What 9/11 Taught Me About Showing Up

Twenty-five years ago — Sept. 11, 2001 — was a sunny but otherwise unremarkable morning in Brooklyn. I was standing with a group of fellow volunteers outside a Park Slope Elementary School, and we were wrapping up an early shift serving as election day poll watchers. 

We were groggy, drinking lukewarm coffee out of paper cups, about to begin an exhausting day of canvassing for a local city council race.

As we walked out of the school, a woman stopped us on the street. I’ll never forget this exchange. “Hey, did you hear the World Trade Center was hit by an airplane?” 

She pointed down Atlantic Avenue. There it was — the stunning sight of the World Trade Center on fire with smoke billowing over downtown. 

We took a train to the campaign headquarters, where people gathered around a radio listening to the horror unfold. 

It was all chaos, whispers, and stunned shock. No one knew what was going on. We left to continue knocking doors, unsure if the primary election was cancelled. 

We met a firefighter suiting up to join his brothers in Manhattan. His daughter cried, asking him to stay home. He hugged her, told her he loved her, and hurried toward Manhattan.

Within minutes, the air filled with smoke and dust. We stood there, frozen. The firefighter’s father invited us inside. We hurried inside and watched in shock as the first building collapsed. That moment is etched in my mind, something I will never be able to forget. 

That night was eerily quiet. Thick layers of dust settled onto cars, sidewalks, and church steps. Office paper, coloring pages, checks all flew over the river into our front yard. The smoke and smell stayed in the air for months. 

We were called back to work that Thursday, and I went back to my job at The Salvation Army of Greater New York. I worked alongside Salvation Army officers directing emergency volunteer efforts and donations. 

I gave out water, contact lens solution, fresh socks, and toothpaste to firefighters and emergency workers taking a break from the pile. I sent volunteer social workers and mental health professionals to the site set up for families to identify loved ones.

Supporting The Salvation Army’s disaster response became a key part of my job for the next six months. We helped the city, state, and national Salvation Army establish full-scale emergency response sites — distributing federal funds to help displaced families pay bills, reconnecting pet owners with their animals, and making sure people had access to fresh food, diapers, and medication.

That time taught me something I still believe: showing up for your people — especially when no one’s watching, and especially when it isn’t easy — is the best kind of public service. It is what community looks like. 

Twenty-five years later, I still carry that lesson with me: when neighbors need help, show up, even when it is scary. The kindness of our community keeps us going through hard times. That's how we do it. Together. 

As we reflect and offer gratitude to our emergency workers, first-responders and their families for the sacrifices made every day, let's also honor our unsung heroes: public administrators, social workers, and behavioral health specialists who supported first responders, survivors, families, and other caregivers. 

The work is hard. None of it was glamorous. Most of it was quiet, unseen. All of it was essential to saving lives. Thank you, fellow public servants.