'The Dead Guy that God sent home’
FDNY firefighter Bobby Senn remembers 9-11 from Ground Zeroby Bobby Senn
Published September 25, 2008
Following is a talk given September 13 by FDNY
firefighter Bobby Senn at the unveiling of the City
of Redondo Beach 9-11 Memorial. Senn, twice buried
alive in the rubble of the World Trade Center,
helped the city obtain the 300 pound WTC beam
remnant for the memorial.
It was a cloudless, crisp, beautiful September
morning. Here in America, life was setting up for
another typical day. Parents were getting their
children off to their first weeks of school. Some
kids were figuring out who that new kid was sitting
across the classroom, storeowners were brewing fresh
cups of coffee, and all of us were more or less
setting upon another day in the life.
For me, the day started at 5:45 a.m. with the alarm
clock ringing behind my head. I rolled over swung my
feet on the floor and did my best not to wake my
wife Christine. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and
prepared to leave for another day as a firefighter
in the greatest job in the world – the job I wanted
for a very long time, and a job I never went to not
wanting to be there.
Life was good, and life was pretty simple. Life in
the New York City Fire Department was always
eventful and I loved every minute of it.
I started my car and snuck back into the house to
kiss Christine one more time and tell her that I
loved her. I told her I would call her at some point
during the day and I’d see her tomorrow when we both
arrived home. I gave Bentley, our big white
200-pound Great Pyrenees, a big hug and kiss on the
head and out the door I went. To me, being in the
FDNY was not a job, or a career, or even work, for
that matter. It was a passion and a vocation. It was
something that others would look upon as an insane
way to make a living by flirting with death day in
and day out. But to me, it completed me. It made me
so happy to be part of a brotherhood and, more so,
part of tradition of men that made a true difference
in the world. We’d pull life from death’s hands and
make it so others could live yet another day.
I drove from the front of my home on Long Island
never looking back, never taking a second glance at
my neighborhood, never once thinking, ‘You are going
to speak to God today, and you will never go home,’
never once thinking that my life would turn
completely upside down in a matter of a few hours.
We arrived at the World Trade Center at 8:58 a.m. on
Liberty Street, 12 minutes after Flight 11 struck
Tower One. Years of training, years of preparation,
years practicing how to be the best firefighters we
could be all came down to this moment. Looking
towards the sky I could see three things: a lot of
smoke, an awful lot of debris falling, and fire that
was consuming almost 20 floors of a high rise
building.
Looking back sometimes it all seems like it’s in
slow motion. Suddenly there was a change in
everyone’s focus. Heads were no longer fixed on
Tower One. They were searching, searching for that
noise, that loud, rumbling, screaming, intense noise
that shook the ground. To be honest, I don’t
remember hearing it at all. I was on sensory
overload, as well as concentrating on getting out of
the rig and into the building. But what I can tell
you is I remember seeing so vividly the tail section
of United Airlines Flight 175 sinking into the south
wall of the South Tower, 70 floors above our heads,
with an explosion so incredible we felt the heat of
the fireball from thousands of gallons of jet fuel
at street level. Those thousands of onlookers
figured out instantly that they needed to get as far
away from this place as they could. Stampedes of
regular people, who also left their homes that
morning in search of a good day, were now running
for their lives, for fear of death.
I can still see that one girl, dressed in that
lovely green suit, makeup running down her face,
screaming, ‘Where do I go?’ Members of the New York
City fire department and police department and Port
Authority police department and regular ordinary
civilians were going into that building while
everyone else was coming down the stairs and out.
Well, most of them were. For those tragically
trapped above the point of impact, there were two
options: stay up there and die at the will of the
smoke and fire, or make that decision to take
destiny into their own hands. Most will not speak
about it. Most who witnessed it, as I did, will
simply close their eyes and slowly shake their
heads. They would come to the window’s edge, 1,000
ft. in the air. They would look upwards, as if to
make a deal with God and clean their slate. Some
held hands, and some went together. Some just put
their arms out and stepped towards hopefully what
the next life might be.
They fell so helplessly in what I can best describe
as a spiritual event. Some disappeared behind the
roofline of surrounding buildings. Others,
unfortunately, I had very clear view…of their life
ending here upon this earth. The memories of this I
wish upon no one. The sight of life ending in such
horrific form should be left to the imagination,
fiction books and the movies. Unfortunately this
wasn’t a movie; it was very real. It was real and
there was nothing any of us could do to save them.
It was the most helpless feeling one could have,
especially when you are in the business we are in.
I made my way to Tower One and along the way I found
myself in the lobby of the Marriot Hotel, which sat
nestled between both towers. Myself and a police
officer helped about 25 occupants out of the lobby
of that building and down West Street safely.
Looking back it was the only good thing that
happened that day. I know I might have helped some
folks home to their families, and it’s one brief
moment I can look back on and think maybe I made a
difference.
I continued on to the North Tower lobby. Along the
way sights were horrific and nauseating. The
jumpers, they continued to fall from above and
explode on impact. They were landing on the
sidewalks, they were landing on the fire trucks,
they were landing on the street, and at 9:25 a.m.
the first line-of-duty death for the New York City
Fire Department occurred.
A veteran Brooklyn firefighter named Danny was
leading his company to the command post for
instruction. His last words were, ‘Look out for the
people jumping. If one of them hits us, we are
dead.’ He turned and two seconds later his words
turned to reality as a young female landed on him,
killing him instantly. I can still see his officer
calling command post for an ambulance for his fallen
comrade.
In very simple words, there were bodies everywhere.
Some of them I can still see. I see their clothes,
their hair, their faces, and their lifeless bodies
in a mass wherever their descent had terminated.
Finally making it into the lobby of Tower One, it
was there I saw FDNY Chaplin Father Michael Judge,
pacing and praying for the safe return for all of us
from this. Hell had come to earth and we were right
in the middle of it. He and I exchanged glances, and
I was looking for the rest of the brothers from my
firehouse. Considering the chaos outside, the lobby
wasn’t really as crazy as I would have expected it
to be. Occupants were coming down the stairs and
following directions, firefighters and police
officers were heavily engaged in assignments and
trying to make a difference.
A short time later a light rumble began. It began
lightly but intensified to deafening almost
immediately. The building was shaking and everyone
in the lobby began to retreat for cover. In a matter
of two seconds I was off my feet and flying through
the lobby horizontally. I slammed off a wall and
came to rest underneath a lobby reception desk.
I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t
move.
At some point in our lives, usually at a funeral or
in a hospital, we all ponder, if even for a moment,
what is going to become of us and what will our last
day be like. Our hopes are that we are surrounded by
those we love and that our fleeting moments are
peaceful and we move on to whatever the next life
might be. Our families know we love them, and they
us. We are embraced as we pass.
Well, instantly, I knew what my last day was, where
and how I was going to die. I was going to die in
the World Trade Center in a building collapse. I was
never going home again. I would never see Christine
again. We would not grow old together, and this was
it: I was dead and there was nothing I could do
about it. This was much larger than I was. However,
I wasn’t scared, my life did not flash before my
eyes, I was not screaming for help. It was quiet, it
was peaceful, and it was okay to die.
My grandfather passed away in 1980. Lying under
there covered with everything and not being able to
move, I heard his voice. I felt him standing behind
me and he told me, you have to get out of here and
you need to get out of here right now. As quickly as
he was there he was gone and my eyes hurt again. I
couldn’t breathe, I was vomiting, and I was in a
really bad spot. Slowly I was able to free myself,
and whether it took five or ten or fifteen minutes I
really couldn’t tell you. I found my way through the
darkness, and some others who were also in what
remained of the lobby, we found our way to a
stairwell and made our way over the overhead walkway
that crossed West Street over to the financial
center. We made our way outside and it looked like a
snowstorm, a gray ashy blizzard.
Those who survived this collapse were wandering
around covered in the ashes and dust and they looked
like zombies from a horror movie. We made our way to
the nearest corner, which was Vesey Street. It was
there I was able to use someone’s cell phone and I
called my wife at work. I said to her, ‘I just
called to tell you that I love you and I don’t think
I’m coming home. Just know that I love you.’
She panicked, not knowing what was going on herself.
I told her to just get home and she’d know what was
happening. ‘I just need you to know I love you,
Chris.’
I hung up the phone and looked towards the sky and
all I could see was a large antenna from Tower One
starting to sink down above us. I just stood there
and said, ‘Holy shit, it’s coming down!’
I turned and attempted to run and again got about
three steps and was off my feet sailing through the
air, this time coming to rest on my hands and knees
against a fence, buried face down.
Somehow, I managed to get up and onto my hands and
knees again and crawled almost two full city blocks
not knowing where I was going, puking on myself with
my eyes practically burned shut. A police officer,
one of those guys who ran towards the danger and not
away from it, said, ‘I got you, brother.’ He walked
me out of the daylight, daylight five blocks away,
and now very painful to be in. He took me over to a
fire hydrant where I was able to wash out my eyes. I
looked back towards the dust and debris and the
buildings were gone, both of them, smoke billowing
towards the sky and a cloud of dust covered all of
lower Manhattan. Hell had come to Earth and left
some mark.
Within minutes, the names started circulating of who
was missing. Radios were calling for help. Some of
the toughest guys I’ve ever met in the world were
crying in the street. We were all looking for an
answer, an answer to the question of what just
happened. Quickly the questions became, ‘Who is in
there?’ And ‘Let’s go back in there and get them.’
By an absolute miracle some of the guys from my
firehouse were right next to me when that smoke
started to clear. Our embrace was a lifetime of hugs
all in one. Fire trucks, police vehicles from
everywhere, were coming in. Yellow ones, white ones,
New Jersey, Long Island, Connecticut…The brothers
were on their way, the brothers were coming, and God
knows we needed them. Within days there were brother
firefighters and police officers from all over the
country, and eventually the world. And yes, yellow
helmets and turnouts of firefighters and rescue gear
of police officers from Southern California, on the
pile of smoking debris looking for their comrades
from New York.
The rest of the day was filled with learning who was
missing and already confirmed dead. Father Michael
Judge, who I was in the lobby with, he was gone;
Chief of department Pete Ganci, a humble man who
became the leader of the greatest fire department in
the word, he too was gone. And his story goes that
he too survived the first collapse, and like a great
military leader of the past, he retook the command
post in the middle of West Street amongst the
devastation and continued to lead his troops. He
died when the second collapse came down right on top
of the command post. I remember standing unable to
see, with my hands on his casket in a firehouse on
Long Island, one week later. I simply apologized to
him that we couldn’t get it done. I took one of his
funeral cards and just went home.
We were beaten, were broken, and for the first time
in the history of our great department, we lost. We
were down, and to be honest for quite some time I
don’t know how we actually stood up again. Looking
back, we stood up because we had to – we had to for
those guys who were still in there, for those
families who lost everything, for the now thousands
of empty chairs at so many dinner tables. To tell
you the truth, there are some days it still doesn’t
seem possible…it was just some really bad nightmare.
And then comes days like today when I look at that
piece of steel and it’s real and it happened and the
lives of thousands have changed. Twenty thousand
children lost someone connected to them that day –
twenty thousand. Today it is believed there are over
3,000 cases of cancer as a result of the recovery
effort as well, and I and many of my friends are
sick, and some are very sick. The death toll will
continue to rise and the sick and dead will
follow…more people affected.
In February of 2002, as part of the mayor’s office,
I represented the City of New York and was chosen to
go to a place in California to just say thank you
for the support. When my phone rang they told me you
are going to Redondo Beach, and I said, ‘Where the
hell is Redondo Beach?’
I had a very difficult time deciding whether or not
to leave New York. Many of the seven brothers
missing from my firehouse were still in that debris
pile someplace. I was working and digging and
helping families and the last thing I wanted to do
was leave. To be honest, the only reason why I went
was so I could get my wife out of New York for a few
days to get some rest. And secondly, I insisted I
had to visit firehouses and spend time with the
brothers to tell them about what really happened
that day and during the recovery effort. We arrived
at Long Beach airport to meet a contingent of
firefighters from Long Beach and Redondo Beach.
It was then I first placed my hand in the hand of
Captain Robert Franck, who was then a paramedic
firefighter, who was responsible for our safe
arrival and passage into this city. We were greeted
as family by Bob and the rest of the Redondo Beach
Fire Department. We ate dinner at the firehouse.
They embraced Christine and gave us a little bit of
peace in our lives.
Nobody knows this until now but I remember the first
time we opened the door to the hotel room at the
Portofino that overlooks the ocean. The sun was
shining so bright, the sea lions were barking, and
it was almost as if planned – a few seagulls soared
right by our window and a boat was cruising out of
the harbor. I felt the sun on my face for the first
time in a long time as I closed my eyes, and it was
the first time I realized I was still alive. I stood
there with the tears rolling down my cheeks, with
Christine, and didn’t want that moment to end.
We spent time with the brothers of both police and
fire departments. I told them about that day, and
moreover told them about the missing and the dead. I
told them of my friends whom I missed so very much
that I could feel my belly hurt. I told them about
the horrendous recoveries we had to perform in order
to send people home to their loved ones. I spoke of
Terry Farrell, a good friend and generous heart, who
was among the dead. I spoke of Walter Weaver, the
kid who grew up across the street from me, and grew
up to become a member of the New York Police
Department emergency services unit. He was told to
get out of the South tower and he said, ‘We’ll be
right down. We are on the sixth floor taking people
out of an elevator.’
I spoke of my hometown friend, Port Authority police
officer George Howard, one of the most brilliant
rescue men I have ever met, and also one of the
ugliest guys I have ever met. I spoke of how I
missed his raspy, gruff voice and his willingness to
make a difference in this world. And regardless of
your political views, the President of the United
States now carries George’s shield with him, and it
is only fitting that the President carries the
shield of someone who made the decision to give his
life to the emergency services and make his life
secondary to that of others.
George was off duty on Sept. 11. He was home and
learned of the attack. He jumped in his car, and
George being George defied traffic and somehow in
midmorning traffic made it to JFK airport and to his
ESU vehicle and down to the World Trade Center. It
is believed that George had just exited his ESU
vehicle under the foot of Tower One. He grabbed his
stuff and was headed to do whatever he could do to
get the job done. Well, within seconds of his
arrival, Tower One collapsed with George in its
path. His final act was not to save himself. As the
tower collapsed, a woman in front of him had fallen.
And George again being George stopped to insure her
safety. He pushed her in front of him safely away
from the falling tower. And George’s final, selfless
act is what I will hold close to my heart, for his
supreme sacrifice will always be a testament to his
life’s commitment.
I could stand here for hours, and Bob Franck will
attest to this, that there are many stories like
George’s – acts of human sacrifice and selflessness
that day. When you come up and look at this piece of
steel I would hope that those are some of the things
you will think of. I hope you will think of the
brave fights for life that went on inside those
airplanes, the regular everyday person who refused
to leave the old co-worker on an upper floor and
ultimately paid the price with their own life as
well…the firefighters and police officers who knew
the moment we saw those buildings in flames that we
weren’t going home, and yet we still went in as
strong and as fast as ever because of the
commitment…and that you reflect on the thousands who
are now dying of respiratory illness and cancer as a
result of the recovery effort. Those, like myself,
who live with the affects of post-traumatic stress
and try to get through each day without thinking
about how our lives have unraveled and that we
continue to pick up the emotional pieces of our
lives. And that Sept 11, 2001, which, to some, was
so long ago, seems like yesterday, and many of us
still smell, see, feel and relive that day.
To those here today – there are some people who
don’t need a memorial to remember. This memorial
before us – to be honest, I really don’t need it.
Most of here today don’t need it. Sgt. John Wisser
of the Redondo Beach Police Department doesn’t need
it in order to remember. His reminder is the death
of his nephew in the United States Army, who was
killed in action in the war on terror. He has his
memorial right here [places hand on heart]. You met
Brad Burlingame before [Burlingame spoke earlier at
the Redondo ceremony about his brother, Charles, the
pilot of American Airline Flight 77 who is believed
to have died fighting the terrorists on board]. He
doesn’t need it. His brother Charles, who crashed
into the Pentagon…well, I’m sure Brad need only open
his eyes every morning to recall how his life has
changed.
So who needs this? Well, your children need this,
and your children’s children need this, so that
years from today they can come here on a field trip
with their classmates, or go the library, and touch
a piece of steel and connect with a time I hope they
never have to see again. Those driving down Pacific
Coast Highway, pissed off that they are late for
yoga or a nail appointment, need this. And the guy
who strolls by with his dog, his newspaper under his
arm, and the freedom to choose whether or not he is
going into that church or that synagogue or this
mosque, or whether he isn’t going to go into any of
them at all, he needs this – a reminder that life
and freedom come at a price, and the price is
sacrifice.
I sacrificed my entire life with no regrets in the
interest of making others’ lives better. My life has
never been about me. The thousands of lives that
were lost on September 11 and the aftermath were
selfless acts in order to insure that we drive our
own cars, park in our own driveways, write and
convey our own thoughts, and maintain our ability to
be individuals with rights. Those who brought hell
to earth on Sept. 11 came with the intentions of
dismantling our lives and our freedom because they
disapprove of our way. They have brought many of us
pain, and they took the lives of many. However, that
flag [he points to the WTC American flag, which was
raised prior to the ceremony], the same flag that
flew at the World Trade Center as we carried off our
dead, still waves today, seven years later with the
pride and fortitude that our ancestors instilled in
it.
As you put your fingers and hands on this memorial,
remember where you were that day, and how simple
life seemed the day before. Remember that life can
and will change in an instant. Tell your family that
you love them, today. Tell your friends that you
love them, today. I stood on West Street prepared to
die and had the great fortune of getting to tell my
wife that I loved her when I knew I wasn’t’ going
home. Most don’t get that opportunity. Most don’t
get to go home and get a second chance. Do not let
life pass you by.
Your homework assignment tonight is to go home and
pick up the phone and call the most important person
in your life, and tell them that Bobby Senn told me
I should call you. And tell them how I should be
dead, tell them about the dead guy that God sent
home. Tell them how much you love them and your life
is so much better because they are in it. And you
should live with no regrets.
I would like to thank the City of Redondo Beach for
inviting my brothers and me here today, inviting us
here to remember those who were lost and helping to
insure that we never forget. I would like to thank
the brothers of the Redondo Beach fire and police
departments, some of whom Christine and I care for
so very deeply we now consider family. You are truly
a good thing that has come out of this tragedy.
Finally a short story I feel you all should know
regarding the day that this piece of history arrived
in Redondo Beach. It was immediately placed in the
hands of the Redondo Beach police and fire
departments for its safekeeping. And upon removing
the protective cover for its trip, a group of men
who are all here today, men who too have dedicated
their lives to protecting the citizens and property
of this city, stood silently and each placed their
hands upon it recalling that day, the losses
suffered and wondering where this piece of steel
stood within lower Manhattan’s icon to New York
City. It was told to me that one senior firefighter
slowly approached and simply said, ‘This piece of
steel is stained with the blood of heroes.’. .. I
can tell you and everyone here today that those that
did not go home that day, be it Charles Burlingame,
Todd Beamer [the UA 93 passenger credited with
leading the fight with terrorists on board], Walter
Weaver, Terry Farrell, or any of the other lost
souls… if they could speak to you, they would stand
here before you as I do and tell you ‘I am no hero.’
They would tell you they just tried to make a
difference in the world, a difference in their
vocations, a difference with their families and with
their friends. However, to you and me, they will
always be our heroes. Ladies and gentlemen, please
keep our troops in your thoughts and in your hearts,
fly the flag of this great country, and never forget
that tragic day seven years ago that has change our
lives forever.
[Looks to the sky]
I miss you guys.
The 9-11 Memorial, a project completed by Leadership
Redondo Class of 2007, is located at the Redondo
Beach Civic Center, 415 Diamond St. ER