On September 11, 2001, I was in an apartment in Binghamton, NY, where most of my time was spent doing college radio and going to Denny’s for some Grand Slam breakfasts at 4 o’clock in the morning.
I woke up around 12:15 p.m., and the only communication I really had with friends was my through my crappy cell phone or my serviceable computer. I checked my AOL Instant Messenger at around 12:30 that day, and the only IM I had received since the night before was as follows: “Evacuation.”
The message was from my brother Matt, and I distinctly remember turning on the TV to see what might be going on in New York City, and when I tuned into MSNBC I saw planes crashing into the World Trade Center.
There is no fathomable emotion to describe what I was thinking when I saw what was happening. Not only was I a long four hour-drive from home, I immediately expected the worst. After a few solemn minutes, the tears started gushing out from my eyes, and my mind was thinking that my brother – along with some of my other friends who were in Manhattan that morning – may not make it out of the city alive.
I prayed for the first time in years that the people I loved and cared for would be okay, and at the same time I was praying I wanted to admonish God completely, thinking that anyone or any being in charge would not let such an atrocity take place. I’ve always considered myself a recovering Catholic, one who was raised with the religion but not completely fond of some of the Church’s antiquated practices. On September 11, 2001, I was more befuddled than ever before.
I did not hear from my brother until about 7 o’clock that evening. I was preparing to attend a candlelight vigil at Binghamton University’s Peace Quad, and I was so thankful to hear his voice that I started crying some more. I was so glad that he was unharmed, but at the same time I was still feeling very somber about the events that transpired. The result was an emotional overload that affected me for weeks and even months to come.
Still today, two years later, I have not quite recovered from the shock and sadness that hit me on September 11, 2001. One friend of mine from college – Mr. Paul J. Battaglia – was working near the top of Tower 1 when the planes hit. He did not make it. He was 23.
Here today, I sit here at my computer in Long Island, New York. I am a 55-minute train ride from New York City, still very much the hub of the entire world. Manhattan is still very much one of the greatest places to live near, and I tell many of my friends that living outside the New York Metro area is something I would not feel entirely comfortable with. I love the city, and I love the suburbs.
My heart goes out to all of you today who have friends that were lost on September 11, 2001. I have a neighbor, a really courageous young woman, who was pregnant when her husband died on September 11. Another neighbor of mine was the highest ranked uniformed fireman in New York City, his sons and daughter old friends of my brother and I.
There are so many people in New York who were not able to fulfill their lifelong goals, who can no longer ride the subways to a baseball game, who can’t eat a Manhattan hot dog against doctor’s orders. They can’t visit Rockefeller Center at Christmas time, and they can’t attend WrestleMania XX at Madison Square Garden this coming March.
I am very grateful to be alive today and in relatively good health, and as a native New York I feel it is my obligation to bow my head in remembrance today, and think about the men and women whose lives were taken without warning. I will always remember where I was and what I was doing on September 11, 2001, and, more importantly, I will never forget.
Peace. Love. Moe and Paul.
-Chris Biscuiti
