#JoseQuinteroRamos
#NeverForgot
#September11
#RIPDaddy
#LetsRoll
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