Chicken Soup for the Soul of America (18 page)

British Prime Minister Tony Blair

A Fishing Village Opens
Its Heart to Surprise Guests

On September 11, once government officials realized that planes were being used as missiles, thirty-eight international flights were immediately rerouted to the emergency airfield at Gander, Newfoundland, a city of ten thousand on the Atlantic coast of Canada.

Bellevue Police Lieutenant Steve Cercone, who had been in Europe for a family funeral, was one of about 1,000 passengers then driven about twenty-five miles east to Gambo, a fishing village of 2,200.

What was supposed to be a temporary layover—while governments and airlines worked out logistical details of reopening U.S. air space—turned into a five-day adventure for passengers and townsfolk alike.

They huddled around televisions; drank “screech,” the native dark rum, at the town's one tavern; ate moose stew and cod filets; and slept in the town's churches and schools. Townspeople quit their jobs that week to attend to the visitors.

“In the midst of this huge tragedy, we were fortunate enough to see the other side of life, the other side of human nature,” Cercone recalls. “The kindness of complete strangers who took us in, gave us showers, fed us, did our laundry . . .

“Five days in Gambo. It would make a great movie script.”

United Airlines Flight 929—London to Chicago—was 38,000 feet in the air when Cercone heard the news.

The pilot, Captain Mike Ballard, told the 198 passengers that there was a major emergency in New York City and American air space had been shut down.

Fuel was dumped because the plane was too heavy to land otherwise and the emergency landing gear dropped. “Our imaginations were running from A to Z,” says Cercone, a twenty-year police veteran and former supervisor of the Bellevue SWAT team.

The small ground crew at Gander, used to a quiet routine as a cargo-plane stopover, was suddenly welcoming 6,500 passengers.

“Around midday, we were told that planes were coming out of the skies and to expect some of them,” says Claude Elliot, Gander's mayor. “We had an emergency plan, so we put everything in motion.”

Churches, schools and civic organizations opened their doors. Elliot went on radio and television, urging people to donate clothes, bedding, food, pillows and sleeping bags. The city's bus drivers, who were on strike, put down their picket signs and offered to ferry the passengers around.

“Everyone watched the news that morning, everyone knew that these people were stranded from home or had loved ones working at the World Trade Center,” Elliot says. “We just tried to make their stay as comfortable as we could.”

Gander took in the bulk, about 4,200 passengers. But some of the burden was shouldered by satellite towns—Gambo, Glenwood and Benton.

The strangers began arriving in Gambo that afternoon, four planeloads, still reeling from news of the attacks.

They were divided up quickly among the Society of United Fisherman, Smallwood Academy, the Lions Club and assorted other churches and civic groups. Passengers from Flight 929 slept on cots and pews at the Salvation Army citadel.

The town's population had just jumped by 50 percent. And the world had become a little closer.

“We saw it that morning on TV,” says Wycliffe Reid, Salvation Army captain. “But like everything else that happens in the U.S., it's at a distance. On the same day, these people are here, right here on our doorstep, and now we're involved. We're called on to provide a service. We became a part of these people and what went on.”

But first, Reid's immediate concern was: How are we going to feed them all?

Donations came from grocery stores and restaurants. Fishermen donated 150 pounds of cod.

The Home League Ladies, two dozen strong, prepared and served the meals.

“We understood the severity of the situation,” says Kevin Noseworthy, Lions Club president. “We just got together, pulled down a shift. Someone would cook one meal, someone would cook another. It was overwhelming at times. But we got through it.

“When I'm older and in the rocking chair, it will be a highlight. I did something good for mankind.”

The town's only tavern is a single-story bungalow called the Trailway Pub.

Graham Thompson bought it three months ago and was remodeling Tuesday afternoon—moving the bar from one side of the cabin structure to the other. Suddenly, twenty-five people walked in, then twenty-five more and twenty-five more after that.

“We had 150 people in there, for four nights in a row,” Thompson says. “The club was upside down with these people, hectic, warm and hot. We made a lot of good friends out of it.”

The television was tuned to CNN, and the frantic staff of seven couldn't serve enough beers.

The bar played host to a ceremony in which outsiders are recognized as honorary Newfoundlanders. They explain it this way: Get on your knees; kiss a codfish on the lips to recognize the area's abundant fishing industry; eat a cake of the local hard bread—so hard it needs to be soaked in water; pound down some “screech,” the dark heady rum; and praise Newfoundland.

“That's basically it,” Noseworthy says. “You've drank our liquor, you've kissed our fish, you've eaten our bread. Now you're an honorary Newfoundlander.”

Locals estimate about 90 percent of the town pitched in. And then just like that, the visitors were gone.

Security checkpoints had been cleared and Flight 929 was ready to come home.

The return flight was quick and everyone uneasy. Captain Ballard pulled Cercone aside and told him: Don't let anyone get through to the cockpit.

Flight 929 landed at O'Hare International Airport in Chicago around 1:00
P.M.
September 15, the last of the diverted planes to touch down.

Members of the United ground crew had formed a corridor with their trucks; they were waving United States flags and clapping.

“It just hit you right here,” Cercone says, pounding his stomach. “Everyone was hugging, everyone was crying.”

Later he had a steak dinner at Gibson's on Rush Street and a good night's sleep at a nearby hotel. On Monday, Cercone was back in Seattle, back to his life, back to his routine.

Michael Ko

[EDITORS' NOTE:
The visitors have responded by donating $51,000 to the town of Gander, and passengers from one particular flight started a scholarship fund worth $19,000 and “still growing.”
]

Smallest Gestures

I
expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.

Etienne DeGrellet

It's 10:30
P.M.
on September 11, and I am pumping up a double air mattress with a manual air pump at Halifax's Exhibition Park. Along with many other Haligonians, I arrived here around 8
P.M.
to see if I could help make life a little easier for the stranded passengers. I think it's my fifteenth mattress, and I'm tired, hot and sweaty. An older woman lying on a mattress in a donated sleeping bag looks up at me and says something. All I hear is the word “tea.” I stop my pumping and say, “Sure, I'll definitely find you a cup of a tea.” She looks up at me and says, “Not for me, for you.”

I tell her that I appreciate the offer but that I am fine for the moment. She looks rather solemn as she lies there, by herself, amidst hundreds of other airline passengers who are wandering in and trying to find beds. She is lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. I comment that it must have been a long day for her.

She is from New York and had been visiting England. She was on a British Airways plane that was rerouted to Halifax in the wake of the terrible events taking place in New York. She begins to tell me about her husband and two daughters who live in New York, and how she would imagine that one of her daughters and her fiancé must be terribly busy as they are both doctors.

Then I ask her the inevitable question, “Have you been in touch with your family?”

Her eyes move from looking at me, to looking at the ground. She says that she hasn't been able to get in touch yet, but that she is confident they're okay, and that they know she's okay. As she talks, I can hear the hesitation and worry in her voice.

I quietly sit next to her and tell her that I work for the local cell-phone company, and offer her my phone to call her husband. A smile spreads across her face as I ask her for the number. It takes us four tries to get through, but finally, I hear ringing on the other end of the phone. I hand her the phone, she takes it, and I don't think I'll ever forget the quivering voice that I heard next. . . .

“Joseph? I'm safe. I'm in Halifax.”

She talks for about five minutes and finds out that her family is fine. As Joseph describes the day's events to her, she listens silently with widened eyes and a hand covering her mouth. She asks him to let her daughters know she's okay and before she hangs up, she says, “The Canadians are wonderful. I am so impressed with Halifax.” I smile as she hands me the phone. I squeeze her hand, say good-bye and, as I'm walking away, she says, “Thank you so much. Now I can sleep tonight.”

As I gather my pump and head towards my next air mattress, I think about how impressed and proud I am of Halifax, too. I am proud of my mom for helping to find sleeping mats for people at the Dartmouth Sportsplex; I am proud of my brother who stood in line for more than three hours with eight of his colleagues from Mountain Equipment Co-Op to donate blood; I am proud of my boyfriend who helped prepare Mount Saint Vincent University for stranded passengers; and I am proud of my colleagues at MTT Mobility who scrambled around the office all afternoon gathering cell phones to donate to the cause.

In the wake of tragedy like the world experienced on September 11, everyone feels helpless. My experience at Exhibition Park has reminded me of the truth in the old saying, “Every little thing counts.” It could be a two-dollar phone call, a thought, a prayer, a donation or a hug—no matter what it is, please remember that it does count.

The smallest gestures clumped together and piled on top of each other can make a world of difference.

Deanna Cogdon

Dear Dad

B
oth at home and abroad, we shall persevere along our course, however the winds may blow.

Sir Winston Churchill

Sept. 14, 2001

Dear Dad,

Well, we are still out at sea, with little direction as to what our next priority is. The remainder of our port visits, which were to be centered around max liberty and goodwill to the United Kingdom, have all but been cancelled. We have spent every day since the attacks going back and forth within imaginary boxes drawn in the ocean, standing high security watches, and trying to make the best of our time. It hasn't been that much fun I must confess, and to be even more honest, a lot of people are frustrated at the fact that they either can't be home, or we don't have more direction right now. We have seen the articles and the photographs, and they are sickening. Being isolated as we are, I don't think we appreciate the full scope of what is happening back home, but we are definitely feeling the effects. About two hours ago, the junior officers were called to the bridge to conduct ship-handling drills. We were about to do a man overboard drill when we got a call from the
LUTJENS
(D185), a German warship that was moored ahead of us on the pier in Plymouth, England. While in port, the
WINSTON S. CHURCHILL
and
LUTJENS
got together for a sports day/cookout on our fantail, and we made some pretty good friends. Now at sea, they called over on bridge-to-bridge, requesting to pass us close up on our port side to say good-bye.

We prepared to render them honors on the bridge wing, and the Captain told the crew to come topside to wish them farewell. As they were making their approach, our conning officer announced through her binoculars that they were flying an American flag. As they came even closer, we saw that it was flying at half-mast. The bridge wing was crowded with people as the boatswain's mate blew two whistles—Attention to Port—the ship came up alongside and we saw that the entire crew of the German ship were manning the rails, in their dress blues. They had made up a sign that was displayed on the side that read “We Stand By You.” Needless to say, there was not a dry eye on the bridge as they stayed alongside us for a few minutes as we cut our salutes. It was probably the most powerful thing I have seen in my entire life and more than a few of us fought to retain our composure.

It was a beautiful day outside today. We are no longer at liberty to divulge over unsecure e-mail our location, but we could not have asked for a finer day at sea. The German Navy did an incredible thing for this crew, and it has truly been the highest point in the days since the attacks. It's amazing to think that only a half-century ago that things were quite different, and to see the unity that is being demonstrated throughout Europe and the world makes us all feel proud to be out here doing our job. I'll write you when I know more about when I'll be home, but for now, this is probably the best news that I could send you. Love you guys.