Three Knocks: A Rescuer Remembers 9/11 Ground Zero’s Silence

The following is excerpted from “Lest We Forget 9/11: Memoirs of a Civilian First Responder” by Shaun Parry

I entered the beam and moved downward. I had become more efficient at navigating the beam and slipping through the openings between levels. When I reached another fissure large enough to enter, I tugged to signal I needed more slack in the rope and pulled myself inside. I didn’t know how long I had been underground, but I knew hours had passed since I began searching that evening, and still we had found no one.

Only a few feet into the new passage, I encountered another network of openings branching beyond what I could reasonably explore one by one. It had been at least a couple of hours since my last request for silence, and I had been careful not to abuse the privilege. This was precisely the kind of situation the officer had described: an area with multiple inaccessible spaces where listening might accomplish in minutes what searching physically could take hours.

I called up to Chris and made sure he was ready to relay the request.

“We’re ready,” came the answer from above.

I positioned myself where I thought I had the best chance of hearing into the surrounding cavities.

“I need silence!”

The message traveled upward. Once again, the sound of silence bore down on me like the weight of the world. My heart rate quickened. Gradually, the noise disappeared. Machinery stopped. Tools fell quiet. Voices faded until the vibration that normally surrounded me was gone. In the stillness, I could hear small creaks and shifts within the wreckage and the pounding of my own heart.

I steadied my breathing and called as loudly and clearly as I could.

“If you can hear me, say yes!”

I waited. Nothing.

“If you can hear me, say something. Anything!”

Again, nothing. I moved to the next instruction.

“If you can hear me, knock three times!”

I stopped breathing long enough to listen. Then I heard it. Three distinct knocks. The world stood still for a moment. For an instant, I wondered whether my mind had manufactured the sound. Exhaustion, hunger, and days of constant noise had taken their toll, and I did not trust myself enough to believe what I had heard. I listened closely, in case they made more sounds. Nothing else came.

I called up to Chris, “Did you hear that?”

“The knocks?” he replied. My heart jumped.

“You heard them too?”

“Yeah. Three knocks.”

Someone had responded.

I didn’t know who they were, how badly they were injured, or even precisely where they were, but Chris had heard the same three knocks I had. After days of searching through darkness and repeatedly hearing nothing, there was finally a response from somewhere beneath the rubble.

Moving into the next crevice, I called for the three knocks again. They came. But, this time they sounded fainter. I couldn’t tell whether I was moving away from the source or the person who was knocking had less strength. Sound traveled unpredictably through the maze of concrete and steel, bouncing through spaces I couldn’t see. I tried to judge the direction and crawled toward what seemed to be the source.

“I’m coming!” I shouted. “Hang in there!”

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