Several years ago I read an article about the forgotten police department of the September 11, 2001, tragedy at the World Trade Center. I read a comment within that article which struck me pretty hard. In, so, many words, was said this; "you look down the streets of New York, at all the souvenir stands, and you see lots of NYPD and FDNY remembrances. But, there's nothing to remember the 37 lost souls of the Port Authority Police Department of New York and New Jersey." For some reason I just couldn't get that statement out of my mind. Days, later, I was still thinking of how sad it was that the police department, whose jurisdiction was the World Trade Center, had all, but, been forgotten.

In late 2002, out of the blue I wrote this poem. I seldom write poetry. It sat on my desk on its original piece of paper I wrote it on. Then it got lost in all the papers stacked on my desk.

In, I believe, August of 2003, one day, I read the story about the PAPD. Whenever a quiet moment came in the days following, the PAPD story would return and I would think about its sadness. It was during one of those quiet moments , as, I thought about the story, and trying to organize some papers on my desk, the poem, written on part of a paper bag, surfaced again.

And here I was, way out in Oregon, thinking about how I could assist to ease the pain of the loss of those 37 people. I picked the brown bag piece of paper up and realized the poem would be, maybe, fitting enough to help in the healing.

Here is the poem:

"Feelings"

Life, alone, we ask its meaning.
In our spirits, we find love.
Life, and love, embraced together,
Create feelings from the heart.

I opened a dialog up with a gentleman who was with a wing of the PAPD. The organization was set up to take care of the families of the 37, and their children. I designed a little card using a picture from the PAPD site showing two light beams shining into the heavens from the ground at the site of the World Trade Center, and inside imprinted the poem, and sent it electronically. I, also, ask if I could buy one of their hats.

Several weeks later I received a box from New York. In the box was a brand new PAPD hat, and a card of thanks from the PAPD. It is one of my most tightly held items. Why? I wear the hat every day, and it has the memorial designation of "37" on it, and four big letters, "PAPD." It's the PAPD which makes people ask if it stands for the Pennsylvania Police Department. And when someone asks about it, it opens the door for me to tell the story about the 37 lost people of the Port Authority Police Department of New York and New Jersey. And, in just a small way I feel I am able to assist in their remembrance, and, thus, so, they never be forgotten.

It is my hope, someday, to have the poem put on a little plaque and take a trip to New York to officially present the department the poem they so rightfully deserve.

Since dedicating the poem to the PAPD, I have never reprinted it, until this single writing to tell the story, and have never used it commercially. It is no longer my poem. It will always be their poem.

Lately, they've been in my mind again, and I wanted to share their story with all of you.

The PAPD Memorial website:
http://www.our.homewithgod.com/mkcathy/portauthority.html

A lone PAPD Officer pays tribute to his fallen commrades
at Ground Zero on 9/11/04

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