August 2006 Newsletter
Issue Eight, Volume Seven

In Memoriam

By Mike Gasior

The subject for this month's newsletter was one that I never decided to write, but one that was chosen for me long ago and I have waited five years to write it. We are all hearing a million stories and will be seeing a million images in these coming days, and I'm simply adding another story to this tapestry. Mine.

A LOVE STORY

I was pretty excited when I finally got my first brokers job. Not only was I going to get to pursue what I expected to be a career that I thought perfectly suited my personality and ambition, I was even more thrilled I was actually going to get to work in New York City. It seems funny now that I still live in my hometown, which on a typical Sunday afternoon allows me to drive into midtown Manhattan in a mere 90 minutes and that I'd never been to New York City as a kid. I remember vividly walking around lower Manhattan on the weekend I was to take my NASD Series 7 exam that you must successfully pass to become a stockbroker, looking for the high school near the Brooklyn Bridge where it was being administered. All these huge buildings were giving me a stiff neck as I constantly scanned this awesome skyline. I was walking by an older skyscraper that was being remodeled and there was this massive steel tube almost 20 stories high running up the side of the building and I wondered what this tube could possibly be for as I gazed upward. Suddenly, there was this almost deafening roar that sounded like someone had thrown a Volkswagen into this tube and it was crashing earthward. I'm still embarrassed to admit that I took off running at full speed like a frightened deer (or country bumpkin) who didn't know this was how they got construction and demolition debris from the upper floors of a building in New York into the dumpsters on the ground. After checking to see if anyone had witnessed this embarrassing scene, I wandered back toward the building to inspect the washing machine that now occupied the dumpster after its trip down the tube. Chalk up my first lesson in a long and continuing education of life in "the big city".

Life was certainly smiling at me back the beginnings of those glorious 1980's. Not only was I starting my career on Wall Street, but I was actually going to be working in one of the most famous and recognizable buildings on the planet; The World Trade Center. And on the 105th floor to boot. After the "frightened deer" incident, I was determined to develop more of a poker face so people wouldn't so easily see how out of my element I was sometimes, but my jaw hung open when I was given the tour of the offices. There is something about seeing planes and helicopters flying below your feet that really puts into perspective how far up you are in those buildings. Of course I had to immediately wonder how I was ever going to get any work done in a place that offered such a spectacular vista out of every side of the building. And it was fun too, because it was a living landscape, with an ever, changing cast of characters who would populate the views. Buildings would be torn down and built up. Seasons and weather would change. And of course, the constant and changing combinations of people, cars, trucks, airplanes and helicopters made every moment different from the last.

When I first got the job I didn't have two nickels to rub together and absolutely was not able to afford a New York City apartment, which caused me to commute from home in Connecticut each day. This meant catching the 5:50 a.m. Metro-North express train out of New Haven each morning to Grand Central Station, and then hopping the 4,5 or 6 subway lines to bring me to World Trade. I kinda liked the commute because it gave me time to read and relax, and I also made some great friends on those trains, but it was a fairly brutal schedule to keep, even for a driven 23-year old. After a couple of months I finally had enough for a security deposit for my own New York apartment.

At that time, they had just begun to build what is now Battery City, which was basically almost right across the street from the World Trade Center. The first apartment building was finished and looking (nearly begging) for renters. You see, at that time, nobody wanted to live in lower Manhattan for the most part. While the neighborhood was definitely the center of the universe for the financial markets, you could shoot a cannon down the streets anytime after 6:00 p.m. and hit absolutely NO one. When I admitted to friends that I was considering moving to downtown, I was greeted with jeers and taunts about how I would consider such a thing. "What if you want to go to a Knicks game, or a play or something" they would ask me, to which I'd reply that a taxi would gladly bring me. After all, I'd be lucky to go to three or four Knicks games a year, but the one place I went every single day (or at least 6 out of 7) was right across the street. Work. My commute was a pretty simple 200-yard walk. Out the door of my building, across the West Side highway, through the lobby of the Vista Hotel into the lobby of Two World Trade, into the elevator to the Skylobby on the 80th floor to connect to the elevator that would take me to 105. Nice and simple, with no traffic or strap hanging, and it never took me more than 15 minutes on the worst day. Life was good.

Although my friends were indeed accurate that there was nothing going on in lower Manhattan, there was enough for me. My job was plenty stimulating and the hours were long, so on most days I desired quiet more than the raucous action one would find in most of the popular bars of midtown. I thought I had it made with an Apple Supermarket on the street level of my apartment building, and what would become the favorite bar of my life on the top floor of One World Trade.

I was introduced to Windows on the World by my employer who had taken the entire group of new brokers I started with to WOW for a very nice dinner during our first week on the job. I'm certain they were trying to impress us, both with the restaurant and the fact they were springing for such a nice meal. But from that evening on, the bar at Windows on the World would become my regular "happy hour" hangout where I would ultimately spend hundreds and hundreds of evenings. Although the view was similar to the one I would see sitting at my desk on the southeast corner of Two World Trade, it was markedly different due to the lack of ringing phones, trades to get entered, and people yelling about an assortment of different things. One has to figure that the icy cold beer and bowl of nuts in front of me might also be factors in my affections for this place over my office. I for one had always agreed with the name the restaurant had chosen for their bar. It truly was "The Greatest Bar on Earth", or at least it was to me.

Ultimately, I would get a little older and wanted a little slower and quieter lifestyle and would return home to Connecticut to live and work. I had come a long way from those awestruck first days when I had first wandered the streets of New York and I'd like to think I'd even grown into a real "New Yorker". I'll confess that I did enjoy the slower pace in Connecticut, but there were many times I'd miss my adopted neighborhood in lower Manhattan.

When I started this training business seventeen years ago in 1989, I knew that the primary location for my sessions was going to be New York, and I relished the chance to make the location for these programs my old neighborhood. It wasn't only a selfish motive on my part, but it made terrific business sense as well. After all, the key audience for my seminars is the investment industry, which heavily populates the tip of Manhattan, but there was even more to it than that. What a lot of America doesn't know is how many of the people that work in downtown Manhattan, actually live in New Jersey and commute in every day via the PATH train that terminated underneath the World Trade Center. My choice of this neighborhood would make it easy for anyone who lived or worked in New York City, New Jersey or the southwestern part of Connecticut to commute in to attend my sessions.

For a year I held my seminars at the World Trade Institute, which was on the 55th floor of One World Trade. It was a terrific facility and offered wonderful views for my attendees, but they became increasingly expensive and the security process my people had to endure every day was slow and cumbersome, so after a year I decided to change the venue.

I had seen the building a million times, and had never stepped foot in it before, but the College of Insurance was located just two blocks from the World Trade Center right on the West Side Highway. It was still convenient to all the trains, but was a much more practical and economic choice, and I would end up using them for just less than 10 years. Many of you reading this newsletter attended my programs there at the College of Insurance (now Saint Johns University Manhattan).

Although I had only been away from the neighborhood for a few years, it had become a dramatically different place. With the addition of the South Street Seaport and the completion of the World Financial Center, downtown had really become a pulsing community where people wanted to live, work, shop and party, including myself.

My favorite bar in the world was right across from the Millenium Hilton (where I would spend on average 60 nights a year, and was on a first name basis with nearly every employee) and the area had everything I could ask for. Great restaurants and bars were everywhere. They had even built a multiplex theater next to the World Financial Center. And there was shopping that allowed you to purchase literally anything you might ever desire without walking more than three blocks in any direction. Untold amounts of money were spent by me at Century 21 alone.

Lots of people didn't understand that the World Trade Center was more than a couple of tall, office buildings. Underneath there was the PATH station I already mentioned, and some subway stops as well. But there was also a full, fledged mall with every kind of chain store you could imagine, minus the huge anchor stores. Gap, Victoria's Secret, Coach, Banana Republic, Hallmark, Disney Store and more were all there. Also, what had become my favorite health food store in the world, Cornucopia, and my favorite shoeshine stand right next door. Both were mandatory stops whenever I was in town and I knew everyone there pretty well.

A typical day when I was teaching in New York was pretty straightforward. Get up and get dressed. Head across the street to the World Trade Center and go down the escalator right between Borders Books and the Krispy Kreme donut shop to the large newsstand under Tower One who was always nice enough to put aside the 30 to 50 Wall Street Journals that I would need for my class that day. Once outside, it was a short walk down Church Street, a left on Barclay Street and then a right to the College of Insurance. I'd get set up for the day and wait for my audience to arrive. Very often when I would have people attending who were from out of town, the only sight seeing advice for them I would have was as follows; Hustle over to the New York Stock Exchange during lunch and see if you can catch a free tour of the place. And definitely go to Windows on the World for a drink and sandwich after class. I think I should have been on commission from WOW for the hundreds of customers I sent them over the years.

My last session at the College of Insurance was on September 3rd, 4th and 5th, 2001, when I presented my "Introduction to Securities & Markets" seminars to a pretty big audience. I remember it being pretty hot for September, or at least I thought it was. Other than that, it was just a pretty typical visit.

The second half of any year always tends to be pretty busy for me, and 2001 was no exception to that rule. I got back from New York on Wednesday night and was teaching a program at a client in Hartford on Thursday and Friday. Then, after teaching for five, straight days, I was on a plane to Kansas City, Missouri on Sunday to present a one-day session for a client there. It was September 10th, and I remember thinking how nice the weather was for the time of year. It truly was an Indian summer, and my class had gone pretty well. I caught a cab to the airport and was due to catch a 6:40 p.m. US Airways flight to Philly and then grab my connection to Hartford. Given the spectacular weather in Kansas City, I was little startled when the desk agent from US Airways informed me that my flight had been cancelled due to weather in Philadelphia and that they would not be able get me to Hartford that evening. I explained that this was unacceptable, and they needed to find another airline right there and then to get me home. After all, I was only due to be home for only one day as it was, and had appointments with contractors the next morning at the house I had under renovation at the time. I was already booked on a flight to Chicago on September 12th to work at a client there for a whole week and needed to get home to repack and gather the things I would need for that trip. Arriving home on September 11th and leaving the next day was just not going to work for me.

After some jerking around, US Airways got me a seat on a United flight heading for Chicago and I would catch their final flight to Hartford that left at 10:45 p.m. Central Time. Kind of late, but at least I'd be home and able to get a few hours of sleep before getting all my business done on my one day home. The United flight touched down in Hartford at 1:35 a.m. on September 11th, and I grabbed my luggage and headed home.

I was a little miserable having only gotten five hours of sleep, but there were things to do and people to see, so I dragged myself out of bed and got into the car for my errands. It was around 8:30 a.m. and the first stop on my journey that morning was 7-11 for my usual Super Big Gulp of Diet Coke, and this morning I needed those 44 ounces of caffeine more than usual.

Whenever I'm home, the only radio stations I tend to listen to are WCBS and WFAN out of New York, and on this morning I was anxious to get caught up on the news of the world first thing, and then switch over to Imus on WFAN after that. Usually all you need is 20 minutes of WCBS to know everything that is going on in the around the globe and I tuned in. As I pulled up in front of 7-11 a report came over the radio that it seems an airplane had struck the north tower of the World Trade Center. While I will admit that "holy sh**" came out of my mouth in the car, it frankly wasn't a completely shocking report. After all, I had watched thousands and thousands of Cessna type airplanes flying up and down the Hudson River over the years, and even though the skies in Connecticut were wonderfully clear, lower Manhattan might had been shrouded in fog for all I knew and one of these planes might have been flying blind. Not that it mattered whether it was a large or small plane; this was still huge news and had a personal connection to me. I went and got my Big Gulp and headed off toward my house under construction listening to the evolving news story from the edge of my car seat. Quickly though, it was being reported that this wasn't some sort of small aircraft, but was a massive jet liner that struck the tower and the damage and loss of life was inconceivable.

Maybe it was my lack of sleep, but I had forgotten to grab my cell phone before heading out the door, but I needed to call the guy that worked for me who was up at the house and tell him to get a television out of the garage and get it set up before I got there. I pulled into another convenience store down the road, and turned the radio to where it was blasting loud, and dialed the house from the payphone. As I was explaining what was going on to my guy (who found the whole story unbelievable) I listened as the reporter for WCBS who was live at the scene, report that a second plane had just struck the south tower (Two World Trade) and now both towers were burning. My heart was now in my mouth as I hung up the phone and drove like Mario Andretti to my house.

It wasn't even 9:30 a.m. as I arrived at my house, and as I walked in I immediately saw my guy along with a bunch of tradesmen standing around a little TV with rabbit ears that had been set up on a carton containing a kitchen cabinet. They looked at me for a moment and then their eyes went immediately back to the images being broadcast to entire world. The group of us would spend the next seven hours transfixed at what was unfolding. It seemed too awful to be true, and only got worse as the day went on. Shortly after the towers were hit, the Pentagon was attacked. Just hours later the towers would collapse and be gone forever. Finally, Seven World Trade would collapse near dinnertime.

My employee and the tradesmen kept apologizing for not getting to work, and I kept telling them that all any of us should be doing is watching this history unfold in front of us. My home sits on a mountaintop in southern Connecticut and is in the flight patterns for both Bradley Airport in Hartford, as well a Logan in Boston. The planes are not at all low and obnoxious, but a constant vision in the sky above us, along with all the smaller aircraft that leave the local airports. I would never have imagined how eerie the sight of a completely empty sky would be after the entire airspace of the United States had been shutdown, but it frankly gave me chills.

A couple of hours into this disaster, the phone at the house began to ring with calls from my father, brother and assorted family members who had my house number. I don't keep my extended family abreast of my travel schedule since it's far too much to keep track of, and plus, who cares anyway. But all these people know that I'm away from home more than I'm here, and between my own sessions and working for clients, I would spend usually 80 days a year in New York across the street from World Trade and they wanted to know where I was. Their anxiety was only heightened by the fact that I hadn't answered my cell phone, which was in a drawer, nor returned their voicemails. When I would finally retrieve my cell, I would have over a hundred missed calls and endless voicemails.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was almost too much to bear. Although nearly impossible, I tried to not to watch the news for fear that my daughter, who had just turned three, might see this horrifying images, which would in turn require me to explain what had happened. Luckily the bedtime of a three year old comes pretty early, and I returned to scanning the news channels to see if there were miraculous news of survivors or anything that was possibly positive, but nothing was forthcoming. It was one of the saddest and most depressing days of my life, and I felt stunned and empty. I was also feeling the effects of a couple bottles of wine and felt I just had to say something and reach out and connect with other people. Against my own better judgment, I wrote the following and sent it out to everyone on my newsletter distribution list at 9:45 p.m. Many of you were on my list five years ago and perhaps remember this. I most certainly remember, and saved the thousands of notes I received in return.

************************************************************************

With a Very Heavy Heart

I cannot contain the immense sadness and emotion, which has overcome me today, and I must take a moment to write all of you tonight.

As I listened to the radio report this morning from WCBS in New York City I pulled to the side of the road in Connecticut in disbelief and began making phone calls.

The sickness in my stomach and aching in my chest have not left me nearly 14 hours into this unspeakable disaster. Perhaps it is difficult to comprehend the sight of a jumbo aircraft slamming into the building in which I used to sit on the 105th floor. My favorite bar in the world was on the 107th floor of the other tower. The hotel where I spend nearly 60 nights per year is barely 100 feet across the street and is destroyed. Many of you have attended my seminars only a block away from Seven World Trade Center which I watched collapse on live television not long after dinner. This neighborhood was filled with dozens and dozens of people who have been part of the fabric of my life for nearly 20 years in some instances. The magnitude of the loss of life staggers me.

My friends and colleagues who occupy the immediate area, which has been destroyed, haunt every thought I've had today. So much of the Wall Street community is headquartered in, or immediately adjacent to the World Trade Center and the loss is all too personal for me.

I saved my own tears until after I had tucked my three-year-old daughter safely into bed and thanked God for opportunity to do that. My prayers and thoughts now lie with the people and families whose lives were ended, or will never be the same because of today.

The world changed today and will never be the same. America's innocence was lost and I already mourn it. My daughter will grow up in a world, which I cannot even imagine at this moment.

God bless all the victims of today and my heart remains in my adopted neighborhood in New York, which will never, ever be the same.

I hope all of you remain safe and sound. My thoughts and prayers are with you all.

Mike

With the shutdown of the airspace, my trip to Chicago was postponed and I was ultimately on a plane the first day flights resumed. One of the few perks of traveling as much as I do, is that I am a member of all the silver, gold, platinum or aluminum levels of frequent flier and get to enjoy being upgraded to first class most of the time, including this day. A couple who wanted to sit together, but didn't have adjacent seats, asked if I would switch with them. This put me in seat 1E, which is the absolute front row of the plane, on the aisle.

Another perk of first class is that you are able to board the plane first, and my usual, pre-flight routine would be sucking on a glass of merlot and reading a couple of newspapers. With no premeditation, I found myself staring into the faces of EVERYBODY boarding that flight, deciding for myself if any of them were would-be terrorists. Although I don't particularly fancy myself any sort of tough guy, I remember vividly thinking that there was no way anybody who had boarded that airplane was getting into that cockpit with a stupid box cutter. Sure, they may kill me, but they've got to get through me first, and I've got a lean, 195 pounds that's going to be looking to stop them so there's going to be a little bloodshed before anything like that happens. I also noticed the flight attendant in first class walk to the back of the plane and ask two, burly guys if they'd like to move up to some empty first class seats. I also remember her telling them that she wanted them up there in case she "needed them". The final thing that told me that life in the air was irreparably changed was when the pilot came on the loudspeaker to announce that he was "pretty handy" with the fire axe that is in the cockpit of every commercial aircraft. He continued to explain that the axe was designed to be able to chop a hole through the fuselage in the event of an accident, and should do a pretty good job on anybody trying to enter the cockpit also.

I had many programs still scheduled to be taught in New York that year, but we were forced to move them to Newark, New Jersey, since getting in and out of Manhattan for the remainder of 2001 was going to be difficult or impossible.

With vivid and total recall, I can remember my first trip to Newark just a month after 9/11. I had decided to drive down early in the morning of the first day of the training, which required me hitting the road around 5:30 a.m. and heading down the Henry Hudson and over the George Washington Bridge on my way to New Jersey. It was probably around 6:30 when I found myself on the upper deck of the GWB, which I have traveled probably thousands of times, and my behavior is very consistent. My eyes look down the Hudson River and take in the beautiful site of the Manhattan skyline. The only thing was that it didn't look like Manhattan to me that morning, because a huge piece of picture was suddenly gone, and my heart sank, and still sinks when I see it. Or, don't see it, as the case may be.

It took me three years to go down to "Ground Zero" for the first time, and I've only been back once since then. I know myself pretty well, and I knew that I really didn't want to face the emotions that would inevitably arise from such a visit, and I wasn't wrong in this case. There isn't just a hole in the ground, but also a hole in my heart, and five years has not healed either wound. I'm sad. I'm angry. I'm disappointed. And I haven't forgotten anything.

I'm lucky in as much as I didn't lose a person that I loved, or any dear friends, but I lost dozens and dozens of people that were part of my every day life for almost my entire adult existence. It's just that I found that day to be a symbol of my own personal life in ways that are distinct and direct. There was life before 9/11 and now there is life after 9/11.

Let me wrap this up before I'm accused of melodrama, but there were just some things in life that were not supposed to disappear or change, and my life has endured plenty of change.

Strangers now live in my childhood home, and my elementary school has been torn down and replaced. I've buried my mother, lived through a horrible divorce and been blessed to become a father myself. Plenty of people in the world go through these same exact events themselves and all are part and parcel to the passing of time.

But those two towers just weren't supposed to go anywhere. They were huge and immovable markers that were going to outlive not only myself, but also probably my daughter and her kids. Now they're gone and I never had the chance to take my daughter to Windows on the World where we could order a burger and marvel at the idea of being 1,300 feet up in a building.

Sure, they were only buildings, but the people who died in them were fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, life partners and grandparents and now they're all gone. And for those of us who survived, we've lost a measure of our innocence that we cannot get back.

I miss a lot of things because of September 11th and I'm surprised and thankful America has not endured a similar attack since then and I pray that this trend continues. As the fifth anniversary of this atrocity passes, I simply wanted to share with you all my thoughts and memories in a hope that we'll all remember more than just the images of those towers burning and falling. And please don't think I'm just skipping the disaster that occurred at the Pentagon, but I've never even been to the Pentagon and have no personal stories to share. What I want us to remember and share are the fun times and memories, rather than just sadness.

I still eyeball everybody who boards an airplane and I would also vote for Rudy Giuliani for any office he ever runs for. I still run programs in New York, although it's now in midtown, but I count my blessings that my everyday life has not changed that dramatically.

But a part of my soul died that day and I suspect it is gone forever. Thank you all for reading this, and I hope your summer was a fantastic one.

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