We All Fall Down: The True Story of the 9/11 Surfer (14 page)

But despite the evidence to the contrary, Pasquale Buzzelli certainly did not feel real, and he was frightened he would never feel real again.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

You Reap What You Sew

“Live life in a way your kids will want to imitate.”

~ Josh DiCarlo,

Character Technical Director at Sony Pictures Imageworks

For the next few days, people filtered in and out of the Buzzellis’ home in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings. Adding to the commotion was the constant ringing of the phone. Though the couple appreciated the concern and the well-wishes of everyone they knew (and even some they’d never met), the phone never ceased its ringing. Eventually, it became impossible to keep up with the outpour of affection, so rather than answering every call, Louise recorded an outgoing message, apologizing that they could not get to the phone due to hers and her husband’s conditions.

While, the Buzzellis appreciated the concern, at the same time, it unnerved Pasquale. He was not used to being the center of attention. Despite his discomfort, he seemed to be hugging and kissing people all the time, though he still could not help but to look past them to the TV whenever possible. He quickly grew tired of answering the same questions over and over again. He realized that people expected him to act a certain way and to say certain things. He played the part well enough that he eventually became resigned to the fact that he would have to continue the act indefinitely. He could not tell anyone about the terrible rage growing in him, just as he could not tell them about his deep yearning, his constant urge to kill the perpetrators of those foul deeds that had changed not only his life, but the whole country. There were other feelings too—worse, nameless, dark feelings…thoughts that he tried to hide, even from himself.

It was not just these internal thoughts Pasquale had to try to ignore. Large, rumbling sounds such as garbage trucks or hefty commercial vehicles going past the house, or even thunder while he sat watching TV, startled him something awful, causing flashbacks that jolted him to those final moments in the stairwell as Tower One collapsed. It was difficult enough for him to deal with those vile reminisces that came in painful, vivid detail, but what was even worse was the worry that someone else might notice his strange reactions to everyday things and make a comment about his odd behavior. He learned that he had to try to anticipate noises so he wouldn’t appear to be affected by them. That meant he always had to be at a heightened sense of awareness to hide any physical response. He may have been able to trick those around him, but he couldn’t trick himself; inside, he still always felt the jolt.

Louise, trying her best to be a comfort to the husband she had almost lost forever, lingered ever close to him. Though she had not been in that Tower with him, she knew the strains he had to be feeling. Though she was filled with joy that her husband was alive and with her, she tried not to overdo it when expressing her gratitude. Even still, there were many times when she couldn’t look at Pasquale without crying. She simply could not control those feelings.

For his part, Pasquale pretended with her, doing his best to hide the growing anxiety he was feeling. He tried to shut the horror from his mind by remembering his childhood.

~ ♦ ~

Though he was their only son, he had not been spoiled by his parents. His mother and father knew what it was to work hard, and they did their best to instill that admirable work ethic in Pasquale, the one they’d learned when they were young. They refused to fall into the trap of spoiling their child as they had noticed some Americans did. The couple had traveled to America as immigrants, and though they wanted a better life for Pasquale, they also wanted him to be aware that life would not hand him anything. He would have to work for what he wanted and needed…and work hard for it.

Like many children born to immigrant parents, Pasquale had to learn the values of hard work from a very young age. Nevertheless, his childhood teemed with countless memories of fun times shared with his friends and loved ones. Even though Pasquale was an only child, he rarely did anything alone. Whether he was running around the streets of Jersey City with his friends and cousins playing stickball and tag or spending Sunday afternoons with his aunts and uncles, Pasquale rarely had time to feel alone, and he most certainly never felt unloved.

Taught to be independent, from the time he was ten, Pasquale would come home, let himself in the house, then dump his school things at home before rushing right back out the door to find his cousin, Ralph Molfetta, to join him for an adventure. Ralph’s home life was a bit different than Pasquale’s. His family was large, and he was one of five siblings, with three brothers and one sister. Pasquale’s parents were in no way wealthy, but they could afford to buy their only child something that he really wanted.

When Pasquale was eleven, his mother and father, Antonia and Ugo, surprised him with a ten-speed bicycle. He was thrilled with his new gift, but even at that early age, he had begun to show signs of the generous spirit within him, something he would carry with him throughout his life. When he rode his new bike over to Ralph’s house to show him, he immediately began to feel bad. There he was, flaunting his new toy, when Ralph did not have a bike of his own. Not wanting to be the only one having so much fun, and caring a great deal about his cousin and friend, Pasquale devised a plan.

Over the next few weeks, Pasquale and Ralph spent their time going around town and finding whatever parts they could to build Ralph a bike of his own, be it an old piece of chain, a discarded set of handlebars, or a seat that no one wanted to sit on anymore. Being young boys who were no strangers to occasional mischief, whatever they could not find, they stole. They eventually gathered all they needed, and Ralph was able to join Pasquale on wheels. Being mobile allowed them to get into even more trouble, but they never did anything more felonious than sneaking into movie theaters with bags of popcorn they managed to lift off the cart that delivered them to the back alley.

When Pasquale was a freshman in high school, he was waiting about two blocks from his school for the bus to come and take him home. As he waited with his good friend Harry, he noticed a gang of neighborhood boys watching him from a distance. Pasquale had learned at a very young age to keep careful track of his surroundings. Growing up in Jersey City required a certain level of street smarts, so when Pasquale noticed them eying him, he was sure they were after something that was very important to him, his sacred chain.

When Pasquale was baptized as a baby, his grandmother, Elizabeth Buzzelli, and his godmother, Aunt Anna, had given that gold chain to him. Hanging from the chain was a pendant—a heart, anchor, and cross—and those symbols stood for
Hope, Faith,
and
Charity.
Though Pasquale was not an overly religious person, he had always cherished that special gift from his family and would not let any harm come to it. He adored it so much that he would literally fight for it.

When the bus pulled to a stop, Pasquale waited as Harry and some of the smaller boys boarded it. Knowing that a scuffle could break out at any moment, he closed his hand around the chain as he stepped into the line to get on the bus. A split second later, he was struck in the side of the face: One of the boys has sucker-punched him from behind. When the boy’s fist collided with Pasquale’s face, another boy reached out to grab his chain. Pasquale felt the chain break when another fist hit his eye. He felt pain, but it was not his concern; his only thought in that moment was to save the gift he’d carried with him all his life, his precious chain. “Fucking asshole!” Pasquale yelled as he swung and felt his fist connect with one of his assailants. “Get off my chain!”

“Get him! Get his chain, guys!” he heard one of the boys yell.

“You boys stop your fighting!” Pasquale heard the bus driver yell as he struggled against his attackers. “Come on, son! Climb up and get on in here!”

Pasquale may have gotten angry at the bus driver for just sitting there and yelling as he fought against the gang of boys, but at that moment, he was far too focused on getting his chain back. After a moment, the boys took off running. Winded and bruised, Pasquale turned to give chase.

“Pasquale, get on the bus, man! There are too many of them!” Harry yelled.

“I can’t, Harry! They took my chain!”

“No they didn’t. Look!” Harry pointed to Pasquale’s chest.

Pasquale looked down and saw that the chain there, clinging to his shirt, as if it were holding on for dear life. Pasquale was elated to see his beloved jewelry dangling there. As much as he wanted revenge against the gang who had attacked him, he decided that as long as they had not gotten his chain, it was not worth it. He settled instead for climbing aboard and giving them the finger as the bus rolled passed them.

When Pasquale passed his twelfth birthday, his parents decided he was old enough to learn that making money and having success in life required hard, honest work. So, at thirteen, he began employment in one of the few lines of work they, themselves, were familiar with: working in a clothing manufacturing shop. Every day after school, he had to go straight to work for a couple of hours in that sweatshop, and he worked all day on Saturdays. During the summer months, he worked forty to sixty hours a week, but he was paid less than minimum wage; it was a sweatshop indeed.

Although this may sound like a punishment to some, it was in no way meant as one. On the contrary, it was the only way hardworking Antonia and Ugo knew to teach their boy the valuable life lessons they knew he had to learn. Pasquale’s experience working in the sweatshop from a young age and then, later in his life, in construction with his father, provided him with many valuable lessons—not the least of which, how important it is to stay in school and get a degree to achieve higher aspirations. His parents knew that, and they knew if he worked as they had in order to provide, he would realize the importance of a degree that would allow him to escape a life filled with manual labor, a chance and a choice they never had as immigrants.

They loved the United States of America and the opportunities it afforded them, but they knew it would give their son even more, as long as they taught him the lessons he needed to learn to take advantage of those opportunities. Pasquale knew it was his duty as a good son to work hard and maintain his grades. He worked many hard jobs following his time at the sweatshop, and he took each duty seriously.

Eventually, his diligence and strong work ethic paid off. Having managed exemplary grades in school, he was rewarded a full academic scholarship to Cooper Union, a very prestigious engineering school. He received offers from other schools, but before he had to make a decision, one was made for him. When Pasquale wrecked the car his parents had struggled and saved to buy for him just weeks earlier, he decided he could not possibly ask them to pay for his tuition elsewhere. So, he chose the free ride. Luckily for him, it turned out to be the right decision, and he never regretted it. From that day on, a new way of life was open to him.

~ ♦ ~

As Pasquale thought back on all of those memories from his youth, it somehow still always came back to that day: September 11, 2001. It was like a sickness that pervaded his every thought, every moment, and every memory. No matter what he did, they all connected to that day. Even now, as he sat, holding on to the chain he still wore around his neck, he could not help but remember how close he had come to losing it just days before the 9/11 attacks.

On September 9, 2001, Pasquale was working in the basement of his home. He was moving some boxes around when he felt the chain fall from his neck. For no reason that he could find, the clasp broke, and the chain fell to the floor—the first time it had left his neck since the gang from his neighborhood had tried to steal it from him.

He was very upset that his most treasured possession was broken. He went upstairs and did his best to fix it with some wire. Evidently, the repairs he made were sound, because he wore the chain on the morning of the attacks on the Twin Towers. Somehow, as the building collapsed on top of him, that repaired chain managed to hold fast. It did not break away as he tumbled through the air, only to land twenty stories below. Much like he did, somehow that chain held strong, and it was still there when he awoke hours later to see nothing but blue skies.

He could not help but think, to wonder,
Was that a sign? Was someone out there trying to warn me? Was it Nonna Buzzelli, who loved me so much, protecting me? Maybe she put in a good word for me up there.
Inevitably, such thoughts led to more agonizing self-hatred.
What have I done in this lifetime that I should be chosen to survive? What makes me so special that I get to live and thousands had to perish?
Try as he did, Pasquale could find no answer.
Maybe I did something as a little boy, something so good that I was spared. Or am I just lucky? But what about my co-workers, my friends? They were better people than me, and they had people who loved them just as much as my wife and family love me. So why them? Why not me?
He hoped and prayed that something would distract him from those bitter, stinging questions, but unfortunately he found himself alone once more when his mother, Aunt Mima, and Louise left for a candlelight memorial at their church.