For 25 years, my dad kept his 9/11 story private. Then I asked him to talk about it

My father, Rocco Fertoli, was a captain with the New York City Fire Department (FDNY) on 9/11.

I never knew much about his story, because I always felt guilty asking him about one of the worst days of his life. Recently my dad told me he regretted not asking his father more about his Army service in World War II. When he expressed that regret, I told him I felt the same about 9/11, and my dad surprised me by agreeing to let me interview him.

Remembering Sept. 11, 2001

My father had the day off on 9/11 and was watching TV when a news alert came on: A plane had hit the north tower of the World Trade Center. It wasn't initially clear what was happening. But when a second plane hit the south tower, my dad knew it was an attack.

He rushed to his firehouse, Engine 320, Ladder 167 in Bayside, Queens, to grab some tools and then boarded a bus full of first responders heading into Manhattan.

Firefighters work at the site of the destroyed World Trade Center in New York City on Sept. 11, 2001.

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During the ride in, they heard on a portable radio that the south tower had collapsed. They were just blocks from the World Trade Center site when they watched through the bus windows as the north tower came down.

"I remember a plume of smoke, a lot of noise, a lot of gasping, a lot of people running," my dad recalled. "It was sheer panic at that point."

Papers, debris and concrete dust were flying around, making it difficult to navigate the wreckage. The air, he said, felt "like a bad sunburn and glass, like ripping at your face."

My father and his crew carefully made their way toward ground zero. On the way, he remembers running into an FDNY commissioner who appeared to be in shock.

Photographs and a patch that belong to Rocco Fertoli are seen in a family album. Fertoli lost dozens of colleagues and friends on Sept. 11, 2001, and many more have succumbed to illnesses related to the tragedy in the intervening years.

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"He had lost a whole bunch of his people there," my dad said. "They had gone into the towers, and when the building came down, they were crushed."

When they reached ground zero, they began digging through the destruction with whatever tools they had on hand, filling buckets and passing them up and down a line of people as they searched for survivors. My dad said it was like "spitting in the wind."

That first day, my father worked at the site until around 2 a.m. He came home briefly to check in with us and then went right back to ground zero with no sleep just hours later.

First responders dug through debris for weeks, finding human remains and personal effects that helped identify the victims. Pictures of missing people posted on fences and handed out at hospitals haunted my father.

Friends and family members of people missing after the 9/11 terrorist attacks post signs with photos and descriptions outside the Lexington Avenue Armory in New York City on Sept. 13, 2001.

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"It seemed like every eye on the wall was looking at you," he said. "You couldn't accommodate them."

My dad was angry that he wasn't able to do more, especially for his fellow firefighters. "You lost 343 guys that day, and I didn't find any of them," he said. "I didn't drag any of them out alive."

When he said that, I realized why he always seems to bristle at the word "hero."

Revisiting the World Trade Center 

Annmarie Fertoli interviews her father, Rocco Fertoli, at the 9/11 Memorial & Museum.

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My dad, now 75, had been to the World Trade Center site only twice since the recovery ended. But a few weeks before this year's anniversary, he agreed to come with me and suggested we retrace the route he took 25 years ago.

As we walked, he recalled vivid scenes of complete devastation: vehicles crushed under concrete and civilians and firefighters covered in dust running from the site. We made our way to the memorial plaza, where the twin towers once stood. Tourists gathered around, many with kids who were born after 9/11 and who will learn about it only from stories like my dad's.

My dad told me he was thinking about the colleagues he lost that day, including more than 30 he knew and worked with. Now, he worries about the challenges that first responders still face.

A couple embraces at one of the 9/11 Memorial's twin reflecting pools. The memorial's two reflecting pools sit where the twin towers once stood.

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Many of my dad's friends are sick from their exposure to toxic dust and other hazards on 9/11, with respiratory issues, post-traumatic stress disorder, cancers and other illnesses. The number of firefighters who have died from exposure at ground zero has now surpassed the number killed in the attacks.

I understand why my dad doesn't like to talk about what happened on 9/11. He decided to now because I asked him — and because he regrets not learning about his own father's wartime experience.

My dad thinks sharing his story might help us be more open with each other. He's also hoping it will help others who hear or read his story open up to their loved ones too.
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