We All Fall Down: The True Story of the 9/11 Surfer

Copyright© 2012 by Pasquale and Louise Buzzelli

Cover Design:
Hope Buzzelli

Authors:
Pasquale & Louise Buzzelli with Joseph M. Bittick

Editor:
Autumn J. Conley, [email protected]

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the publisher(s) of this book.

“Ring around a rosie,

a pocketful of posies…

Ashes, ashes…

We all fall down!”

IN MEMORIAM OF THE 2,977
WHO WERE LOST

“Always remember…never forget.”

To the Fourteen Who Were With Pasquale that Day…

Jean A. Andrucki, William F. Fallon, Stephen J. Fiorelli, Barry H. Glick, Rosa Gonzalez,

Joseph F. Grillo, Patrick A. Hoey, Deborah H. Kaplan, Edward T. Keane, Franco Lalama,

Susan Miszkowicz, Kalyan K. Sarkar, Lisa J. Trerotola, and Simon V. Weiser

To the 343 FDNY Firefighters…

To the 37 Port Authority of NY & NJ police officers…

To the 23 NYPD police officers…

To the 2
EMS
paramedics…

And to All Who Lost Their Loved Ones on September 11, 2001.

A very special thank you to Joey Bittick…

for without you, who would tell our story?

~
Louise Buzzelli

FOREWORD

I do not know why, but while I managed to somehow write over 50,000 words as a contribution to this amazing story, when it comes to writing down words of my own in a letter, this foreword, I seem to struggle and draw a blank.

Nevertheless, I can say I know that the story of Louise and Pasquale Buzzelli is the most important story I will ever help to tell. Because of that, I cannot think of any of my own words that are important enough to put in their book. I cannot pretend that telling this story was any great challenge; the great story was already there, spawned on that fateful day in 2001, and I only had to copy it onto paper. For some reason that I still do not understand, they chose
me
to put their story into the printed words you will read in the pages that follow.

When my wife, a book editor who constantly encourages me to write, was contacted by a British publisher and told me that a man who’d actually lived through the
Twin
Tower
attacks was in search of a writer to help him tell his story, I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t sure it was something I could write, and even if I could, I wasn’t sure I’d be given the chance. However, I gave it a shot because writing is a passion of mine, and writing important stories that will touch lives is the root of that passion. I will never forget the moment when Louise Buzzelli, whom I couldn’t even believe I was actually talking to, told me the Buzzellis wanted me to tell her and Pasquale’s story of how that day, 9/11, changed their lives forever. While the story itself is quite astounding in so many ways and has, therefore, been a stirring writing assignment in its own right, what I have enjoyed immeasurably more has been the opportunity to get to know Louise and Pasquale Buzzelli and, through them, just a little about their friends and family and the other heroes and fallen of that day. Through our conversations, their family videos, their letters, cards, and writings, I have gotten to know this wonderful family in some small way, and that has been a privilege indeed.

We all strive to one day be extraordinary; to Pasquale and Louise, extraordinary comes naturally. Regardless of their story, Louise and Pasquale are extraordinary. They treat everyone they come across with kindness and respect, even when kindness and respect is not always earned. They chose me, basically a ninth-grade dropout with nothing but a dream of telling a story that people will want to read, and they accepted me into their life and trusted me enough to, as Louise puts it, “
bring out the raw emotion [they] needed to help [them] tell [their] story.” In doing this, in welcoming into their lives and their remembrances of one of the most unforgettable day in American history, t
he Buzzellis have given me something I never thought I would find: a chance to be fulfilled and a chance to make my life worth something. When Pasquale was pulled out of that Tower that day, his life was not the only one that was saved and changed, for now, more than a decade later, his story has also altered my life and my perspective about my passion, my path, and the things that are most important in life.

So, thank you, Louise and Pasquale. No matter how many times I say that, it will never be enough.

~ Joseph Bittick,

Co-Author of
We All Fall Down

PROLOGUE

“Every leader and every regime and every movement and every organization that steps across the line to terrorism must be banished from the discourse of civilized human life.”

~ Alan Keys (April 21, 2002)

A tall, handsome, dark-haired man with intense blue eyes stood in the middle of
One
Police
Plaza
in
New York
,
New York
, waiting patiently in line. He was dressed in khakis and a white button-up shirt. In his right hand, the man held a manila envelope. When he was called to approach the counter, he smiled at the man behind the desk and introduced himself. “Hello. My name is Pasquale Buzzelli, B-U-Z-Z-E-L-L-I,” he said. “My wife got this letter in the mail saying some item belonging to me has been found at ground zero, and I am here to pick it up.”

“Can I see the letter?” the officer asked, not bothering to look up at Pasquale.

“Yeah, sure. Here you go,” Pasquale said, handing it to him. “I don’t know why they sent it to my wife.”

While the man behind the counter examined the papers, Pasquale examined his surroundings. After all he had been through, he could not help but make himself keenly aware of exits in any building he set foot in. He made a mental note of every neon
exit
sign that he could see from where he was standing, and the presence of several armed officers helped put him at ease.

“Well, sir, this is addressed to a
Louise
Buzzelli. I’m afraid I can’t release the item to anyone but her.”

“Oh, I understand it is addressed to my wife instead of me, but I think that’s because a mistake was made. I think someone assumed I did not make it out of the Towers that day, so—”

“Sir, this says the property found at Ground Zero is a…briefcase.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s
my
briefcase. I had it with me that day, but I lost it when the building came down, and—”

“So you forgot it in the Tower when you were evacuated? Okay. Well, in that case—”

“Well actually, no. I had it over my shoulder when the Tower collapsed, and it was ripped away from me during the fall. I can’t even believe you guys found…” Pasquale’s voice trailed off when he noticed that the officer had finally looked up at him and was now arching a questioning brow.

“Wait…what? You’re telling me you were still
in
the
Twin
Towers
when they came down? What floor were you on?”

“I know it sounds hard to believe. I still can’t believe it myself.” The uncomfortable feeling he had grown so accustomed to whenever someone asked him that question began to creep up on him. “I was on the twenty-second floor,” Pasquale answered.

“Are you saying you made it out of that hell alive,
after
everyone else was evacuated? I heard rumors about a guy who was seen surfing down the wreckage—the ‘9/11 surfer’ they’re calling him—but I didn’t think that was real or if any others even made it out of there after the Towers fell.

“I know. It’s crazy, right?” Pasquale said, grinning nervously. “Anyway, I think that’s why the letter’s addressed to my wife, to Louise, instead of me. I’m sure they just assumed I didn’t get out. I was in the building when it came down, so when they found the briefcase, they probably thought it best to notify her, presuming she was my widow.”

The man just stared at him in disbelief, rendered speechless for a moment and not sure how to respond.

“Look, I have my ID right here, and I even brought a newspaper article with me to prove who I am. You can see that I am who I say I am. Can you just give me my briefcase?”

“I am sorry. Wow,” the officer said, shaking his head and handing Pasquale’s ID and letter back to him. “Man, I believe you, but I still can’t give you the item. Sorry. It’s protocol, so—”

Pasquale shook his head and smiled as he took his things back from the officer. His good mood had completely vanished, courtesy of “protocol,” and he started to feel angry.
Damn it! It’s MY briefcase. Why can’t they just give it to me? I am so sick of dealing with this crap. Every freaking day it’s something else. And what the hell was he talking about, the “9/11 surfer”?
Frustrated as he was, Pasquale kept his composure. Swallowing the anger he was feeling (something he’d learned to do), he smiled once more and wished the officer a good day.