By Susan Brinkmann, OCDS
Staff Journalist
As our nation approaches the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, people who were on the ground during that fateful day, ministering to the injured and the dying, are recounting what they saw and felt during the deadliest attack on the U.S. since Pearl Harbor.
The following are excerpts from the testimony of Father Raymond Nobiletti, M.M., pastor of the oldest Catholic Church in New York City – Transfiguration Church in Chinatown – who had just celebrated the 8:00 a.m. Mass when the attacks occurred.
Back in the parish office just before 9 A.M., I was informed that an airplane had crashed into a World Trade Center building. I wanted to go up to the fourth floor priests’ residence to take a look. I had always enjoyed the World Trade Center buildings, beautifully framed by my bedroom window. Before I could do that, the phone rang and a neighboring parish priest asked if I could go immediately to the World Trade Center. Priests were needed to minister to the wounded. The office TV then revealed that this was no small plane crash.
Stunned by the image of the towering inferno, I was in a daze while collecting the Holy Oils, stole, and prayer book needed to administer the Sacraments. This would not be the first time in 30 years of priesthood that I would walk into a disaster such as this. In 1972 in Hong Kong, I was waist deep in the mud of a landslide that took the lives of 72 people. I learned how important it was to be an instrument of God’s presence and am still humbled by that privilege. I knew that the presence of a priest would be important to both survivors and responders that morning at the World Trade Center.
Then, the television showed a second plane crashing into the South Tower. The cacophony of screams, confusion and horror radiating from the television and the parish staff, and the subsequent roar of people pouring out into the street changed everything. I was not going down to an accident, but into the eye of an attack on the City of New York. How could this happen in New York City?
Running south past the federal court buildings and prison, I was battered by the shoulders and flaying arms of the thousands of people evacuating downtown Manhattan… running and tripping on their way north or east across the Brooklyn Bridge. All of them had the same look of horror on their faces. When and where would the next airplane strike?
One short block from the epicenter of the disaster, the smoke, confusion, falling steel and debris made this area an obstacle course. I did not stop, hesitate or turn but walked into the center of the triage area of those ministering to the burned, bruised and disoriented being taken out of the burning North Tower. The Millennium Hotel staff was in the forefront of this service. God was present in the compassion shown by all those outside the main hotel entrance. These were the people of New York at their best.
Just as I put my stole around my neck, a woman being escorted out of the building called ‘Father.’ Her arms were seriously burned. ‘Please, call my daughter and tell her that I am alive’ she said. She was the first of several victims who dictated phone numbers to me. There was no phone service. It was much later in the day that I realized that the people who collapsed into my arms before completing their request left me with patches of burnt flesh on my clothing.
One woman was brought out on a stretcher so severely burned that only part of her face was visible through the bandages. Not expecting her to survive, I prayed the Lord’s Prayer with her, as her eyes moved in response. The Word of God became a visible and moving presence for her on that street.
Though we were ministering to the injured from the North Tower, our triage was closest to the South Tower. At 9:50 A.M. a loud, cracking sound came from that tower. It was collapsing. The top 20 floors were tilting toward and falling on top of us while the lower 90 floors were folding like an accordion into the foundation of the building. I was able to run several yards across Fulton Street to clutch the iron fence around St. Paul’s Church yard. Three other persons behind me with the same idea were only able to grasp one of my legs before we were plunged into the darkness of the falling debris. We remained in the dark struggling to breathe and listening to screams for help.
When we saw light again, there was devastation all around us. The emergency vehicles and equipment were destroyed. And like us, everything was covered with a gray-brown ash. We stumbled through the area looking for survivors. A police officer emerged from the rubble in the street. He screamed orders to leave immediately as the North Tower might also come down. I was walking toward Broadway when the North Tower collapsed at 10:28 A.M. The impact was enough for the air pressure at my back to push me several yards out into Broadway. This police officer saved my life.
The horror of what was happening didn’t allow me to think about myself or realize that I was covered with ash and dripping blood from my nose. Ambulances stopped and offered to take me to the hospital but I refused, believing that there were many more seriously injured who needed an ambulance. It was only later that I learned there were few or no survivors of the collapsed buildings.
Back in Chinatown and walking up the hill that is adjacent to Transfiguration Church, I should have been alerted by the looks of horror on the faces of people who were staring at me.
As I turned and entered the main gate of the school, the children were being evacuated north to another school. They had been purposely kept unaware of the happenings of that day. The children screamed in horror when they came face-to-face with me. Some cried and I did the same just seeing them that way. The parish staff reacted in horror to what they saw, though happy that I survived what seemed at that time to be the destruction of most of Southern Manhattan.
The priesthood of service became so much more important for me and others in the months that followed September 11, 2001. The funerals of firefighters, executives, workers and those we knew brought a somber quality of life to Southern Manhattan. The economy collapsed and the thoughts and future of those of us who live and work there were blurred by the vision of the pile of smoldering debris and the rescue workers, volunteers and visitors from around the world.
The heroism shown by New Yorkers and those from around the world was unexpected and unprecedented. God’s presence was made visible in the Sacraments of the Church, the ministry of the priesthood, and the compassion shown toward the victims by the first responders.
The recognizable presence of a priest who represents the compassion and forgiveness of God should never be underestimated, especially in the midst of sudden crisis or in the face of such evil. The presence of God and the grace of God was and still is tangible at Ground Zero.”
