Queen Elizabeth II September 11 Memorial Garden
Conseleya 9/11 Memorial
Dewitt 9/11 Memorial
Montclair State University 9/11 Memorial
East Newark 9/11 Memorial
Fair Haven 9/11 Memorial
Freehold Township 9/11 Living Memorial Tree Grove
Crescent Beach Park - Flagpole/Memorial for 9/11 Victims
Garrison Elementary School American Patriot Garden
Giovanna Gambale and her sister Antonia both worked in 1 World Trade Center. Antonia, who is 25 and worked on the fifth floor, was able to get out right away. She called her father, Anthony, in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, and told him she was OK. He told her to come home. Then he said, "What about your sister?"
Giovanna Gambale, 27, was a vice president at Cantor Fitzgerald, on the 105th floor. She loved the Mets, was so organized that even as a child she told the teachers what to do.
"Yesterday I would not have talked to you," Mr. Gambale told a reporter, "but we have had a lot of discussion. We are extremely sad, but we are resigned that my daughter is in heaven. We haven't heard from her in four days. I spoke to a psychiatrist at Cantor Fitzgerald yesterday and he more or less told us nobody survived.
"I loved my daughter, but I'm at peace with God. We've had three prayer services in front of my house: 300 people Wednesday, then 200, tonight about 150. There was a young man in the group whose father is a fireman, missing, caught in the rubble. And we talk about there is no greater love than to lay down your life for your friend and that is what the firemen did. I told people that never in my life did I ever imagine we would be saying prayers as a group on the street, in front of my home, and this is what God wants us to do. If we are going to destroy hatred and bigotry, what we have to do is begin being peaceful."
New York Times Portraits of Grief
Giovanna Gambale and her sister Antonia both worked in 1 World Trade Center. Antonia, who is 25 and worked on the fifth floor, was able to get out right away. She called her father, Anthony, in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, and told him she was OK. He told her to come home. Then he said, "What about your sister?"
Giovanna Gambale, 27, was a vice president at Cantor Fitzgerald, on the 105th floor. She loved the Mets, was so organized that even as a child she told the teachers what to do.
"Yesterday I would not have talked to you," Mr. Gambale told a reporter, "but we have had a lot of discussion. We are extremely sad, but we are resigned that my daughter is in heaven. We haven't heard from her in four days. I spoke to a psychiatrist at Cantor Fitzgerald yesterday and he more or less told us nobody survived.
"I loved my daughter, but I'm at peace with God. We've had three prayer services in front of my house: 300 people Wednesday, then 200, tonight about 150. There was a young man in the group whose father is a fireman, missing, caught in the rubble. And we talk about there is no greater love than to lay down your life for your friend and that is what the firemen did. I told people that never in my life did I ever imagine we would be saying prayers as a group on the street, in front of my home, and this is what God wants us to do. If we are going to destroy hatred and bigotry, what we have to do is begin being peaceful."
Dear Giovanna
I was there and your face was the first one I noticed. Take care of us.
Posted by Marcello Biagi
Gennie tribute
My college roommate lived in Brooklyn on Sept 11, and she wrote this reflection. It mentions Gennie (who she did not know). I just became aware of this website and Gennie’s identity here today, on the 25th anniversary. I want to share what my dear friend Mary wrote.
She’s got a million dollar smile. 5’6”, brown hair and brown eyes, 27 years old. Vice President at Cantor Fitzgerald. One of the thousands of signs up in my sad and searching city. Signs with scanned or photocopied images of people who were alive just a week ago, smiling, looking confident, happy, sexy posing with white puppies and little babies, children and groups of friends. Graduation photos, photos at the beach, party photos. All over the city. “Have you seen?” “Missing.” I think hers must be the first I saw and that’s why it jumps out at me. Maybe her family and friends organized quickly and put up more signs faster than others. Or maybe it’s because she is, by her last name, an Italian girl. I’m an Italian girl - well, half Italian. Maybe she’s half Italian too. Or maybe I’ve noticed her over and over again because of that knockout smile. On Tuesday I watched the towers burn from Brooklyn Heights. There is a place called the Promenade, a walkway that faces lower Manhattan. You can see the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, The Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan skyline from the Promenade. It’s a gathering place. People run, eat bagels, drink coffee, walk their babies there. It’s a great place to watch the sun set. I’ve heard people clap for the sunset on the Promenade. On Tuesday I gathered with stunned neighbors. We watched the towers burn, sending black smoke billowing into the perfectly blue Brooklyn sky. Smoke and thousands and thousands of pieces of paper flapping in the breeze. Singed, they landed in our streets. I watched the second tower fall. The grey cloud of dust and soot and ash flowed at us crossing the East River. Many people covered their mouths and eyes but I did not. I don’t know if I was too shocked to do anything or if I was trying to be brave (I can’t remember what I was thinking) but now I am glad I didn’t try to escape in any way. I could feel the soot and ash grainy in my hair and on my skin and all through my sinuses and lungs. In all of that dust from concrete being pulverized and office equipment being seared, all of the paper that went up in flames plus the carpeting and wiring and airplane seats that came my way on Tuesday, in and among all that floating ruin were people. Broken and battered people blasted to smithereens and vaporized by flame that was hot enough to bend the thick girders of two of the world’s tallest buildings. And so they were carried on the breeze to Brooklyn Heights and I got them all over me and I breathed and swallowed and they are part of me. Always. We who were there are living shrines. I’m thinking this smiling woman in the photo might have been part of that ash. Maybe she got out. I hope she did. But if she did fly free on Tuesday morning I welcome her. She is me. As I write this a week later, I smell the smoke. The buildings are still burning. Gennie lingers. May she and I and you all find rest and a lasting peace.
Posted by Tammy MacLean
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