“No amount of training could have prepared me to be at the largest crime scene in history. But I wasn’t alone.”
— Joaquin Guerrero
It was just as beautiful in Saginaw, Michigan, as it was in New York City on that crisp early Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001.
The skies seemed bluer than usual. The air was cool with just a hint of fall. It was an ordinary morning, until it wasn’t.
My friend Joaquin was a Saginaw cop. That morning, he was in Juvenile Court preparing to testify in a case when he noticed people gathering around a television. He walked over to see what was going on. On the screen, the North Tower of the World Trade Center was burning. He heard someone say that a small plane had slammed into it.
He had no way of knowing that within hours, he would be standing atop a pile of rubble that was once the Twin Towers.
His court case was adjourned, and Joaquin went home. He arrived just in time to see the second plane strike the South Tower.
This was no small plane. This was no accident. America was under attack.
By 10:28am, both towers would be gone, forever changing the New York City skyline.
Joaquin was a K9 officer. Watching the devastation unfold from 700 miles away, he knew he and his partner, a 90-pound German Shepherd named Rookie, could help. Within hours, Joaquin and Rookie were on their way to New York City. “Come to Giants Stadium,” were his only instructions. He had never even been to New York.
Twenty-five years have passed, but when Joaquin remembers the week he spent at Ground Zero, it’s as if it was last week. His memories are vivid, detailed and specific.
He remembers the five-gallon orange buckets used to clear debris and collect body parts.
“To this day, I can’t look at those at Home Depot,” he told me. “Everyone down there hoped we’d be digging through the twisted steel to find miracle survivors. What we found fit in buckets.”
That sentence stays with you.
Joaquin is a man of great faith. He doesn’t hesitate when asked where his strength came from during those terrible days.
As the heat smoldered beneath him, he was covered from head to toe in dust from the crushed concrete and shattered glass. “I can still smell the burning jet fuel today,” he said. “I had a mask on, and all I could hear was my breathing and my heartbeat. I relied on the Lord. He kept me calm. I prayed constantly for Him to keep my mind pure and clean. I had seen some pretty horrific crime scenes in my life, but nothing like this.”
What I love most about talking with Joaquin is how easily he shifts from what he was experiencing to what others were going through. He points out New York’s Bravest and New York’s Finest and describes what they endured in their desperate search for comrades—lost brothers, fathers, and friends.
“You’ve got to find my brother. Engine 33,” one man said to him.
“My dad’s in there somewhere,” said another.
“Ladder 24.”
Joaquin could feel a tear cutting through the thick dust on his cheek.
Meanwhile, Rookie had a dual role. He was doing what he had been trained to do, searching for any signs of life, but he was also comforting people at Ground Zero. Imagine these big, burly firefighters asking Joaquin if they could pet his dog.
“Of course! He’s friendly.” In the midst of all that devastation, Rookie was providing emotional support to anyone who needed it.
I think that’s what I love most about Joaquin’s story.
It’s not what they found.
It’s what they gave.
They shared their strength with those who felt theirs slipping away. They gave comfort to people who were hurting. They gave hope where there was no hope to speak of.
Joaquin went to Ground Zero prepared to search for the lost. But in the end, he and Rookie gave something to those who were still there: a reason to keep going.
I could write an entire book about this. Luckily, Joaquin did that for me. Michigan Rookie is available to buy here.
