Fallout and Aftermath in New York City

Edie Beaujon is a member of the Aruba Quota club. A mental health professional and a chaplain, she currently studies at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. She was one of the first ministers on the scene at the World Trade Center on September 11, immediately after the terrorist attacks.

The following article about her appeared in The Script (International Transactional Newsletter). A shorter version was also published in The Enneagram. It is published here with permission of the author.

The call for mental health workers and chaplains went out immediately after the September 11 bombing. Edie Beaujon was one of the first in line.

Almost by accident—or perhaps destiny, she walked by the Red Cross office following the dismissal of her class at Union Theology Seminary. With the dual credential of mental health worker and chaplain, she volunteered to go to Ground Zero. She went immediately and, in her un-shy way, went to the tables where 20-plus mental health workers sat under the sign "Counseling." After a brief consultation with the leaders, she decided that sitting under a sign was not the way to go.

Reaching Out

She went out to the action and began talking to the firemen and policemen who were coming off the pile. She took eye wash and offered to wash out their eyes. Most accepted, and then she engaged them in conversation. She offered them compassion, massages, hugs, prayers, and just plain conversation.

She helped them talk through the horrors, re-group their energies, recover from the numbness and shock. And she let them know how much we (the whole world) cared and what marvelous human beings they were. Soon the leader of the mental health workers came to her and asked, "Who are you and how do you manage to get them talking?"

"By reaching out to them, going to where they are, and offering them whatever they need," she answered.

Witness to the Pain

Day by day, Edie went to Ground Zero and scouted out those who were hurt, troubled, and in need of human kindness. The second day she came upon a man near the pile dressed in civilian clothes. She went to him and learned that his son, a firefighter, was under the rubble. The father just needed to be there. He talked about his son, saying he was a good son and a good father to his kids—how he had been in the delivery room when his son was born. Then he showed her a message he had written in dust on the window of the American Express Building: " I love you son. I'm here. Love, Dad."

She stood silently, witnessing his pain, then hugging him and offering him prayer. Edie never bothered to sit at the table labeled "Counseling." Soon the table was removed for lack of clients, but Edie had no lack of those who needed to talk and pray. The stories she received were chilling, but each day she summoned her energy and went back to the horrific scene.

On the Rubble Pile

After several days, I arrived to help her. She oriented me and told me what to do. She got me the right credentials, and the first thing I knew I was on the rubble pile with her. We offered words of praise, and we shared our concern for the workers. They talked, and we listened. If they needed anything, we sought to provide it. If they requested prayer, we prayed with them. If they didn't want to talk, we stood side by side with them. If they needed space and quiet, we helped them find it.

One firefighter was kneeling in a makeshift shrine for all those lost, and we stood quietly by as he reached out and touched several of the pictures. There was nothing we could do but feel his pain and admire his love of his brothers and sisters.

A Boat Called “Spirit”

In the reprise area, on a boat called "Spirit," we talked to the police, firemen, emergency workers, and contract workers. One worker told of having to lug his tools up 65 floors to repair the emergency generators. "That must have been difficult," I said.

"It was nothing compared…" His voice fell off. His attitude was the attitude of all—what we/they did was nothing. The real workers/heroes were dead in the middle of the pile.

Later, Edie received a call asking if she would go to work with the Emergency Medical Technicians (911-ers). The union leader felt that they were in serious trouble, fighting amongst themselves. Immediately she went, visited, and made arrangements to come back and do a workshop.

Frustration and Fatigue

They were in trouble. Their frustration and fatigue had turned in on them, and they were spewing their anger and frustration on one another. After several days of negotiation she worked out a time to go. She asked me to help.

We had a plan. When we got there, we realized that the situation was severe. One of their fellow workers had flipped out the day after the second tower had nearly collapsed on him and his partner. He had gone AWOL for several days. They thought they had gotten him help, but they were not sure.

Another worker lost three cousins. They were angry and frustrated. They didn't know how to help. Most were troubled because they felt that they could have done much more. One felt guilty because one day at Ground Zero was all he could stand. Almost all felt frustrated because they felt their skills were not properly utilized.

Edie Plugged Away

Here we were. How could we help? They were skeptical of us mental health/ministers, and we were unsure about what might be helpful. But Edie plugged away, going out and personally asking each one to come to the session.

The first thing Edie did was tell them her experience of Ground Zero, how it had been both Heaven and Hell in one place—the Hell being the destruction and the Heaven being how people treated one another with love, kindness, and compassion. "We are all brothers here," many had told her.

She told them some statistics we had heard from a colleague from Oklahoma City who had worked with the firemen and policemen and survivors after the bombing. Then she opened up the floor to them to let them talk.

Letting Them Vent

The first thing they wanted to do was to complain about the supervisors and administration. And they did so vehemently. They talked about being "mandated," written up for not complying with the rules. We let them vent and facilitated the process so that each had their turn and felt they were heard. There were 12 all together—10 EMT-ers and 2 supervisors.

Afterwards, Edie said that, as she had been listening, she had heard of a lot of "negative" recognition, but was wondering if they ever got written up for anything good that they had done. There was silence in the room, then they laughed. "Are you kidding?" one said.

Trying Something New

Edie asked if they were willing to do an experiment. They reluctantly agreed. She put a chair next to her and said that this was the recognition chair and that she would like them, one by one, to come to the chair and for their peers—as they felt like they wanted to and if they had anything authentic to say that was positive—to tell it to the person in the chair.

They hesitated, but first one volunteered and then another. Soon all had participated in a "stroke-a-thon," and they were a "gushing team"—recalling incident after incident, how one of them had saved another; telling how much they appreciated each other; even telling the management staff what they liked about them and acknowledging that they understood how tough their job was, not being able to go out and give direct services

Refusing to Cower

We concluded with some basic ways of handling stress, and Edie left them with the challenge that they had a choice to make their working environment like the heaven or hell part of Ground Zero. It was up to them, depending on how they chose to treat each other.

What we did was so simple. What they needed was so basic. We, like the workers, felt that we did precious little, but we did what we thought was needed. We ended by asking if they would mind if we held hands and said a prayer. Everyone gathered together, and we read a prayer written after the bombing of London.

Edie is action-oriented. She volunteered, she refused to sit at the table, and she refused to cower in the face of hostility and turmoil.

Edie and I made friends—friends we may never see again, but friends nonetheless.

Denton Roberts, M.Div.
© 2001