Tuesday September the eleventh, two thousand and one will always be a turning point in our family. As each anniversary passes it no longer define our hearts. Years later that smell and the nightmares still linger in my mind.Our temper has become sharper and our soul a little empty, it has happened on the anniversary each year. We are getting used to it now. The streets are alive again but we can still see the missing posters, the candle vigils and the plume of smoke that marred the skyline. It was at the corner of St. Peter’s church in the shadow of what was the World Trade Center where we stood surveying the damage, yards from where the World Trade Center stood. A dozen hours earlier we looked forward to a day at the top of the world. Now we stood thankful to be alive in the bowels of Hades.We were trying to find ways to be helpful in the rescue effort. We assumed there would be many survivors, but all we saw was the unthinkable and a tattered flag illuminated by searchlights and burning fires. In the heart of the darkest jungle lower Manhattan was abandoned except for this place, this void that swallowed a city. A woman beside us was sketching. She said she had to be creative to survive by expressing her emotions.   


 On notepaper from the Regis with a borrowed pen I began the words that defined our resilience that night. As years have past I often forget the words to Spirit of America as I wrote it that night in September.The feelings and smells will haunt me for a lifetime; the city has moved on but the scar will always remind us of the moment we lost our innocence.

We walked up Greenwich Street past PS 234 then past PS190, the schoolyards empty, like the opening of a Terminator movie it felt as though the world had ended. We walked a couple of miles through the streets of one of the world biggest cities and we were alone…. we turned on North Moore street past an old friend’s home; the restaurants and flower shops were abandoned, even China Town lay quiet…this is the stuff of horror movies. For me the worst was yet to come, a week later just after midnight in Times Square, no one except a beat cop, myself and two displaced souls. The busiest place on earth was silent….

Today the restaurants and flower shops on North Moore flourish, schoolyards at PS 234 and 190 observe a moment of silence and then bustle again. Times Square, my heart once again beats and today life goes on…


Be it older and hardened, the city does what it does best, adapt to change.We can never forget that day; the hope and promise of thousands of dreams gone in less then 10 seconds…The love lost is the most painful to see… Our art is our expression that night we took ashes and concrete dust the remnants of the heart of lower Manhattan and preserved it in an urn, later on September 11, 2002 at the memorial we took concrete and soil from the circle of life memorial in the footprint of the towers it was then we knew we had to create our Resurrected Christ. The design took years until finally on Easter weekend the face of Christ was as we had envisioned that Tuesday night in September. Our Resurrected Christ was cast from the remains of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Our creation of healing in the face of Christ ; the reflection and memories of thousands of angles born that day.


Christmas Eve Mass 2005 The first Resurrected Christ sculpture is presented to St.Peters church Ground Zero

Cast from the reconstituted remains of the World Trade Center were four Resurrected Christ sculptures.

  •  one housed in St. Peters church Barclay St. New York city at ground zero,
  •  one with Theodore Cardinal McCarrick Archbishop of Washington D.C.  
  •  the other two awaiting their completion and home in New York City.     


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