The September 11th attack
Working at 'Ground Zero' humbles Hawai'i volunteer
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By Robbie Dingeman
Advertiser Staff Writer
When Ken Lee flew from Honolulu to help with relief efforts in New York City just days after the terrorist attack, the Hawai'i American Red Cross volunteer figured his experiences at other air crashes would help brace him for the horrific scene he was about to witness at the site where the World Trade Center once stood.
Eugene Tanner • The Honolulu Advertiser
As a member of the Air Incident Response team trained to fly out at a moment's notice to help with aviation disasters. Lee had responded to the Korean Air crash in Guam in 1997, which killed 228 people; the Alaska Airlines flight last year that plunged into the ocean northwest of Los Angeles, taking the lives of 88 passengers and crew; and the Singapore Airlines flight that crashed on takeoff last year in Taipei, Taiwan, killing 81.
Ken Lee said he wasn't prepared for the New York City scene.
"I felt I had worked other disasters to prepare me for this and I deployed on Sept. 14th with the expectation that I could handle anything," he wrote in a diary that he shared with The Advertiser.
"How wrong I was."
A 57-year-old retired federal social worker, Lee is a mental health professional trained to help family members of those lost in air tragedies, and assist police, fire and rescue workers cope with the trauma around them.
Lee worked for 10 days, often 18 to 20 hours a day, handing out food and water with other Red Cross workers, counseling where necessary and coordinating volunteers who are helping others at various sites near the disaster area.
These images will stay with him: the smoldering crater of the pit at "ground zero," the site of the collapsed Twin Towers. A woman's red shoe sticking out of the rubble. Crowds of people desperately clutching photos of family and friends they had lost, hoping for a miracle. The stench of Fresh Kills landfill in Staten Island, where hundreds of workers sift through debris and remains, hoping to identify victims and looking for clues in the investigation.
One day, he picked up a flier of a young girl who was missing. The girl was smiling. Lee couldn't throw it away and he tucked the photo in a crowded rescue vehicle. Nobody dared to remove it because as long as that girl was smiling, she was somehow real and maybe alive.
Lee dropped 15 pounds during the 10 days he worked in New York City. He left a veteran mental health counselor and returned home to his wife, Kathy, in Moanalua Valley bruised by the devastation he saw but awed by the strength of the thousands who are working in the rescue and recovery effort.
On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, at 3:30 a.m. Hawai'i time, Ken Lee's Air Incident Response team pager started beeping. American Airlines Flight 11 and United Airlines Flight 175 had crashed into the World Trade Center, and the world was not going to be the same.
Here is Ken Lee's journey:
Friday, Sept. 14, 2001
Ken Lee photo
I have confirmation that I'm outbound on American Airlines Flight 72 at 4 p.m. today. If my flights are on time, I'll be landing at La Guardia, NYC, at 9 a.m. tomorrow. I'm aware that my carrier on this journey, American Airlines, has had a very difficult time over the past four days. I wonder what I can say to their check-in personnel and flight crew.
At "ground zero," thousands of police, fire and rescue workers, and military personnel dug, sorted and grieved.
I'm also aware that almost 60 years ago, Dec. 7, 1941, a 34-year-old Korean American ran from his home in Kapahulu to Pearl Harbor, his workplace. He did not hesitate to move in this direction, because as he told me, he knew his help was needed. When he finally arrived at the gate, his Pearl Harbor identification badge was ignored. He was stopped at the gate because he "looked Japanese." When he explained he was Korean, he was told that Korea was occupied by Japan so it was "the same as being Japanese." He wept with anger and frustration, but remained at the gate, and assisted with transporting the dead and wounded off the base. This was my father's experience.
Almost 60 years later, we have, as a nation and people, suffered "another Pearl Harbor." My role in responding to this disaster will obviously be much different than my father's. Perhaps it is not the role that is different but the experience itself. I have yet to see what my experience will be. Whatever may happen, I know I won't be shut out at the gate again. I hope that my father knows this, and that I'll be taking him along with me on this journey. After all, it is because of him, that I'm here, doing what I'm doing.
Saturday, Sept. 15, 2001
This morning, I arrived. On the way into La Guardia, as we began our descent, the plane was utterly silent. We had seen the plume of smoke and dust from more than 120 miles away. As we approached, the Statue of Liberty stood out plainly in the harbor, shrouded by the smoke blowing over it. After all these past days of seeing this scene on TV, it was very different and moving to see it in real life. It brought what I'm sure will be the first of many tears to my eyes.
Sunday, Sept. 16, 2001
I went to the disaster site, "Ground Zero" this morning. Driving into the area was an experience in itself. Along the entrance to the restricted zone, huge supply tents lined the road and we were handed goggles, gloves, respirators and water, almost like runners going through a water station at a marathon.
The early-morning sun cast a pink golden glow to this scene of such death and destruction. On Canal Street, the 77th floor of the collapsed tower loomed like a sculpture from hell — a memorial to the holocaust. Thousands of police, fire and rescue workers, and thousands of military personnel were compressed into a 12-block area — Ground Zero — the place of digging, sorting and grieving.
Just outside of this area, the Red Cross set up one of their two kitchens to feed this army of dedicated but exhausted workers. The pain, fatigue and blank stares reflected in the faces of the workers I encountered said it all.
Requests for mental health services overwhelmed the resources we had, and we could only hope that more trained mental health workers would begin to arrive. We could easily use 300 mental health workers, and we have fewer than 100 today.
My partner, Vince Calcara, will coordinate the kitchen and ERVs (emergency response vehicles) in Manhattan. I'll be doing the same at the kitchen at the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
Monday, Sept. 17, 2001
Ken Lee photo
Another long day. Up at 4:45 a.m., lobby pick-up at 5:30 a.m.
Curious bystanders crowd behind police barricades near the World Trade Center site, which covers 12 blocks.
For eight hours, we parked across the street from the recovery site, serving food, water and offering words of support to relief workers. From our ERV, we could see the recovery efforts and watched as huge cranes were moved into place and attempted to pull down the seven-story high "sculpture" that memorialized the place of so much death and destruction. The left side of the structure collapsed with a roar and a huge cloud of dust. I feared for the crane operators as they appeared to be dangerously close to the tons of falling debris, but the crane emerged intact from the cloud of dust.
Not so for the rescue and recovery workers. They appeared exhausted, covered with dust and grime. Many carried red plastic buckets — their contents could only be imagined. We offered words of encouragement, touching them to connect and extend our support, but we never asked them how they were doing. Their defenses were so brittle, that one crack would send them down, like the buildings and rubble they were digging through. I felt the same way and struggled to hold back tears as I spoke with them.
Tuesday, Sept. 18, 2001
I spent today continuing to work on staffing and recruiting, and also went out with the ERV team we created yesterday to our fixed feeding site at Ground Zero.
I met and spoke with a Suzanna from Kosovo, who was standing on the corner weeping at the sights of devastation. Five years ago, she lost her husband and extended family in Sarajevo. She and her children moved to New York City to escape the war. Her son, 7, and daughter, 6, asked her last night if they would again have to find a new country to live in as the war has "followed" them to New York City and America. She was obviously mourning multiple losses triggered in NYC but going back to Kosovo.
The best local disaster volunteers appear to be the social workers — their training is well suited for disaster mental health work. I realized how this job is bringing back memories (and psychic traumas) of other aviation disasters I've worked. The smells of death, the sights of the recovery efforts, the sounds of sirens and grief all weigh heavily on me.
Wednesday, Sept. 19, 2001
The mental health workers began arriving in great numbers today. I currently have 16 assigned to kitchens. I had only four yesterday.
Just two days ago, I was the only mental health person on site. My job transitioned today. I am now a mentor, supervisor and "match-maker" in that I'm focused on getting the right mental health worker on the right ERV with the right people.
I had to issue keys, radios, sign-out sheets and man the communications center, in addition to staffing mental health training and supporting the 80-100 workers at Kitchen 1.
The ERV runs are covering the hot zone with four fixed feeding sites. Feeding is also being provided on Staten Island at the landfill, where debris is being "triaged." The first pile is crushed cars and trucks that need to be opened, and if found, bodies and/or parts removed. The second pile consists of large steel beams and chunks of concrete. The third pile is fine debris, where hundreds of police, FBI, NTSB rakers and screeners are sifting for teeth, rings and other possible identifying jewelry or artifacts and small particles of remains.
We are serving a lot of liquids at this site but not too much food is being eaten — understandably.
I have lost my sense of time. I've been here five days and it seems like five weeks. I keep telling myself I have to pace myself — this is a triathlon — not a sprint.
Friday, Sept. 21, 2001
Eugene Tanner • The Honolulu Advertiser
For the last couple of days, I've been directly supporting the Kitchen 1 operation and the ERV drivers at the site. People are getting very tired (myself included) and daily, I see several scenes where someone breaks down due to the exhaustion and stress.
Tears and fatigue dominated Ken Lee's experience, but he says the strength of thousands of other workers left him in awe.
All over the city, little shrines with flowers, candles, pictures and letters have sprouted in front of fire and police stations, and Union Square has become the mother of all shrines. As we returned from work to the hotel, we were stopped by a large group of soldiers in full packs and battle dress crossing the street. Jet fighters flying air cover, usually unseen and unheard because of their high altitude, were leaving trails over Manhattan — it was a grim reminder of what is yet to come. As I'm here trying to help people cope with this great disaster and the loss of so many lives, it is very hard to think of all of the pain, suffering and destruction that is yet to come.
My feelings about war and peace are so confused — there are no easy answers.
Sunday, Sept. 23, 2001
I'm exhausted. I'm losing all sense of time. I can't concentrate, and even the most simple tasks take great effort. I began forgetting who I've assigned to the ERV runs, and I'm constantly looking for notes on little pieces of paper. We're still servicing Ground Zero sites, and mental health workers are going into the pit with mourning family members who will probably never get back the remains of their loved ones.
The "pit" is a huge hole filled with debris, two to three stories high. It will be the final resting place of thousands of people who have been crushed, shredded and cremated.
The numbers of missing are going over 6,000. That is so difficult to comprehend but it became a little more real when at a memorial service today it was said: "We did not lose 6,000 people — we lost a single person 6,000 times."
All around me, seasoned veterans of the Red Cross are coming apart. The stress and frustration of the job is beyond anything we've experienced. Like myself, we came with a past history of other disaster work and some expectations as to what this job would be like.
Monday, Sept. 24, 2001
For several days now, the ERV crew at Broadway and Maiden Lane have been going inside the fence, in the Ground Zero area. Mental health workers have won the trust of police and firefighters, and we're being asked to assist in escorting families to the pit.
This experience devastated me. I no longer have any question that I need to go home. I'm becoming a liability and not an asset. I came out last week thinking I was experienced, in control, and above it all. I'm humbled and have been knocked down to my own ground zero.
I know I have given what I had, but feel that in the enormity of this catastrophe, it has been pathetically little.
Tuesday, Sept. 25, 2001
I spent the afternoon saying goodbye to my newfound brothers and sisters. I'll be home at 7 p.m. tomorrow. I look forward to returning and know I'm not the same person who left. I'm still not sure though who I am and how I've changed. Still wrestling with Jell-O, still trying to make sense of all of this, still trying to find a place to put this experience in my life.
Wednesday, Sept. 26, 2001
I'm in seat 17-J, at 35,000 feet, approaching San Francisco en route home.
I believe now that we as individuals, families, communities and nations need to change how we see ourselves, and how we are connected to each other. It's not just the military. We all need to prepare for what is yet to come. If we are at war, this war must be fought and won in ways that we have never fought before. We won't be "Rosie the Riveter" or turning in our aluminum pots and pans for the war effort. We will instead be challenged to change ourselves, our families, our communities and our nation.
The other night I called my mom from NYC. She's 85 years old, and I was worried about her as she was not taking care of herself as I thought she should. Such a wise woman. She told me that just this week she had enrolled in an exercise class and was going to sessions twice a week to strengthen herself. She had begun to take little walks again to keep fit. She explained her actions — "Kenny, I've got to do this because of the war. I have to help by taking care of myself." I got a lump in my throat when I heard this.
I fear the war has just started. A terrible precedent has been set and I fear that along with floods, fires and hurricanes, the Red Cross will now be deploying to a whole new category of disasters — catastrophic terrorist events. In the language of disaster preparedness, the next event is no longer a question of "if" — only "when." We cannot cover all of the possible ways in which this can happen. We will always be open to attack — the threat will never go away.
Be a hero by taking care of yourself, by helping your neighbor, by taking a Red Cross class, by volunteering to give your time, blood and energy to make your community a better and stronger place to live in. In this war, we are all on the front lines and we must recognize that we are all responsible to fight the fight. It is a paradox but I believe that to win this war we will not only need guns and bullets, but compassion and a human interconnectedness that we have never seen before.
We must stand shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm, very aware that we give and receive strength from each other. We must be ready to close ranks over the fallen and be confident that there will always be someone there to close the breach. The people of New York City know this well — it is now up to the rest of us to learn.
