NEW YORK —
Asked if everyone in the bar that morning survived, he said, “Yeah. Everybody that was here.” Some of his other friends died that day.
As Keane retold the scenario, he paused a few times. He pulled out a scrapbook kept behind the bar.
The book’s cover bears a collage of patches from the NYPD, FDNY and the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, labeled “Fallen Heroes.” Similar patches, donated by fire and police departments from around the country, border the walls throughout the restaurant. One scrapbook page contains a photo of the bar immediately after the attack. The “O’Hara’s” sign hangs loose. A chunk of metal sits embedded into the pavement of the street. That road is otherwise vacant. Another picture shows Keane wearing a hard hat and a grim expression, standing in front of a pile of twisted metal, broken glass and shattered boards. Other pages contain photographs of gatherings on the subsequent anniversaries of 9/11. Those milestone days leave Keane uneasy.
“Every year around 9/11, you get this same sick feeling in your stomach,” he said. “It’s just …”
‘He’s not coming back’
Jerry Gogliormella trekked past that World Trade Center destruction daily after 9/11 on his way to work at the nearby World Financial Center. Those recovery crews found his younger brother’s remains six months later, in February 2002.
Michael Gogliormella, a 43-year-old from New Jersey was working as a computer analyst on the 103rd floor of the North Tower. He’d just landed the job in the corporate headquarters of Cantor Fitzgerald — a global financial services firm — three weeks earlier. Two months earlier, Michael and his wife had adopted a baby girl.
“He had left home [for work] that morning with a friend of his,” Jerry explained. “The friend stopped in Hoboken to pick up a newspaper. My brother kept going. And his friend made it home, and [Michael] never came back.”