by Cheryl DePaolo
His name was Doug, and he was a handsome young man with a Brooklyn accent. His job was operating a huge
crane at The World Trade Center site known as Ground Zero. However, it was midnight, the operation had been shut
down due to high winds, and the Ironworkers had been idle for some time. Perhaps he was getting bored.
We pulled up to the perimeter of the pit in a golf cart, passing through the ID checkpoint into The Red Zone, and we
sat silent, looking at the destruction of the towers. We were acutely aware of the lives that had been lost here; the
air was heavy with death, grief and loss.
The Ironworker wandered over and introduced himself. "Come on", he said. We looked at each other, shrugged,
and quickly followed Doug across an almost flat patch of ground, toward a set of symmetrical steel beams that rose
from a hole in the ground. Doug became our tour guide as he made the buildings come alive for us. "Okay, he said.
"You're standing pretty much inside the lobby of the North Tower. Those beams are the center core of the building,
and you are in front of the elevators". We looked down, astonished. We thought we had been walking on packed
earth, toward the spot where the tower had stood. We were actually walking on top of 100 floors or more of the
tower. Doug encouraged us to look more closely at the ground. He explained that we were walking not on dirt but on
tons of pulverized concrete and ash. Smoke rose around our feet in ever-changing patterns as fires continued to
smolder under us. The air smelled of chemicals and burnt plastic.
Doug shared with us his understanding of the reason for the North Tower's collapse. He felt that the plane had
deposited its fuel directly down the central elevator shaft, quickly heating the central core of steel beams
surrounded by concrete to incredible temperatures and melting steel floor supports. Lacking central support, each
floor fell upon the one below with greater and greater weight and force. The crushing force of the collapse and
intense heat of the still smoldering inferno had consumed everything recognizable.
There is still a portion of façade that stands many stories tall, leaning against the building behind and eerily revealing
the curve of the arches that had graced the tower. This incredible piece of façade had been much higher up on the
building; you no longer had to crane your neck to look up 30 or more stories at the graceful beauty of the arches.
This was the most vivid reminder of what the towers had looked like, shining steel and glass, soaring so high that
small planes often flew below the level of the upper floors.
Doug had come to know the towers and surrounding buildings intimately, and he described their various conditions
as a doctor would review his cases at morning rounds. He pointed to each building in turn, naming them all; those
destroyed, those damaged, and the ones that might be salvageable. We recognized the names of some of them. We
had met people who had worked in them. The 22 story Marriott Hotel, completely gone. 5 World Trade Center, a
burned out shell. The Millenium Hotel, abandoned and forlorn, tilting to the left. 7 World Trade Center, a 47 story
office building, had caught fire and collapsed.
Doug spoke of the bodies that had been recovered. He described finding two firefighters and a civilian in an elevator
shaft. He pointed across the pit to the South Tower and explained that the workers there were in the process of
shoring up the underground structure as several hundred bodies, skeletons really, had been found but could not be
retrieved due to unsafe conditions. He described the chemical censors the workers wear, which are turned in at the
end of each shift for analysis. He mentioned asbestos and lead, and he showed us the magnesium rods used to
blowtorch the huge beams into smaller sections, releasing poisonous gas in the process.
Doug seemed to take pride in the 45 story high crane brought in from Ohio for this operation. He described the
process of leveling the crane on beams from the toppled structure, and how the ground was checked hourly to
make sure it was still safe. The ground shook at times, and we were reminded that we were not standing on solid
ground. Although the cranes were sidelined, other heavy equipment continued to work the pit. We watched the
machinery repeatedly scoop up compacted rubble, then shake it a bit and set it down. Ash and pieces of debris in
varying sizes flew past our faces in the wind. Jagged pieces of steel separated from the pulverized concrete. Debris
was then loaded into trucks and taken to other sights, where it was separated and hosed down. He explained that
human remains were often discovered at that point.
We asked Doug why he worked this job. He paused to reflect, stating that he was being paid union wage, and would
make the same amount on any construction job in the city. His father had been an Ironworker and had helped to
build the Twin Towers, and he felt a connection to them. "I do this for the same reason as everyone else here. We
feel we have to be here. We do it for the families. They deserve to have something, to have closure". Doug described
working alongside a firefighter in the early weeks of the operation. When they stopped for a break and pulled off
their masks, they immediately recognized each other; they had been in kindergarten in Brooklyn together.
Doug turned and pointed to the now legendary piece of steel in the shape of a cross that stood on top of a
construction trailer. I had not been sure that the cross was real, but there it was. Then we followed his gaze to view
an incredible sight: a six story high piece of steel from the tower that had become a projectile and lodged in the
World Financial Center building across the street. Half of it lay inside the building, half out. The building was deemed
safe, but this piece had been in danger of falling to the yacht basin below. Doug described standing astride this
beam, high up outside the building, soldering it to the building to stabilize it. He grinned sheepishly as explained that
he had taken on this dangerous assignment because he was single; the rest of his crew had families. "Does your
mother know you did that?" asked one of the counselors. "Oh, no" he replied. "No, no, no. No way", he said. He
grinned boyishly.
He seemed reluctant for us to move on, although it seemed to be getting even colder and the wind raged. Our driver
was anxious to get warm. We thanked him for spending so much time with us. I impulsively hugged him as we left.
"Doug", I said, "You know, you really do play well with others".
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