As the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks approached this past week, my thoughts tracked back to that fateful week and memories of my friend Courtney, with whom I had had dinner just days before and had made plans to see the following week. I remember not being with my family most of that week because I had to work. There was a candlelight vigil on 90th Street and Third Avenue that Friday night, September 14, which my wife and kids participated in but I was not there for. It is one of my daughter’s first memories, that whole week makes up many of her first memories, but I was not there. I know I needed to be at work and know that our work was important to restore the “power” back to the city; still, I feel I should have been up at that vigil with my family rather than in the Corporate Emergency Response Center at work. Work … I can still taste the air I encountered at Ground Zero on September 13 and remember the burning in my eyes when I got down there. So much is still so vivid and, at the same time, so much has faded. Most of all, I just can’t get my arms around the fact that the attacks occurred a decade ago.
That morning! I was sitting in my office on the 18th floor in the Con Edison building on Irving Place and 14th Street when I heard that one of the towers was on fire. I can’t recall if it was from the computer or from the hallway chatter that I heard it, but I do remember getting up from my desk and heading to the office across from mine. Charlie’s office had a direct view to the Trade Center. We watched as the tower was burning, somewhat in disbelief and trying to make heads or tails of how it could have happened. And then, out of almost nowhere, we saw the second plane come around and fly through the second tower. We watched as it created a hole and we watched knowing that the world had changed.
I was able to get to my wife on the phone before the land lines were overloaded. She immediately left and went to pick up the kids at school, Jamie (3 years old) on the East Side and Jason (6 years old) on the West Side. I remember her telling me that she pulled out of the garage and drove the wrong way on 90th Street just to get to the kids quicker. If anything, that might have saved 2 minutes. But, at that point seeing your kids 2 minutes earlier might just as well have been 2 hours earlier. After that point telephone communication was tough, both cell phones and landlines were out and/or overloaded, especially trying to call within New York City. We were somewhat more successful calling my mother-in-law in Michigan and relaying messages to each other. My Blackberry was still working. Of course, a Blackberry in September 2001 was far from the device it is today. But, the Blackberry 957 Enterprise Edition was communicating just fine and I was able to get in touch with colleagues, family, and friends using the Blackberry. My cell phone was not working, but my Blackberry was. The television in the conference room was working as were our computers, so we watched in horror and disbelief. At some point that day I walked home from work, not too bad just a little over 3 ½ miles.
That call! By dinner time I was home and had heard from or about most of my college and law school friends that worked down on Wall Street and all of them were OK. I don’t know why I had not realized that I had not heard from Courtney. My phone rang, I looked at the screen and it said “Rodway” and my gut knotted up. Trying to be optimistic I answered, “hey Rod” are you OK? Rodway’s reply still echoes in my head “We haven’t heard from Courtney … no one has heard from Courtney.” We spoke for about another 5-10 minutes as good friends would do on such a day. We discussed the implications of what happened, or so I think. Truthfully, after the initial words about Courtney, I don’t remember much of the conversation other than agreeing that if either of us hears anything we would immediately call the other. This, of course, meant Rodway would call me since he was close with Courtney’s family.
Rodway and Courtney had played football together for Hofstra University and it was Rodway who introduced me to Courtney years earlier. Rodway and I had been playing football together in the Yorkville touch league for years when he said, I got a guy to bring down this year. It was a statement I heard often; it seems everyone had a guy that was going to propel us to the championship. Usually, it did not pan out, once in a while they were good and stayed on the team for years, but rarely was “the guy” a game changer. Courtney was a game changer. Courtney was also a life changer. He was an exceptional athlete, but all his athletic skill paled in comparison to who he was as a person and as a friend. Over the course of the next years, Courtney and I became good friends. He was one of those people that you want your children to grow up to be like. I remember on our 2001 annual group golf trip he hit a bad shot and yelled: “oh sugar.” I looked at him and he explained that he had made a pact with his god that he would try not to curse anymore. I asked if it would bother him if I continued to curse. His response was pure Courtney; he said he would be offended if I didn’t. I do recall with great humor one play in particular from our games. Mark called a flanker screen to Courtney, the defense was in man coverage and when the slot receiver went in motion the defensive back went with him and that left one defender on Courtney and that defender was playing 10 yards off the ball. On this particular screen the center and guard – I was playing guard -- pull out in front of the screen, which we did. With only one easy block to make it was 40 yards downfield for a touchdown. After hitting the goal line I was still huffing and puffing and only then realized Courtney had been behind me the whole way downfield. As I finally caught my breath, I looked at him and asked, “Court, did you even break a sweat?” Without missing a beat he looked at me and said, “Ricky, I didn’t even break a jog, but thanks for the trip.”
Courtney gave of himself more than anyone I know. He coached and mentored kids because he felt it was his responsibility. He would say, “I give because that’s what God wants me to do. I can’t worry whether or not I’ll receive in return.”
We still have those annual golf trips and Courtney is still part of them. We collect a mulligan fund each year. Everyone pays in a set amount at the beginning of the trip and then there is the option to buy more mulligans. All the money collected goes to the Courtney Walcott Endowed Memorial Scholarship at Hofstra University.
Courtney, I miss you and think about you all the time. But, especially this week.
