Editor's Note: For the last two
weeks we've brought you a dog's-eye-view of the magnitude and
magnanimity of the search-and-rescue efforts at the World Trade
Center. The photographs and testimonials have been stirring
but none so candid and eloquent as the following letter we received
from rescuers Paul Morgan and Cody.
When asked: "Give me three
reasons why you went in there", he replied: "Duty, Honor,
Country!"
My
buddy, Hal Wilson, and I went into the "pile" at the World
Trade Center with our search dogs, Cody and Sue, at 11 AM on Wednesday,
September 12th, 2001. You wouldn't believe the teamwork and the silence
with hundreds of firefighters stumbling through the mess.
Hal was a US Marine in Vietnam while I served with the airborne. I never
thought a paratrooper and a marine would get along so well together. In
our camouflage battle dress we were the first military personnel on site
since the airports, the tunnels and many other roads to New York City
were closed.
On the way in through the rubble we walked past deserted restaurants
with white and checkered table cloths, fully stacked bars, wine on
tables and menus in hallways which had survived the blast. Then the
realization hit us head on as we entered a court yard and we saw the
"pile" of debris several stories high.
We linked up with four state police K-9 teams which were the dirtiest,
filthiest men and dogs we had ever seen. They were covered with gray
dust and mud. All of the troopers had that thousand meter stare which
all combat veterans have after they have been on the line too long.
The troopers and their dirty dogs were being pulled out as Hal and I
were deployed with Cody and Sue on to the "pile" stacked
several stories high with fire rigs, police cars, twisted I beams,
shards of glass, aluminum, wood and chunks of metal and concrete
sticking out of the ground. The metal rods I stumbled through reminded
me of punji stakes in Vietnam.
The fire lieutenant in charge led Hal and I and our dogs to a fire rig
which has been a hose truck. It was gray, completely burned out...no
seats, dash, steering wheel...nothing. "Get down there, please, and
tell me if you can detect anybody in there!" the officer requested.
Cody and I climbed down ten feet and I called into the truck, "If
you can hear me, say ONE, if you can hear me, say TWO, if you can hear
me, say THREE!" There was no response. Then I repeated myself and
said, "If you can hear me, but can't talk, bang the wall with your
foot ONCE...TWICE...THREE TIMES!" Still no response. Cody, my
golden retriever, began scratching and I told the fire fighters above
me, "We have a body down here!"
They pulled Cody and me out of the pit and began cutting the truck open
with an electric saw. Several minutes later I heard the fire fighters
below call out, "Body Bag!"
As an orange plastic roll was passed down the line into the pit next to
the burned out rig, another officer asked me, "How good is your
dog?" We were standing on a hose line and Cody was scratching
again. I didn't have to answer the officer when Cody's paws suddenly
were covered with blood. "Body Bag!" was heard again and
another roll of orange plastic was passed down the line.
The remains of the first fire fighter were carefully lifted to the
surface in a basket and eight of his brothers carried the remains to the
morgue truck. Soon the second fire fighter's remains Cody had discovered
were placed into another body bag and we were asked to step aside as
another crew removed them.
Another officer grabbed my arm and directed me to a concrete slab which
had been a wall the day before. Under the slab was another fire rig.
"Can you get down there and tell us if...." He didn't have to
finish the request. A hole had been punched into the wall of debris
below the slab. "What's down there?" somebody asked.
Cody and I climbed down into this pit and I stuck my nose into the hole,
smelling gas. Then Cody passed by me digging into the debris under the
slab. We smelled burnt flesh again and I signalled the officer behind
me. "Body Bag!" was heard again.
I couldn't believe Cody had discovered three sets of remains in thirty
minutes. It was more than I had ever expected from that dog.
As I tried to get out from under the slab and clear the way for another
crew to remove remains, I found myself in a great deal of trouble. I was
wedged into a pit and couldn't move. It was like being under a staircase
in a dark basement and there was no way to get out.
Cody was still in front of me however and in a dash for his safety,
gasping for air, he jumped over my left shoulder and turned me around. I
crawled toward the light and was lifted to the surface by a squad of
fire fighters which began to dismantle the slab under which we were
trapped.
I was exhausted this time so Cody and I returned to the top of the
"pile" watching a body bag with remains being removed from the
scene every twenty minutes or so.
Soon a wind picked up and we began dodging shrapnel flying off buildings
about the pile. I thought I had seen it all in two years of Vietnam
combat. I hadn't!
I couldn't find my helmet which was buried in my back pack under three
days of rations I had loaded for Cody. "Helmets!" was the
order so I stumbled away to the relative safety of another
structure....one which collapsed later in the day.....where two nurses
gave us water and another provided us a cup of orange juice.
Then I got rattled, starting to look for my partner, Hal, and his dog.
He was right behind me...and so was Sue..."Hey Marine...let's get
the hell out of here!" I shouted. "Yes, sir!" he
responded and we followed a crew of fire fighters carrying remains from
the "pile" through the building with the bar and restaurants
out to the morgue truck.
We were exhausted and hurting. Cody was sneezing and coughing so we
headed for the Suffolk County SPCA van. But before we left the scene,
Hal procured a metal tray from a garbage pile and we gave our dogs all
the water we had.....and as we did.....a squad of fire fighters behind
us
poured out all their water into the tray for the dogs. Nobody said a
word.
After the dogs were checked out by volunteer vets and vet techs at the
Suffolk County SPCA, had their noses and eyes washed, paws cleaned and
received shots, we were ordered to rest for an hour at Stuyvesant High
School. We followed orders.
About 4 PM we started home, walking towards Penn Station on 34th Street.
Sue was close to heat exhaustion and Cody was having a hard time
breathing. Then we spotted a Franciscan priest who blessed the animals,
Hal and me. We felt better and started on our way again. Cody stopped in
his tracks on 23rd Street and 6th Avenue, unable to walk any longer.
We watered both dogs, taking a break on a sidewalk, leaning against an
office building. Passersby said "Thanks!" and after a few
minutes we were on our way again.
When we arrived at Penn Station, twenty minutes before our train was due
to depart for Long Island, more people said, "Thanks!",
providing us food, water and a couple of beers. On the train ride home
Cody slept under my feet with his back to the a/c.
Thanks New Yorkers for giving us the chance to help!
Paul Morgan and Cody
Hal Wilson and Sue
§§§
To
share your appreciation, thoughts or questions, contact:
Paul B. Morgan
Major, US Army (ret)
K9Soldiers@aol.com
Paul Morgan, a former Green Beret and
paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division, served in Vietnam in 1965 as
a Ranger advisor with the 30th ARVN Ranger Bn. There, he traded a .38 caliber pistol and a
set of sterling silver rosary beads to a French Priest for a German
Shepard named Suzie. That dog that would not only save his life, but
ignite a passion for working with other dogs in his own K-9 security
business for twenty rewarding years after the war.
Paul Morgan has written two
highly-acclaimed books, K-9
Soldiers: Vietnam and After and The
Parrot's Beak, both published by Hellgate
Press. Click on either title for more information, or email
the publisher at info@psi-research.com.
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