The Day the World Came to Town: 9/11 in Gander, Newfoundland (20 page)

Then along came more bad news. They wouldn’t be able to get on any flight on Friday. They were going to have to spend the night. Only there weren’t any hotel rooms left in the city. They were taken ninety minutes outside of Frankfurt to a cottage in the country. By now the Wakefields had no idea where they were.

Saturday night they finally left Germany, this time for good. They flew from Frankfurt to Chicago and boarded an American Airlines flight for Nashville. They arrived at the Nashville airport at 8
A.M.
Sunday morning and were greeted by friends. A few hours later Beth and Billy were reunited with their son, Rob.

S
itting in the faculty lounge of the Lakewood Academy in the town of Glenwood, Rabbi Leivi Sudak believed he’d been brought to this corner of the world for a reason. His trip was supposed to be a one-day journey in which he would fly from London to New York, where he would visit the grave of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the longtime leader of the Lubavitcher movement, who had died in 1994. Once there, he would say his prayers, remembering the names of his family and the people closest to him, and then return to the airport and fly home to England that same night.

In London, Rabbi Sudak spends his working days with disenchanted young people who have taken to the streets and gotten themselves into trouble with drugs and petty crime. Here in Newfoundland, he realized, there were things for him to learn, especially the lesson that in spite of the tragedies, there are good people in the world. And he was among some of them now.

Baila Hecht felt the same way. The wife of Rabbi Shea Hecht of New York, she happened to be on the same plane with Rabbi Sudak. The two had known each other for many years. Her husband and the rabbi were good friends. Hecht had been traveling home with her thirteen-year-old daughter, Esther, when their flight veered off to Gander.

Most of the people in Gander had had little, if any, contact with someone who was Jewish, and fewer still had ever met an Orthodox Jew. Despite this, the folks in town were not only accepting but genuinely curious. People would regularly come by and ask if it was all right to ask them questions about their beliefs, and both Hecht and Rabbi Sudak enjoyed the discussions that followed.

During one talk with Eithne Smith’s husband, Carl, who is a Mountie, the rabbi asked if there was much of a drug problem in Newfoundland. Carl said there was, and added that officials estimated that between 10 and 15 percent of the students in high school had tried marijuana. It was clear to the rabbi, from Carl’s voice and demeanor, that he was embarrassed by this figure. In London, the rabbi thought to himself, the number of high school students who had tried marijuana is closer to 80 percent. One reason for the difference was evident to both Hecht and Rabbi Sudak. Looking around the school, they could see a large number of young people from the town working as volunteers alongside their parents. This was the very definition of community for Rabbi Sudak. A community bound by faith and common values. This, too, was one of the lessons Rabbi Sudak believed he was in Newfoundland to be reminded of.

When the call came for them to leave Friday evening, a new problem surfaced. Three of the seventy-one passengers—Rabbi Sudak, Baila Hecht, and her daughter, Esther—could not travel on the Sabbath. From sundown Friday until sundown Saturday, their faith prevents them not only from traveling, but from engaging in any activity that drew their attention away from their religious observances on the day when God rested after creating the universe, the world, and man. On the Sabbath, Orthodox Jews refrain from riding in a car, cooking meals, watching television, or using any type of machine, including telephones. Even turning on a light switch is prohibited.

As the rest of the passengers from their flight boarded buses for the airport, Rabbi Sudak and the Hechts remained in the school. Two families who lived within walking distance offered to take them in for the night. Rabbi Sudak went with one and the Hechts with the other. More than a test of faith, Rabbi Sudak had a feeling he was meant to stay in Newfoundland for another reason, perhaps another lesson. He just wasn’t sure what it might be.

T
here were 361 passengers aboard American Trans Air Flight 8733, and at least 90 of them were children. ATA is a discount airline favored by travel agents in England who book package tours to the United States. The group on this plane was flying from Manchester, England, to Orlando, Florida. They were going to Disney World.

The thought of so many kids having their hearts broken because their trip to the Magic Kingdom was in jeopardy was distressing for the people in Gander. And when they discovered that at least four of the kids were going to the amusement park to celebrate their birthdays, well, that was more than the folks in town could bear. Town officials and the staff at St. Paul’s Intermediate, where the passengers were staying, threw a giant birthday party for all of the children at the school who were turning a year older while they were in Gander.

The local supermarket donated a massive birthday cake—enough to feed four hundred people—while the teachers and students at the school tried to create a miniature Disney World of their own. They decorated the cafeteria with streamers and balloons, and three girls from the local high school volunteered to dress up in fairy-princess costumes. Replacing Mickey Mouse and Goofy were Commander Gander and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Safety Bear, two costumed mascots who visit schools in the area telling kids to stay off crack and not to set fires. As their names imply, one is a giant bird and the other is a bear in a Mountie uniform. The kids seemed to love them.

Constable Oz Fudge’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Lisa, donned the Commander Gander outfit and was mobbed by kids who wanted to hug her. They sang songs and played games and handed out prizes, and each of the birthday kids received gifts. Nigel Radford couldn’t believe the effort everyone in town had made. Radford was traveling with his fiancée, Karen. They were going to be married in Florida. Accompanying them on the trip were ten members of their family who would witness the wedding and spend a week enjoying the different amusement parks—Disney World, Universal Studios, Epcot. The family had saved up two years for this trip.

Radford had his two sons with him, Lewis, who was two, and Cameron, who was five. His brother and his sister were along as well, and they each brought their kids. All the kids had a great time at the party. Some were even upset when it was cut short because word had come in from the airport that their flight was ready to leave. They were going to make it to Disney World after all.

S
ince Tuesday morning, Corporal Grant Smith had been spending nearly all of his time at the airport, searching bags and checking passports. Normally, the twenty-six-year veteran of the RCMP was assigned to the region’s drug task force. Over the years smugglers prodding for entry points into North America had found their way to Gander. In recent months the Mounties had seized a ton of cocaine in one bust and almost twenty-six tons of hashish in another.

Smith was in his office, just down the road from the airport, when he heard about the attacks on New York and the planes, which were already beginning to circle Gander on their final approach before landing. He was ordered to help with security at the airport. Tensions had run high during those first twenty-four hours as Smith and his fellow Mounties scrutinized passengers looking for additional terrorists.

Three days later, as more and more passengers were preparing to leave Gander, Smith was still concerned about terrorists, but he also wanted to do something special for the town’s unexpected guests. He felt a deep sense of pride in the way the people in Gander and the surrounding communities had responded to this tragedy. And he was equally proud of the passengers, for being so well behaved and understanding. Everyone remained calm and levelheaded. There wasn’t a single arrest during the entire week.

Smith was determined that the stranded passengers’ last memory of Gander would be a positive one. Security for each of the outgoing flights was unprecedented, with passengers having to clear two and sometimes three checkpoints. The lines were long and the wait could seem interminable. Some passengers were visibly nervous about getting on a plane again. Smith encouraged his fellow Mounties to find ways to ease their fears and not make the screening process needlessly bureaucratic and impersonal. Smith led the charge.

“Your passport and a smile,” he would say when a passenger walked up to his station. If they responded with a confused look, he’d tell them, “You can’t leave Canada without a passport and a smile.”

His wife was a volunteer at Gander Academy, where she was also a teacher. At night she would tell him stories about the plane people she’d met. On at least a dozen occasions over the ensuring days, Smith drew from this knowledge while reviewing passports and stunned departing passengers by recalling their names and some small detail about them.

To one couple he remarked: “Oh, you’re the one who ate all the fish at Noonan’s house.” And to another: “I believe Betty Smith was taking care of you in town.”

For most people, this was their first encounter with a Mountie, and it certainly wasn’t what they expected. For one thing, they were dressed like ordinary police officers. This was a letdown for those folks whose images of Mounties were rooted in decades of movies, television shows, and cartoons. Nelson Eddy singing to Jeanette MacDonald in
Rose Marie
. Shirley Temple as a darling waif who survives an Indian massacre in
Susannah of the Mounties
. The classic fifties TV show
Sergeant Preston of the Yukon
and its dismal nineties counterpart,
Due South
. And, of course, there was the animated genius of Dudley Do-Right.

The common ingredient in all of these memories—apart from the promise that “the Mounties always get their man”—was the clothing, the ubiquitous red tunic and broad-brimmed hat. Neither of which Smith and his cohorts were wearing. Smith could sense his appearance was an area of disappointment for passengers, some of whom would plaintively ask, “Where’s your hat?”

Determined to turn things around, Smith received permission from his superiors to wear the RCMP dress uniform to the airport on Friday and Saturday. The formal attire, known as the Red Serge, is an eye-catching ensemble, usually reserved for ceremonial occasions. It consists of high brown leather boots with a matching belt, a rakish leather strap cutting across the chest from the left shoulder to the right hip, three-inch-long spurs, navy-blue riding pants with thick yellow stripes down the side, a Stetson with a wide, flat brim, and the scarlet coat with gold buttons, a navy-blue collar, and navy-blue epaulets.

For those two days, all eyes were on Smith when he strode through the airport. Like paparazzi catching a glimpse of Madonna, passengers ran to snap his picture. In turn, he demanded that they pose alongside him for the next shot. Eagerly they complied. Some stood rigidly next to him. Others embraced him. Smith’s expression, though, was always the same, his greenish-brown eyes twinkling under that massive hat, his thick blond mustache curled above a proud smile, his five-foot eight-inch frame standing a bit taller.

And so it went, one after another.
Click. Click. Click
. His picture, and all the warmth and good spirit it represented, captured on film by hundreds of passengers, a final memento of this life-altering detour.

F
or her entire life, Hannah O’Rourke has been deathly afraid of water, to the point where she wouldn’t even go to the beach, stand in the surf, and let the ocean rise up to her ankles. Her kids always assumed it had something to do with her journey to America as an Irish immigrant. She’d come to this country by boat almost fifty years before and never set foot on one again. All of which presented a problem for her family, since Hannah was currently trapped on an island.

One of her son’s best friends—Maryann’s brother—was prepared to drive into Canada to pick Hannah and Dennis up if it looked like they were going to be stuck there much longer. If Hannah and Dennis could get to the ferry in Port aux Basque and cross over to Nova Scotia, he would meet them there and drive them home. The trip was about a thousand miles each way. Maryann decided to see if Hannah would be interested.

“Gran, there’s a ferry that goes over to Nova Scotia,” she said. “We could pick you up there and bring you home. Would you be willing to get on the ferry?”

“Yes.” Hannah said without hesitation. “If I have to swim to get home, that’s what I’ll do.”

Maryann was stunned. When she told the others Hannah’s response, they, too, were amazed. “Wow,” Patricia said, “she really must want to get out of there.”

In the end, the ferry ride wasn’t necessary when they discovered that their plane, Aer Lingus Flight 105, would be able to take off that afternoon. Before Hannah and Dennis left, they were visited by a delegation from the Gander Volunteer Fire Department. The chief of the department had just learned the O’Rourkes’ son was a missing New York firefighter and he wanted to pay his respects and let them know that if there was anything anyone in his department could do for them, all they had to do was ask.

Saying good-bye to Hannah and Dennis was difficult for their new friends at the legion hall. Beulah Cooper told them she would keep praying for Kevin, as did the others at the legion hall—Wally Crummel, Alf Johnson, and his wife, Karen. Even Tom Mercer, when he heard the O’Rourkes’ flight was ready to leave, raced over to the hall to say good-bye. He gave them each a hug and wished them well.

Neither Hannah nor Dennis knew how to express how much all of these people had meant to them during this horrendous time. When they arrived in Gander, it had been unbearable to be so far away from the love and support of their family. Now it felt to them like they, in fact, had a family in Gander.