How Grief Met Hope: a Red Cross Volunteer’s Diary

Following are excerpts from a diary kept by Michael J. Marino, an organizational-development consultant who lives in New York City and volunteered to help the Red Cross in the days immediately after the World Trade Center collapsed. He is continuing to serve the Red Cross as a volunteer, as is his wife, Cooper Wright:

SEPTEMBER 13

8 p.m. It started with my trip home from Princeton, N.J., when I approached New York and couldn’t visually locate Manhattan from the turnpike.

For over 30 years I’ve been arriving in New York by car or air and had that rush that sends shivers down your spine when the skyline rises from the swamps of Jersey, but tonight it didn’t come.

Tears took the place of inspiration; I swallowed hard and felt some relief when the skyline north of the end of Manhattan emerged as I entered the Lincoln Tunnel. As I made my way home up Tenth Avenue, I had the surreal feeling of being in another place, certainly not my home. Policemen lined the streets and as I passed Amsterdam and 66th a crowd stood singing “God Bless America” in front of the empty firehouse. Those firemen were somewhere near “ground zero,” as the disaster wreckage is now known, and I hope they will return again to joke with the neighborhood kids and to flirt with the girls walking by. That’s really the way it is supposed to be, isn’t it?

SEPTEMBER 14

5 a.m I woke early and got out to the Javits Center, where volunteer assignments are handed out. I wanted to get involved, to help somehow, to do what I know how to do — help groups of people through difficult situations.

The long volunteer line wound up 11th Avenue and the cold rain dripped off my hat and down my shoulders. It was hard to imagine what the rescue workers at ground zero were going through; it was cold, damp and the sky was gray. Somehow, thinking of them digging through the rubble made my discomfort seem insignificant.

Three hours later I was turned away. More volunteers had shown up than were needed. A profound sense of frustration came over me. I walked north and hopped in a cab to get to the Red Cross headquarters as soon as possible. Maybe they could use me.

10:30 a.m. When I arrived, the Red Cross was still taking volunteers. I signed up to be a mental-health counselor, but was set back when the officials informed me that I would need to be registered with the American Psychological Association and my certification as a counseling psychologist expired years ago.

Waiting in the assembly room, I overheard a worker asking another man if he knew the city and wanted to be a driver. He said he didn’t. I jumped in and offered to take up the job. I was sent back to logistics where a tall fellow named Gary was setting up the driver pool. He gave me the keys, and I had my first assignment. First challenge was to find the car, but I was undaunted. Everyone knows that management consultants like me are skilled in being able to find a rental car in a sea of lookalikes in a parking lot. I found mine in record time and Gary was very impressed.

A disaster headquarters was being set up in Brooklyn and I was to transport a woman named Jean and two young guys out to the new location. Jean was a Red Cross volunteer from Maine who is the head of the computer division and was setting up the machines needed to keep track of people, supplies, and personal information that were rapidly growing as this effort started to get some traction. The two young guys were college kids going out to unload trucks. It took two hours to wind our way through the traffic in the rain but we actually made good time considering the weather and how much security has been deployed for President Bush’s visit to the rescue workers. The police were incredible and cleared our way as soon as the Red Cross was identified. I really felt like I was now playing on a much bigger team and my spirit started to rise.

I got my first view of ground zero from the Manhattan Bridge and it was so sad to see most of the lower part of Manhattan gone. Each of us watched in stunned silence as we made our way over the bridge. I dropped them off and made my way back to the Manhattan headquarters for my next assignment.

When I returned I made my way back to the logistics office where Gary and a woman named Karen were now in full force. It is hard to describe the controlled chaos of the early stages of a disaster-relief effort. People asking hundreds of questions, untrained people trying to be helpful and a daunting set of needs to meet. All this set against a backdrop of doing everything possible to find survivors and maybe take back one small piece of grief to be replaced with gratitude.

I quickly saw that Gary needed my local knowledge. He is with the Red Cross in Rochester and didn’t really know much about the geography or psychology of getting things moved around New York. I spent the afternoon moving cars around the streets, rental cars that had been driven in by volunteers from as far away as Colorado. Another New York native and I took charge of the operation, and soon we had a pretty effective rental-car return operation in place.

6:30 p.m. I got an assignment to take the public-relations team to the compassion center on Lexington Avenue. This is the armory that has been converted into the place where people go to post messages about lost loved ones, find counseling, and get food and clothes. It is where grief and hope meet.

I jump in the car with two Red Cross public-relations officials and head off to the armory when they inform me that we’re first going to check on the Emergency Relief Vehicle they have posted at ground zero. I was heading right into the scene down the West Side Highway. It was both the saddest ride and the most touching one at the same time. In front of us was the smoldering hole that was once lower Manhattan and all it represented. Along the way, however, there were hundreds of people with signs of encouragement, and they were cheering us along, singing songs and offering food. One sign read: Angels are watching over you.

And I really believe they were.

As we neared the site, traffic slowed and the firefighters and policemen who were digging in the rubble came walking past, their faces drawn and tired but their spirit strong. The acrid smell started to sting my eyes and we got a few masks from the Salvation Army truck. State troopers passed by, as did welders and nurses. When we got close to the site the most beautiful red sunset was putting all of these heroes in a glow that I will never forget. I thought I’d be struck by the building rubble, but I was really overwhelmed by the strength and spirit of the rescue team. These were my teammates, and I wanted to cheer out loud for them.

We turned onto Chambers Street, just one block north of the site, and found the Red Cross truck. The public-relations officials were lining up people that USA Today could interview, and as I waited for them in the car, I chatted with the streams of workers passing by. Many of them were from out of town and were uncertain of their location. Others were tough New York veterans who seemed to be looking at the building with both disdain and sanctimony for what it now represents. These people were not going to give in to this evil, no way.

7:30 p.m. We finished up and headed uptown to our last stop, the compassion center. At one point I saw two young adults draped in a U.S. flag and couldn’t help but see myself in 1968, making a statement with that symbol but for very different reasons. Tonight their statement seemed so much more meaningful than mine ever did.

10 p.m. My night ended, and tomorrow I’ll be up early and off to Brooklyn to make my small contribution to this effort. I know I will probably have very sad moments and ones of unparalleled connection to the wisdom and beauty of the universe as I do my part, driving the people of the Red Cross.