FILMFESTINSIDERSGUIDE

VOL.8 NO.268 S AT U R DAY, S E P T E M B E R 9 , 2 0 0 6

Toronto magazine has 40 pages of stars, spas, shops ... & movies.
w w w. n a t i o n a l p o s t . c o m

To mark the fth anniversary of Sept. 11, The Post sought out ve people from the photos of the attack. They share their stories of the day that changed their lives, and ours, forever. AFTERMATH
Mourners, survivors and a rescuer. A10, 11, 12 Firms recover. FP1, 4, 5

FACES OF SURVIVAL

9/11: FIVE YEARS ON

Why did he come to B.C.? He was invited

BRIAN HUTCHINSON
i n Va n c o u v e r

The Dalai Lamas mystery tour

PHOTO BY PHIL PENMAN / SPLASH NEWS / KEYSTONE CANADA. COPYRIGHT 2001 BY SPLASH NEWS

Three men walk away from the World Trade Center: George Sleigh, right, is shown recently below in the sunroom of his Ohio home.

The plane hit one oor up

B Y M A R Y VA L L I S

MORE ACCOUNTS

n September 11, 2001, George Sleigh sat at his desk on the 91st floor of the World Trade Center and watched an airplane fly directly toward him. He noticed the airplanes underbelly gleaming in the morning light. He noticed the wheels were still up. And then, boom. American Airlines Flight 11 hit the building. It flew into the building going 500 miles an hour or so, recalls Mr. Sleigh, 68. I didnt have time to do much else than cover my head and pray for the best. The ceiling tiles fell. The bookcase in his office toppled; books tumbled on him. He did not know at the time that the plane hit the 92nd floor, just a few feet above him. It was time to get out. Down, down, down, Mr. Sleigh walked

STEPHEN R. CUTRI FOR NATIONAL POST

with 10 colleagues from the American Bureau of Shipping, down 182 flights of stairs, past the firefighters walking up and into the concourse. He eventually climbed up a set of stairs onto the street. As Mr. Sleigh walked up Fulton Street, a photographer named Phil Penman snapped

his photograph. It shows him walking behind two Port Authority engineers toward Broadway with a look of determination. His face is covered in ash as he shuffles through an ankle-deep layer of dust and office paper on the street. He is clutching his canvas briefcase.

That briefcase was all Mr. Sleigh had time to grab from his office. He dove back into the rubble for it because it contained an address book with his wifes office number (he did not know it by heart; she had just moved to a new job). He would not reach her for several more hours, after he reached Beth Israel Medical Center and managed to get through on a pay phone. His eldest son, Stephen, was living in London. He saw the photograph in The Daily Telegraph the following day. They looked like three soldiers emerging from the battlefield, caked with a mixture of blood, dust, soot and water from the firehoses and sprinklers, Stephen Sleigh wrote in a journal entry he sent to family and friends on Sept. 14, 2001. Dads right pant leg was soaked with blood, but with adrenaline flowing; he didnt know that he was bleeding.
See SLEIGH on Page A10

Most of us know him as His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. Tenzin Gyatso describes himself on his official Web site as a simple Buddhist monk. But nothing is simple when this monk comes to town. He acknowledged as much when he arrived here for a weekend visit. The Dalai Lamas presence in Vancouver has reportedly irritated the most populous country on Earth, one of Canadas largest trading partners: the Peoples Republic of China. Im sorry, he said on his arrival Thursday. Wherever I go [it] creates some inconvenience. Im very sorry. But hopefully its not my fault. The Dalai Lamas trip here has also drawn thousands of devotees. Celebrities and ordinary folk. Children, business leaders, politicians, gurus. Kim Campbell is in town, and Deepak Chopra, and Jason Kenney, Canadas parliamentary secretary to the Prime Minister. Bill Clinton, alas, sent his regrets. The Dalai Lamas star-like tour kicked off with a packed news conference at Vancouver City Hall. Mayor Sam Sullivan beamed as he introduced his esteemed guest. The Dalai Lama wore traditional red and saffron robes, and sensible red walking shoes. He had just made a 40-hour journey from his base in Dharamasala, India, and looked a little worse for wear. A little dour, perhaps, even unaware of what city he was in; the 71-year-old has a famously poor memory. Why are you here? someone asked. The Dalai Lama brightened. Quite simple. There was an invitation.
See TRIP on Page A8
PUBLISHED BY THE NATIONAL POST COMPANY, A SUBSIDIARY OF CANWEST MEDIAWORKS INC., 300-1450 DON MILLS RD., DON MILLS, ONT., M3B 3R5

Publication Mail Agreement Number 40069573

INDEX
FRUM

CLASSIFIED FP6, FW7, 8, 9 & S6, 7 COYNE A18 DIVERSIONS WP19 EDITORIALS A18 FULFORD A21

GOVANI A16, TO6

A18

REMEMBERINGWP18

JONAS A21 LOTTERIES WP19

WEATHER

S5

Your VISA Business card opens doors to new opportunities and gives you room to seize the day. > Higher credit limits than personal cards > Separate business from personal expenses > Interest rates as low as prime*. Find out more at visa.ca/smallbusiness.

Small Business. Big Possibilities.

Registered trademark of Visa International Service Association; Visa Canada is a licensed user. Trademark of Visa International; Visa Canada is a licensed user. *Rates may vary, depending on your financial institution.

A10

F A C E S O F S U R V I VA L
9/11: FIVE YEARS ON

NATIONAL POST, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2006

A11

GULNARA SAMOILOVA

JOHN LABRIOLA / THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

ANDREW VAUGHAN / THE CANADIAN PRESS

Donna Spera is carried to safety by U.S. Marshal Dominic Guadagnoli in this photograph taken on 9/11. Guadagnoli and Spera are seen below in a recent photo taken at Speras New Jersey home.

New York firefighter Mike Kehoe climbs a stairwell inside the burning World Trade Center in this photograph snapped on 9/11 by a fleeing office worker. The photo one of the few taken inside the towers before they fell was carried in newspapers around the world. Below, Kehoe, who plays down his heroics that day, relaxes with sons Ryan, Jack and Michael in a recent picture taken at his Staten Island home.

Were the forgotten ones, shell-shocked survivor says

and Max, her cocker spaniel, constantly barks at the cupboard door for treats. She was once an administrative assistant at Aon but she no longer works. She sits in front of the television O L D B R I D G E , N. J. New York is only a few miles from Donna Speras suburban home in and draws pictures for hours at a time. Thats south Jersey. Only a thin river of water sepa- my therapy. She takes her pills Zoloft, Nexium and rates her from Manhattan. But in the five years since an airplane crashed into her World Trade Xanax for the anxiety. She visits a psychologist Center office, she has not gone back, not once, and a psychiatrist and attends a support group for injured World Trade Center survivors every not for anything. Ms. Spera will not set foot in Manhattan. She Wednesday. On her down days, as she calls them, she does not leave the house. simply cant. After several surgeries and skin grafts, Ms. I hope one day I can get to the city, she says Speras physical wounds have healed, although wistfully over coffee in her kitchen. Im scared. Im scared to go over the bridge she is still scarred. The slightest reminders still throw her off. or [through] the tunnel. I havent been in a tunnel in five years. I used to travel the tunnel She has trouble walking down the concrete stairwells of parking garages they are too every day. A photograph of Ms. Spera burned and much like the endless stairs she walked down bloody and clinging to the neck of a U.S. Mar- on Sept. 11. She calls the police when helishal appeared in dozens of newspapers, as copters hover low in her neighbourhood, checking the power lines. She hears airplanes flying well as People magazine. Ms. Spera worked on the 100th floor of the overhead before anyone else. She buys gas at south tower, and rushed down a stairwell after only one station. Im going to sound prejudiced, but I cant the first plane hit the other building. As she and stand the sight of an her colleagues evacArab, Ms. Spera conuated, an announcefides. ment over the buildI just dont trust ings speakers said them. Even the gas stait was safe to return tion. I go to this gas stato their desks. They tion, theyre American. I decided to call it a refuse to go anywhere day anyway, and else. I dont care how were waiting for an much the gas is. elevator on the 78th She received money floor when the secfrom a federal compensaond plane smashed tion fund that disbursed into their building. more than US$7-billion to About 200 people more than 5,000 victims were in the sky lobof Sept. 11, but she hesiby. Only 12 survived. tates to discuss the Ms. Speras back amount. Money didnt was to the windows cure what I went as she huddled with through, she says. a group of colAt this point in her releagues. Her arms covery, such as it is, Ms. flailed above her GULNARA SAMOILOVA FOR NATIONAL POST Spera is angry. head with the imWere the forgotten ones, she says, fingering pact. Jet fuel and heat left second- and third-degree burns on her arms. Her back was one big a silver bracelet on her left wrist reading SURVIVOR. bruise. She smashed her left hand. You never see injured people recognized. It She noticed she had dropped her pocketbook and cellphone because of the impact. They fell was always the firemen, the spouses, mothers on to the body of her friend, Casey. Then every- and fathers of people that died. What brightens her life are the e-mails and thing was black. She dropped to her hands and knees and heard a man calling her to a stair- telephone calls she gets from Dominic Guadagnoli, the U.S. Marshal who scooped her up outwell. Down hundreds of stairs she went. The stair- side the burning tower and did not leave her unway was nearly empty only five other sur- til she was loaded into an ambulance. He vivors were in the stairwell, pushing debris tracked her down a few weeks after Sept. 11. Ms. Spera and her husband, Ted, routinely aside as they descended the bloody stairs. Ms. Spera credits Red Bull and half a crumb cake had dinners with Mr. Guadagnoli and his wife the Tuesday treat from the farmers market she before her rescuer moved to Pensacola, Fla. ate before the towers were attacked with giv- They still see each other when they can. Ms. Spera misses the city and her friends in ing her the energy to make it outside before she New York from her safe perch in New Jersey. collapsed. She spent two weeks in the hospital recover- She worries about Ted as he navigates the ing from the burns and lacerations that criss- streets of Manhattan delivering water every crossed her body. Soon after she got home, she day. She wishes she could see the Christmas cut her hair into short spikes because she could tree in Rockefeller Center again. Maybe someday. But not yet. not wash out the acrid smell of jet fuel. National Post These days, Ms. Spera stays close to home, mvallis@nationalpost.com where faded American flags line her flower bed,
B Y M A R Y VA L L I S

Im happy where I am
B Y M A R Y VA L L I S

Helman Correa is seen on Sept. 14, 2001, wearing a placard bearing his missing sons photo. When I saw the towers collapse ... something collapsed inside me, says Correa, below, in a recent photo.

Five years, and we have nothing: grieving father

B Y M A R Y VA L L I S

Mike Kehoes tiny bungalow. Over the din of a Yankees game, his two-year-old twins are hopping through the living room like bunnies, then swimming on the floor like fish, then kicking a soccer ball, then running for the toilet with their father in pursuit (it is tough enough toilet training one toddler, let alone a pair of them, Mr. Kehoe says). All the while, Mr. Kehoes three-monthold, Jack a big buddha of a baby is burbling quietly on the lap of his wife, E.J. This is what has happened to Mr. Kehoe, firefighter, in the five years since Sept. 11. After sifting through the rubble for body parts and attending countless funerals for his comrades, he became a father. Mr. Kehoe and four other firefighters escaped from the north tower 30 seconds before it fell, but not before an office worker snapped a picture of him coming up the stairs laden with equipment and wearing his helmet. That photograph one of the few taken inside the towers before they fell was carried in newspapers around the world, including the National Post. One New York newspaper reported that Mr. Kehoe was dead. Once the media found out he was alive, everyone wanted an interview. Mr. Kehoe believes he reached the 29th-floor landing when they heard a fire chief ordering them out of the building. After that point, nobody above the 30th floor left the tower alive, Mr. Kehoe says. It was like trying to outrun a

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. Life fills

JESSE WINTER FOR NATIONAL POST

dust cloud, like a cartoon. You know, when theyre trying to outrun it? Thats exactly what it was like, says Mr. Kehoe, 38, his eyes on the baseball game on television. Just getting out, getting out by 30 seconds ... its something, you know? To hear Mr. Kehoe tell the story, he is not a hero, just a firefighter who survived a tragic day on the job. He took a few weeks of leave after working 24-hour shifts sifting through the rubble. His jaw tenses as he talks about

it. After a few days at his summer home on the Jersey shore, it was time to get back to work. Business as usual is how Mr. Kehoe describes it. You know, funerals, work. We would go to funerals every day we were off. Three hundred and fortythree firefighters died on Sept. 11. Mr. Kehoe counts up the ones he personally knew on his fingers. He loses count somewhere around 26, not including the guys he knew from school. But Mr. Kehoe went to more funerals than that every available fire-

fighter not working would go. The photograph has brought him fame. He got to meet British Prime Minister Tony Blair and travelled to London to accept an award on behalf of emergency workers who responded to the call on Sept. 11. People recognized him on the street. Dozens of fans sent letters and cheques for firemens widows. Bob Resnick, a Coast Guard veteran who supplied the U.S. flag that was famously raised at Iwo Jima, called Mr. Kehoe from Florida to chat. He told the fireman he knew

what he was going through. Its this image of men like Mr. Kehoe, determined and selfless in their call to duty and simple humanity, rushing 80, 90 floors up the towers to save lives, heedless of their own, that will stay with me forever, one fan wrote on his blog. It is the most hopeful thing I can recover about us as human beings, in the face of the evil that happened that day. Mr. Kehoe says all the attention caused friction at his fire station, perhaps because his col-

leagues thought the attention should go to the six firemen from their firehouse who died. A couple of the older guys were getting a little ... I dont know ... a little mad at all the coverage, he admits. I didnt ask for it. All of the correspondence is upstairs in Mr. Kehoes attic, stuffed into two bins with reams of articles about 9/11. He hopes to convert the space into a second storey for his family soon. Since 2001, Mr. Kehoe has transferred from Engine 28 to a Brooklyn firehouse. He is quick to point out that he put in for a transfer before the events of Sept. 11 he does not want anyone to assume he abandoned his colleagues. He still thinks of the possibilities that day. If he hadnt been carrying so much gear, for example, he might have climbed higher than he did and not heard the chief s call to get out. Quitting the firehouse, however, does not cross his mind. Mr. Kehoe is a fireman for life, just like his father and brother. Either Michael or Ryan, one of the Kehoes twins, races back into the living room naked. The other is standing quietly, a finger up his nose. Mr. Kehoe rises, turns off the game and shoos the naked boy to the bedroom, while warning the other to remove the finger. Strains of Old McDonald echo through the small house, E-I-E-I-O. The time for talking about the past is over. Im happy where I am, Mr. Kehoe says. You see the kids running around. Its normal. As normal as can be, right?
National Post mvallis@nationalpost.com

FA I R V I E W, N. J. Helman Correa lost more

The one thing that haunts me is the remen ... their faces
Continued from Page A1

SLEIGH

George Sleigh also did not know at the time that another airplane had hit the second tower. And he did not know that everyone on the floors above him in the north tower had died. A religious man, Mr. Sleigh says faith is not what saved him. A lot of the people who had

the same faith did not make it out that day, Mr. Sleigh says. But it certainly has sustained me in the days that followed. Five years later, Mr. Sleigh has retired. It was not a decision born out of the Sept. 11 attacks the time merely came. He and his wife, Elaine, have moved to Hudson, Ohio, from Livingston, N.J. He spends his days cutting the lawn, doing the daily Sudoku puzzle and volunteering at their

independent evangelical church. They frequently visit their three children and 11 grandchildren in New Jersey, Massachusetts and Illinois. He speaks of the events of Sept. 11 with whoever wants to listen. He is calm and straightforward. Mr. Sleigh does not have nightmares about Sept. 11, 2001. A few weeks ago, he watched the movie World Trade Center. He praises it as an accu-

rate and non-politicized version of what happened. He frequently gives talks about his experience on that day at schools and conferences. If Mr. Sleigh is offered money for his time, he donates it to charity. His composure may come from experience: Mr. Sleigh was also working at the World Trade Center on the 106th floor when it was attacked in 1993. He strives not to speculate on

why he survived. In the weeks following the attack, Mr. Sleigh sat down and wrote his own version of events. When he has a what if moment and is tempted to second-guess his decisions, he re-reads his words and remembers why he and the other American Bureau of Shipping employees made the choices they did. You know, the one thing that really haunts me a little bit is the firemen, Mr. Sleigh says softly.

Most of those firemen did not survive. When we were going down the stairs, it took an hour to get out. We were the 91st floor and there were 182 flights of stairs. As we were getting closer to the bottom, the firemen were starting to come in. Just their faces. I still see some of that.
National Post mvallis@nationalpost.com

than just his son on Sept. 11, 2001. He is separated from his wife, Marina, and lives in a bachelor apartment. He lost his job of 12 years in 2004. And he has not seen his granddaughter, Katrina, since a few weeks after the terrorist attacks on New York. His living room is meticulously clean. His single bed, which sits behind a curtain in a corner of the kitchen, is carefully made. On the weekends, he brings over the family cockapoo, Nino, which he bought on the advice of a therapist. Sometimes, he slips up and calls the dog Danny, after his son. Danny Correa Gutierrez was working 98 floors up in the north tower of the World Trade Center, where he worked in Marsh & McLennans accounting department, when the building collapsed. He was 25. We expected so much of him, Mr. Correa says, his eyes welling with tears. He said he was going to reach the stars, which he did. A Colombian immigrant, Mr. Correa brought Marina and Danny to New Jersey when his son was three years old. In 2001, Mr. Correa was working as a maintenance supervisor at a drug companys headquarters. On Sept. 11, he dropped his son off at the train station and had breakfast in the company cafeteria overlooking the Manhattan skyline. From his vantage point, he watched the north tower burning, the second plane hit and the towers fall. When I saw the towers collapse, I felt like something collapsed inside of me, Mr. Correa says. He took three months off work, but could not set foot in the cafeteria again for a year. He spent weeks searching for his son. A picture of Mr. Correa wearing a placard of his sons face appeared on page 3 of the National Post on Sept. 14, 2001, along with a story about families desperately searching for their loved ones. Mr. Correa says the photograph was probably taken after he visited one of the many victims centres as he searched for Dannys name in the books listing survivors. The hardest moments, he says, were when he could not find his sons name on the lists. Mr. Correa reaches to his television stand and pulls out a large white binder he assembled after Dannys disappearance. Hundreds of plastic-protected pages tell his life story. There are photos of him in a clown costume and carrying the rings at a family friends wedding, with his ears sticking out above his bow tie and a grin on his face. Further back are transcripts from Berkeley College, where he earned straight As. There are

photographs of Danny playing guitar and singing in his band, Lucid-A, pictures of his daughter, Katrina, born to a girlfriend when he was 22, and the last birthday card he gave to Mr. Correa. Buried somewhere in the middle of the binder is Dannys death certificate. Physical injuries, is listed as the cause of the death, body not found. Mr. Correa has no focal point for his grief: In the five years that have passed, not a trace of Danny has surfaced not a bone fragment, not an identification card, not a scrap of DNA. Five years, and we have nothing, Mr. Correa says, Not even his daughter. In the days following Sept. 11, Katrina and her mother spent time at the Correa home waiting for word of Dannys fate. But a few months later, he received a letter from her lawyer requesting Dannys belongings: His song lyrics, his CD collection, his stereo and his gold ring that spelled Dad in diamond chips. With the help of a lawyer who volunteered her time, the Correas won that part of the battle, but they lost Katrina. The Correas initially went to court for visitation rights but later gave up the fight, fearing Katrinas mothers reaction would do the child more harm than good. She was fiercely protective of the girl and would not open the door when the Correas tried to visit. Katrina is now nine. A day after losing his job, Mr. Correa moved out of his family's home, where his wife and daughter still live. He does not know whether the arrangement is permanent. I still care about them. They care about me. We have a nice relationship, Mr. Correa says. But its better like this, because shes STEVE SIMON FOR NATIONAL POST grieving in one way, Im grieving in another way, my daughter is grieving in another way. Mr. Correa has since found another maintenance job and says his relationship with his family is good. But there is no moving on from what happened there are reminders of what happened every single day. Every day, he checks a Web site where visitors write tributes to his son, to see if anyone has written anything new. Mr. Correa puts the big white binder back under the television, near a framed picture of Danny, and pops a CD of his sons music in the stereo. His sons voice fills the room. Mr. Correa cranks the stereo louder. As the music blasts, he prints out sheet after sheet of lyrics. Looking back, Mr. Correa interprets some of his sons songs as premonitions of Dannys death. It is gaining ground on us/Peering thru the cracks in the walls/closer than its ever seemed, reads one song. Its over-rated/its over/say good-bye.
National Post mvallis@nationalpost.com

A12

FA C E S O F S U RV I VA L

NATIONAL POST, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2006

She thought it was incredible that she could see a jet plane ying by the windows, not knowing one day one would y right into her windows. 9/11: FIVE YEARS ON

JEFF CHRISTENSEN / REUTERS

Richard Pecorella, below and below right with his former fiance Karen Juday, believes Karen can be seen in this photograph of the World Trade Centers burning north tower on Sept. 11, 2001.

There is no closure
B Y M A R Y VA L L I S in Brooklyn, N.Y.
JEFF ZELEVANSKY FOR NATIONAL POST

here she is do you see her? She is standing in the top right corner of the photograph, leaning out, looking down from a window of the World Trade Centers burning north tower, perhaps contemplating whether to leap. The tower crumbled moments after this photograph was taken. Hundreds of workers trapped inside went down with it. Richard Pecorella hopes the woman is his fiance, Karen Juday. He hopes she jumped. If she jumped, I know she didnt suffer, Mr. Pecorella said over the rumble of his oxygen tank. He suffers from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Looking at that picture with her standing in the window, if she didnt jump and she burned up, there had to be excruciating pain. I didnt want her to suffer if she was gonna die. The Reuters photograph ran on Page 3 of the National Post on Sept. 12, 2001. Mr. Pecorella keeps it stored on the hard drive of his office computer in Brooklyn, where he is the managing director of an investment firm. Five years

later, he is still on a quest to find out what happened in the last moments of her life. Mr. Pecorella says he is 90% convinced the woman in the photograph is his Karen, who moved to New York from farm country in Indiana to live with him four years earlier. It is not the

... and a word from Saul Korman Periodically in these columns, I suggest that readers register with KORRYS for e-mail notication of special events and sales prior to invitations going out to the general public. Well, this is one of those times. Were putting together a great list of fall happenings that you likely wont want to miss beginning with our semiannual Canali Trunk Show, co-hosted by Canali rep Bruno Mancini, booked for Thursday, September 28th. Make a note in your calendars to join us from 5 PM onward at 569 DANFORTH AVENUE, just west of Pape.... Ive got my own slate of events to attend, and they all seem to be taking place today. This morning, Im at Beth Emeth synagogue, celebrating the bar mitzvah of Jonathan Korman, the son of cousins Susan and Michael Korman, and grandson of Bubbe Ruth. This evening, I have been invited to two lm premieres: Hugo Bosss presentation of Stranger Than Fiction (where I hope to meet its stars, Will Ferrell, Emma Thompson, QueenLatifah

and Dustin Hoffman) and Muzik, which promises personal appearances by Lou Gossett, Jr. and Samuel L. Jackson.... KORRYS played host to another star this week. On Wednesday, Rick Mercer and producer Gerald Lunz dropped by to outt the Newfoundland Kid for a new season of CBCs popular Rick Mercer Report (Tuesday nights, for those few of you out there who havent found it yet). Rick picked out a black, threebutton Boss suit, reminding me that hes been wearing suits from here since I started. In his honour, therefore, Ive decided to re-title our rack of Boss threebuttons as The Rick Mercer Resort. Of course, we have got a lot more stuff to see in store right now. I am delighted by the look of all the new fall clothing styles and I am also pleased by the way our top luxury lines are selling through at such a quick rate. It seems our customer knows quality when he sees it and also plans to get it before anybody else does. UP NEXT: TRUNK CALL

only picture stored on his hard drive. Another news photo shows a woman wearing the same outfit plunging through the air, her head back and her feet trailing as she falls. Mr. Pecorella found the images about two months after Karens death as he scoured the news sites for her face. The woman leaning out is wearing khaki pants and a sleeveless top, just what Karen was wearing when she left for her job on the 101st floor for the last time. The body shape is right. The woman is wearing a bandanna, just as Karen did while behind her desk at Cantor Fitzgerald, where she was an administrative assistant, to keep her blond curls off her face. As soon as I saw them, I thought it was her, Mr. Pecorella said. And then I tried looking for more to confirm it. Karen was the love of Mr. Pecorellas life. They met at a NASCAR race in Pennsylvania in 1996, when they were both going through divorces. She moved into his apartment the following year. He was amazed by how quickly she became a New Yorker. Many times, she called me up when a plane would fly by the window, he recalled. She thought it was incredible that she could see a jet plane flying by the windows, not knowing one day one would fly right into her windows. From his fifth-floor office in Brooklyn, Mr. Pecorella could see the World Trade Centers north tower burning on

that day. He grew hysterical; his colleagues would not let him leave the office. He remembers throwing his chair at a window, trying to escape. That night, he carefully placed her toothbrush, hairbrush and bathroom glass in Ziploc bags for DNA identification. For months after Karens death, her pet parrot, Speedo, kept asking for her. Mr. Pecorella took six months off work and gained 90 pounds. Once, he woke up in his hallway after a dream in which he could see Karen through the

I DIDNT WANT HER TO SUFFER IF SHE WAS GONNA DIE

peephole in his door. His health is still suffering: He struggles to sleep, was recently diagnosed with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and is hooked up to an oxygen machine 24 hours a day. He finally quit smoking a few weeks ago. The habit could have contributed to his health problems, he admits, but he also believes the chemicalheavy air following the Sept. 11 attacks played a role. He held a memorial service for Karen on Oct. 13, 2001, at a funeral parlour with a view of the Verrazano-Nar-

rows Bridge, where they met the first time she came to New York. That Christmas Eve, he received a call: One of Karens bones had been found. He threw her ashes off the Verrazano. A few months later, he got another call saying another bone fragment had been found. In some ways, he has moved on. He has signed a waiver saying he does not want to be notified if any more of her remains are found. He moved out of the apartment they shared and recently bought his parents home in Brooklyn. He is dating again. His girlfriend lost her husband and teenaged son to health problems. They share a bond because they have both lost loved ones. They do not plan to marry. We enjoy life. We love each other, but in a different way than the people we were with, Mr. Pecorella explained. He still keeps a shrine to Karen on his office shelves: a hunk of steel from the World Trade Center, a wooden container of ashes, a teddy bear with wings, a scented purple candle and framed photographs of her. Her face is the wallpaper on his computer desktop. No, Mr. Pecorella is not over it. He does not have closure. Nor does he want it. It will never be over for me, he said. This was the one, the one in a lifetime.
National Post mvallis@nationalpost.com