An Intensely Personal Task

Melisi wanted to be a fireman ever since he was a little kid. "You get to run into burning buildings and ride on a back of a fire truck," he says. "Who could want more?" Melisi just took a roundabout way of getting there. After nine years in construction, he joined the Fire Department of New York (FDNY), eventually gravitating to Rescue 3 "The Building Collapse Unit" in the Bronx, where he worked from 1991 to 1996. A licensed crane operator, Melisi, also serves as a rigging and heavy equipment specialist for the Federal Emergency Management Agency's New York Task Force 1.

"You go through all kinds of training, all kinds of scenarios, but you never quite prepare for something like this, especially on this magnitude," says Melisi. The sheer size of the debris pile, the weight of columns some as heavy as 60 tons, made it clear that the tools being used in those early hours — a shovel and a bucket — were not enough. Melisi knew they needed heavy equipment like grapplers and cranes if they ever were to reach areas where survivors could have been trapped.

Of the more than 2,800 killed in the attacks on the towers, 343 were firemen. After 16 years with the FDNY, Melisi knew many of the fallen; some were very close friends. The rescue and later, the recovery operation, were intensely personal for firefighters. That intensity did not dim as months wore on, says Melisi. "You were drawn in and you wanted to stay there until you recovered everyone." Directing the recovery operation, the FDNY had an overriding mandate: remove the remains of victims in the most dignified manner possible and return them to the families.

At times, the indelicate jaws of machines, like the 275,000-pound excavator, made this difficult. Recovery workers wanted to stand nearby as the grapplers removed the debris. "The closer we were, we'd get that better look," says Melisi. "We'd be able to stop the machine hopefully before they dug into the remains." However, it was a very dangerous site, for a very long time, says Melisi. It was always a very delicate balance, trying to be as close as possible, without putting anyone at risk. Sometimes it was 50 feet, other times it was closer. With debris shifting constantly, the firefighters had to take care not to stand in between grapplers because they could be hurt if anything should slip out of their jaws or if they swung around suddenly.

Because safeguarding the lives of the recovery workers was paramount, Melisi conferred often with engineers, ironworkers and operating engineers on the best vantage point for the "spotters" He also worked with them to orient the recovery operation. Walking the site with engineers, architectural drawings in hand, they tried to locate stairwells where civilians would have been evacuating and emergency workers would have been climbing up. They also tried to identify spots where they knew various engine or ladder companies were last seen.

The contractors and engineers, on the other hand, often relied on Melisi for their exploratory trips below ground. "Sam had gone into spaces that, probably no one had gone into," says Port Authority engineer Peter Rinaldi. "He became an asset when we wanted to go below-grade and inspect some areas. Sam was always willing to get us down."

Every movement above ground, of people or equipment, could only be done after it was clear what lay beneath. When exploring "confined spaces," the role of Melisi and other emergency personnel was keep the groups under their care out of harm's way. "We just made sure they didn't wander off, fall into a hole, get impaled, or cause a secondary collapse," says Melisi.

Descending below with Melisi was always an eye-opener, says Richard Garlock, a structural engineer from Leslie E. Robertson Associates. Hearing how he approached the collapse from a search and rescue perspective was invaluable. "Melisi was a wealth of knowledge," says Garlock. "Working with him, I felt that, this guy never fails me, I can't fail him either. He's the kind of guy that makes those kinds of relationships."

Melisi's rapport with engineers, construction workers, operating engineers, and ironworkers on the site made him an ideal mediator and a soothing force when contentious issues arose such as how soon the debris ramp in the southeast corner of the site could be excavated. Known as the Tully Road, the ramp was directly over the footprint of the South Tower and was one of the last areas excavated since contractors needed it to transport debris out of the site.

Firefighters were anxious to get to the Tully Road because it lay where they had positioned the South Tower command station on the 11th and they anticipated they would find many people. Their suspicions were confirmed when they discovered a fire truck on the edge of the ramp. Unfortunately, as grapplers began to eat away at the compact debris, engineers grew increasingly concerned that they would undermine the one remaining exit out of the site. Breaking the news to the firefighters that they couldn't continue recovering was so difficult, says Melisi. "It's the hardest decision in the world to say 'Okay, we can't dig here anymore.'"

Melisi never believed the towers could come down. When they did, it meant that ultimately, everything is vulnerable. "It is kind of sad because you hope things would be safe, for your family, friends," he says. "At the same time, we realized that through a strong, structured assembly of people, no task is undoable."

<< 2