Decision Points

a nightmare, this was pure hell. It seemed darker than the area up top. In addition to the heavy soot in the air, there were piles of shattered glass and metal.
    When the workers saw me, a line formed. I shook every hand. The workers’ faces and clothes were filthy. Their eyes were bloodshot. Their voices were hoarse. Their emotions covered the full spectrum. There was sorrow and exhaustion, worry and hope, anger and pride. Several quietly said, “Thank you” or “God bless you” or “We’re proud of you.” I told them they had it backward. I was proud of them.

    With rescue workers amid the wreckage of the towers.
White House/Eric Draper
    After a few minutes, the mood started to turn. One soot-covered firefighter told me that his station had lost a number of men. I tried to comfort him, but that was not what he wanted. He looked me square in the eye and said, “George, find the bastards who did this and kill them.” It’s not often that people call the president by his first name. But that was fine by me. This was personal.
    The more time I spent with the workers, the more raw emotions rose to the surface. To most of these men and women, I was a face they had seen on TV. They didn’t know me. They hadn’t seen me tested. They wanted to make sure I shared their determination. One man yelled, “Do not let me down!” Another shouted straight at my face, “Whatever it takes!” The bloodlust was palpable and understandable.
    Andy Card asked if I wanted to say something to the crowd. I decided I should. There was no stage, no microphone, and no prepared remarks. Andy pointed me to a mound of metal. I looked at Secret Service agent Carl Truscott , who nodded that it was safe to climb up. An olderfirefighter was standing atop the pile. I put out my hand, and he pulled me up next to him. His name was Bob Beckwith .
    Nina Bishop, a member of the advance team, had tracked down a bullhorn that I could use to address those assembled. She thrust it into my hands. The crowd was able to see me atop the mound, which I later learned was a crumpled fire truck. My first instinct was to console. I told them that America was on bended knee in prayer for the victims, the rescuers, and the families.
    People shouted, “We can’t hear you.” I shot back, “I can hear you!” It got a cheer. I had been hoping to rally the workers and express the resolve of the country. Suddenly I knew how. “I can hear you. The rest of the world hears you,” I said, prompting a louder roar. “And the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!” The crowd exploded. It was a release of energy I had never felt before. They struck up a chant of “USA, USA, USA!”

    I had spent a fair amount of time in New York over the years. But it wasn’t until September 14, 2001, that I got a sense of the city’s real character. After the visit to Ground Zero, we drove three miles north to the Javits Center. I was amazed by the number of people on the West Side Highway waving flags and cheering. “I hate to break it to you, Mr. President,” Rudy joked, “but none of these people voted for you.”
    At the Javits Center, I walked into a staging area for first responders from across the country. I greeted firemen and rescuers from states as far away as Ohio and California. Without being asked, they had come to the city to serve as reinforcements. I thanked them on behalf of the nation and urged them to continue their good work.
    The building’s parking garage had been converted into a gathering place for about two hundred family members of missing first responders. The people in the room spanned all ages, from elderly grandmothers to newborn babies. Many were living the same nightmare: Their loved ones had last been seen or heard near the World Trade Center. They wanted to know if they had survived.
    I had just seen the debris of the towers. I knew it would be a miracle ifanyone emerged. Yet the families refused to give up hope. We prayed together and wept together. Many people asked for pictures or autographs. I felt awkward signing autographs in a time of grief, but I wanted to do anything I could to ease their pain. I asked each family to tell me a little bit about their missing loved one. Then I said, “I’ll sign this card, and then when your dad [or mom or son or daughter] comes home, they’ll believe that you really met the president.”
    As I came to the last corner of the room, I saw a family gathered around a