Patrick Murphy, Berkeley Heights
Recently moving to NJ with his family, Lt.Cmdr.
Patrick Jude Murphy, was a reserve officer who
served on nuclear submarines. Sadly, Murphy, 38,
was at the Pentagon Tuesday when American
Airlines Flight 77 crashed in the building.
Murphy was raised in
Flossmoor and attained his high school diploma
from Marian Catholic High School in Chicago
Heights in 1981.
Mark Rothenberg, Scotch Plains
Well known within the New York showrooms during the Fall
Tabletop Market, former owner of Culver Industries, Mark “Mickey” Rothenberg,
was on the United Airlines Flight 93 when it was hijacked by terrorists and
crashed in Pennsylvania. Rothenberg’s plan was to get to San Francisco to then
make his way to Taiwan to purchase glassware and stemware. Mark began his
employment with Culver
owners, his father and uncle, in 1970 and became
owner in the late 1980’s when his father passed away. Rothenberg went on to open
up a consulting firm called MDR Global Resources in Westfield, NY after selling
Rothenberg was remembered as a man who made an
excellent father and had an admiration for golf and traveling by his colleagues
at tabletop industry where he spent more than 20 years.
Scott Hazelcorn, Berkeley Heights
At a memorial service for Scott Hazelcorn, his
father learned that there were at least a dozen
people who considered his son their best friend.
This was not the result of duplicity, Charles
Hazelcorn said, but rather a function of Scott's
open heart and sunny nature. Each eulogist put
it differently: your problem was his problem; he
made each person feel he was the only one in the
room; he taught people to hug each other; he was
the one who made work fun.
"Nobody enjoyed life more, from the minute he
got up to the minute he went to sleep," his
father said. And to that end there were "Haz's
Rules," which included setting the clock radio
to a Spanish language station, which he could
not understand, so he never had to start the day
listening to bad news.
The younger Mr. Hazelcorn, 29, was a trader
of long-term treasury bonds at Cantor
Fitzgerald; his girlfriend, Amy Callahan, was a
special-education teacher. The pair had plans
for a summer camp for needy kids. Scott often
told his parents that he wanted to buy an ice
cream truck, so he could hear the squeals of
children all day.
When Cantor Fitzgerald spun off a company
called eSpeed , which allowed clients to do
their own trading, Mr. Hazelcorn's work group
shrank from 30 to 4. In a few months, it was to
disappear altogether, his father said. To his
son that was good news: between yearly raises,
bonuses and stock options in eSpeed, he was
planning to buy that ice cream truck.
James Walsh, Scotch Plains
When Kathleen Walsh Karlen adopted her son Connor from Korea -- a 2-year-old who
found the transition from East to West sometimes unbearable -- it was his Uncle
Jim who could calm Connor's emotional storms.
No one in the family was surprised. Jim Walsh was the fun uncle, the friend
everyone wanted to hang with, the nice guy with the big heart who was never
afraid to show it, said another sister, Carol Walsh Murphy.
"I'm sure everyone who was lost at the World Trade Center has somebody who says
they are a great guy, but to call Jimmy great sells him short," Murphy said. "He
was fun and funny, and at the same time, he taught us all how to be a little
James Walsh, 37, didn't make one last call to his family from the 104th floor of
One World Trade Center, where he worked as a computer programmer for Cantor
Fitzgerald, but his family said it didn't matter, "because he said 'I love you'
every way possible, every day of the year."
He said it in the way he read books every night to his daughter, Caroline, who
turned 2 the day the Twin Towers crashed to earth.
When news came that the Scotch Plains resident was missing, boys he knew in high
school in Westfield and people who remembered him from King's College in
Wilkes-Barre, Pa., called to help.
Sean McDonough, from Montgomery, Pa., recalled him in an e-mail: ". . . His
friends in Pennsylvania and around the country have been warmed by his presence
and will miss him terribly . . . He loved being a dad and through his
relationship with Caroline, he showed me a way to be a better parent with my
"We are left with the void of the thousands of people like Jim Walsh who died
last week," McDonough added. "but I will tell everyone who listens about my
friend Jim and how much he meant to me and my life."
In addition to his daughter, Mr. Walsh is survived by his wife, Kate; his
parents, Frank and Mary Lou of Spring Lake; two brothers, Thomas of Westfield
and Peter of Spring Lake; and two sisters, Kathleen Walsh Karlen of Woodbridge,
Va., and Carol Walsh Murphy of Tampa, Fla.
James A. Nelson, Clark
James Nelson, 40, of Clark, New Jersey, a
16-year veteran of the Port Authority Police
Department was killed in the line of duty while
rescuing others at the World Trade Center
disaster. Jimmy was called to the scene shortly
after 9 a.m. on September 11 from the Port
Authority Police Academy in Jersey City. He was
married and the father of two beautiful girls.
Jimmy always wanted to be a police officer,
considering it the most noble profession. His
passion for his job was surpassed only by his
love and pride for his family. The world
suffered a great loss when Jimmy was taken from
us. His courage, humor, generosity, and
integrity made the world a better place. I will
never see his beautiful smile again or laugh at
one of his jokes but I do know that I am a
better person for having known and loved him. He
was my brother and a hero in every sense of the
JoAnn L. Heltibridle, Springfield
Out of tiny, rural Taneytown, Md., came JoAnn
Heltibridle, a woman determined to make her way
in the big city. She put herself through college
and began pursuing a career.
"Just to prove that she could do it," said
her niece, Lori Green. "Just to prove that women
can be somebody, other than a housewife."
She started in the insurance business at a
Morristown, N.J., company that was acquired by
Marsh & McLennan.
"She was pretty much the first one into the
office every morning," said Toni Definis, who
worked for her in Morristown.
Before long, Ms. Heltibridle had an office on
the 94th floor of the trade center's north tower
and had been named a vice president.
She was able to shed the power suits and
switch off the corporate speak for her family,
though, as well as the two cats she adored like
"We always called her a bottle of sunshine,"
her niece said. "She was so beautiful, so down
Like Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz," one of
her favorite movies, Ms. Heltibridle, 46, felt
the tug of home. She frequently returned to
Taneytown, where her mother, her brother and his
Last September, she was expected home in time
to watch the tractor pull at a local fair. And
everyone knew she'd bring the cats, Taz and Ivy,
her pride and joy. They live with her mother
Gregory Milanowycz, Cranford
When Joseph Milanowycz visited ground zero two
Sundays ago, he roamed around, wondering where
his son, Gregory, was. "We don't have anything
but an urn," said Joseph Milanowycz. "He was a
bundle of energy, and now there is no energy."
His 25-year-old son, a manager at Aon , lived
with his parents in Cranford, N.J. He was the
household handyman, fixing plumbing and electric
appliances, but his true love was golfing.
"Whenever he had time, he would go to the golf
courses and team up with whoever was there to
play," Joseph Milanowycz said. "He could
socialize with anyone. It doesn't matter whether
you are a teenager, or middle-aged, or 102."
And he often traded golf clubs with friends.
"When he got a golf club in the mail, he would
walk around in the house, showing it to people,"
said Amy Verdi, Gregory Milanowycz's girlfriend
of five years. "It would be like his birthday
all over again. He would hold onto the club,
swinging it and pretending to play. You cannot
stop him from playing golf."
After his golfing friends learned that he was
missing, a few dozen got in touch with his
parents and donated $10,000. "These were friends
we had never known," said his father, who has
decided to donate the money to a New Jersey
first aid squad.
Lee Adler, Springfield
Lee Adler could write complex computer programs
off the top of his head, never needing to write
anything down. He took great pleasure in shaving
nanoseconds off the time his elegant programs
took to run, said his wife, Alice. Mr. Adler,
48, was a systems programmer at ESpeed, a
division of Cantor Fitzgerald. He also coached
his daughter's basketball, soccer and softball
teams and was a trustee of Temple Beth Ahm in
Springfield, N.J., Mrs. Adler said.
At home in Springfield, Mr. Adler liked being
surrounded by all girls. The family consisted of
one daughter, Lauren, a sheltie, Meghan, and two
cats, Lindsey and Brenda. Mr. Adler and the pets
had birthdays in March, and they celebrated
together. He would take the dog to the pet
store, and whatever she sniffed first was hers.
Mrs. Adler recalls his most recent birthday
fondly. He had given her a pair of earrings for
Valentine's Day, and for his (yes, his)
birthday, he gave her the pin to match, a bear
climbing on a piece of lapis. "He definitely
loved all his girls," she said.
Thomas Michael Regan, Cranford
The sleepless nights, the bottles, the diapers —
none of it bothered him. He would go off to work
Thomas M. Regan and his wife, Gayle, had been
married for seven years, intent on having
children, but frustrated. Then, two years ago,
they were rewarded with twins, Allaistar and
The twins were born prematurely, so there was
a cascade of extra work. The parents shared the
duties as equitably as possible. Awakened in the
middle of the night, each would feed one twin.
"It was a case of who's on first, who's on
second," Mrs. Regan said.
Mr. Regan, 43, commuted from Cranford, N.J.,
to the World Trade Center, where he was managing
director and sector leader of the pharmaceutical
and chemical division of Aon , and even in the
aftermath of a sleepless night, he would be
smiling and bursting with energy.
How proud was he of the twins? Within the
first five minutes of any conversation, he would
digress into how much they were sleeping, what
they were eating, how they were growing.
Co-workers knew to check the screen saver on his
computer, because he constantly updated it with
the latest picture of the twins. One day his
boss came across him intently reading a book and
highlighting sentences. He sneaked a look. It
was a book about how to become a better father.
Thomas R. Clark, Summit
"Big hugs!" is how Thomas R. Clark used to
announce his arrivals home to his wife, Lisa
— a prelude to wrapping his arms around her.
When their only son, Matthew, now 2, grew
old enough to speak, he asked for a piece of
the action. "Me too," he'd squeal, smiling.
Soon, Mr. Clark changed his opening line to
In the weeks after Matthew and the new
arrival, Whitney, a girl, now 7 months, were
born, Mr. Clark insisted on sleeping with
them nuzzled up against his chest.
Saturday mornings were set aside for Mr.
Clark and Matthew to breakfast together
Father and son would pick up cocoa and
pastries at Dunkin' Donuts, then sit and
watch the trains pass through the Summit,
Mr. Clark walked home from that station
every day, returning from his job at Sandler
O'Neill & Partners, where he was an equity
sales trader. In the summer, when Matthew
would play in front of the house, he could
see his smiling father from halfway down the
block, so he would run to him and jump into
This is how the family hug became a
tradition with variations.
"We still do it, the three of us," Mrs.
Clark said, "and my son still smiles. He
Mr. Clark would have been 38 today.
Robert Henry Lynch, Cranford
Elisabeth Lynch did not think much of Robert H.
Lynch's baseball card collection until he
presented her with an engagement ring. "Wow,"
said the future Ms. Lynch, "what did you do, rob
a bank?" He had not. He had sold his treasured
stash of Ricky Henderson cards.
Years later, Mr. Lynch, 44, one of the World
Trade Center's many property managers, still
bought a complete set of baseball cards every
year to pass on to his kids. He passed on more
valuable things too, teaching his son Patrick to
whistle by age 4. This summer, on a family trip
to the Jersey Shore, he outfitted his three
young children (he had two others from a
previous marriage) with kites and guided them
aloft. "Even the 18-month-old was standing on
the beach holding a kite," Ms. Lynch said.
Around the Lynch home in Cranford, N.J., Mr.
Lynch played master carpenter. "He rebuilt most
of this house," Elisabeth Lynch said, "and he
was always teaching the kids how to do things.
They liked to sing that song" -- the theme from
a Nickelodeon TV show -- " `Bob the Builder, can
he fix it? Bob the Builder, yes he can.' "
James Lee Connor, Summit
always knew the precise moment when James L.
Connor had decided that he liked you. He gave
you a nickname. His wife, Jamie, was "Little." A
brother-in- law was "Hitter." His youngest son,
Jack, 4, rated two nicknames, "Mooshie" and
"Buddha." His mother, Ruth Ann, was simply "R.A."
had a nickname for you," his sister, Cathy
Dodge, said, "he loved you and that was his way
of expressing it."
back, Mrs. Dodge said, it is now clear that
golf, one of his great passions, was a "guiding
force" in his life -- the providential
ingredient that nudged him in the direction of
both his future wife and a successful career in
investment banking. By caddying at the North
Hempstead Country Club he came to the attention
of a Bear Stearns executive who gave him his
start in the business. And by attending the
College of William and Mary, where he played on
the golf team, he met his wife.
Connor, 38, of Summit, N.J., was a partner at
Sandler O'Neill & Partners on the 104th floor of
2 World Trade Center. But he loved to take his
clients for a round of golf. Sometimes he even
gave them nicknames.
Christopher Michael Grady, Cranford
Christopher M. Grady's laugh was a full-body
production, a gut-wriggling giggle so convulsive
that he almost couldn't breathe. So he'd grab
his belly, and his head would fling back, nose
scrunched, feet flailing. Soon, everyone else in
the room was laughing, too.
He drew people in, did Mr. Grady, 39, a
broker at Cantor Fitzgerald, with his laughter,
his boyish high spirits — he'd hide the wallet
of a colleague who left work early; would camp
out in his van for a coveted tee-off time — and
his humble but unshakable loyalty to loved ones.
Mr. Grady, who had recently moved with his wife,
Kelly, and their two young children to Cranford,
N.J., thought of himself as quiet, even shy.
Mr. Grady wasn't fancy: shrimp cocktail and a
rib-eye steak, Mets and Jets (though he pitched
a batting practice for the Yankees), friends and
family. But he had a gentle sense of grace.
Once, when a distant, elderly relative suffering
from Alzheimer's became agitated and started
speaking in her native Spanish, Mr. Grady, who
didn't understand the language, sat with her,
smiling and nodding sympathetically, until she
calmed down. "He was so good to other people,"
said Mrs. Grady. "I am so proud he chose me as
Kevin Raymond Crotty, Summit
ladies behind the counter at a bakery in Summit,
N.J. used to look forward to Saturday mornings
when Kevin R. Crotty would show up with his
three children. With wild candy-store looks in
their eyes, Megan, 7, Kyle, 5, and Sean, 2,
would load up on cookies and chocolate and
glazed doughnuts and doughnut holes.
But it has been more than a month since Mr.
Crotty took his children to the bakery. Mr.
Crotty, 43, worked as a bond trader at Sandler
O'Neill & Partners on the 104th floor of 2 World
Trade Center. Besides the bakery, he could be
seen taking the children to soccer practice and
"I've been very open with them about it,"
said his widow, Lori Crotty. "The more I talk
about it, the more comfortable they are. Sean is
having a hard time, but it's going to take
Dean Philip Eberling, Cranford
The woods of northwest New Jersey may seem an
odd setting for a memorial to a Wall Street
stock analyst. But Dean P. Eberling's friends
say that riding his bike through the mud was one
of Mr. Eberling's true passions.
No matter how much success he had in
Manhattan's world of high finance, they said, he
remained a grounded New Jersey guy. He was born,
raised and educated in New Jersey. He married a
Jersey girl and had a house at the Jersey Shore.
"He seemed as focused and sophisticated as
anybody else, but he made no pretense," said
Gary Terpening, who teamed with Mr. Eberling in
a 24-hour mountain bike race in Allamuchy
Mountain State Park in August 2001. "He knew
what he liked to do. With Dean, it was O.K. to
be a kid."
In the summer of 2002, a group of fellow
riders hauled a half-ton chunk of granite to a
spot along a trail in Allamuchy. Beneath a
likeness of Mr. Eberling bounding downhill, it
reads, "Ride like Dean."
Squeezing joy out of life was one of Mr.
Eberling's specialties, said his wife, Amy, who
had known him since 1978 and been married to him
for 19 years. An analyst at Keefe, Bruyette &
Woods, he helped two women at the firm escape
from an elevator in the World Trade Center
minutes before he was killed. He was 44.
In his last few years, his wife said, he had
been trying to spend more time with his
daughters, Cori, now 15, and Lauren, who turned
10 on the day of the terrorist attack. If he was
at one of their ballgames, it was no secret, his
wife said. "He was a heckler."
Thomas I. Glasser, Summit
Thomas Glasser had filled out an occupation
form, it would have looked something like this:
philosophy major- track star-stand up
comic-restaurant owner-bartender-partner at
Sandler O'Neill. Mr. Glasser was not a typical
Wall Street guy, said his wife, Meg. That was
all right with her, because she had an aversion
to them until she met him, a moment she said was
like time-lapse photography.
"I looked at him and I saw everything," she
said. "He walked in the door, and I knew that he
was my husband."
By 40, Mr. Glasser had added husband and
father to his résumé. He could have also added
wallet-rescuer: he earned a do-gooder reputation
in high school when he returned a teacher's lost
wallet. Years later, he witnessed a robbery and
chased the culprit. Again, the wallet was
Mr. Glasser's children, Dylan and Luke, are
still a bit too young to appreciate their
father's focus on education, but other children
are not. Mr. Glasser and his father, Gerald, had
for years planned to start a charitable
foundation. After Sept. 11, Mr. Glasser's father
continued with their plan. The Thomas Glasser
Foundation will award scholarship money this
year. "I can't think of a better memorial to
him," Gerald Glasser said.
Leonard Joseph Snyder, Jr., Cranford
He may have been a risk-management insurer, but
Leonard Joseph Snyder was hardly averse to risk.
He loved to ski and hunt, and spent many a
weekend in dicey weather fishing with his father
on the family boat off Long Beach Island in New
Jersey. But one of his greatest aspirations was
so very much more tame: "He really wants to be a
Little League coach when his children are old
enough," said his mother-in-law, Kathleen
Marquet. That would be the twins, Jason and
Matthew, 2, and his 3-year-old daughter, Lauren.
Mr. Snyder, 34, a vice president at Aon
Consultants on the 101st floor of 2 World Trade
Center, loved nothing more than "carrying his
sons around on his shoulders," she said. It says
much about Mr. Snyder, of Cranford, N.J., that
his large family and many friends have been
distributing leaflets bearing his picture as
they journey from hospital to hospital, "looking
for Lenny," Mrs. Marquet said. "We won't say
that it's too late."
Robert A. Lawrence, Jr., Summit
Robert Lawrence was infused with energy, and
boy, could he organize. He lived in Summit,
N.J., where he happened to have grown up, an
area scattered with parents, cousins, aunts,
uncles. He was the nucleus. "He would organize a
Christmas lunch that started at noon, and before
it ended it would be midnight," said his wife,
A talented athlete, Mr. Lawrence played
competitive tennis in college. As an adult, he
continued to play tennis as well as hockey. He
liked to win.
He imparted this competitive spirit to his
son, Bobby, 9, as he coached him in his own
hockey beginnings. The two of them went to a
father-son hockey camp during the summer.
He was attentive, as well, to his daughter,
Toland, 11. He liked to play the guitar to wind
down, but also to entertain her. At night, he
would invent songs for her. When she was a
little younger, the two collaborated on the not
overly well-known number "I Love Noodles."
Mr. Lawrence, 41, used to work in New Jersey
for a financial firm, and wanted nothing to do
with heights. Nonetheless, he took a new job as
a managing director at Sandler O'Neill &
Partners, on the 104th floor of 2 World Trade
Center. His first day was Sept. 10.
Arcelia Castillo, Elizabeth
Marine Corps boot camp was an easy fit for
Anthony Roman. He had already been trained by a
tough, stubborn disciplinarian whom he nicknamed
the Colombian Drill Instructor: his mother,
At home in Elizabeth, N.J., Ms. Castillo, a
single mother always juggling two jobs and night
school, enforced strict curfews and did not
tolerate back talk or wasting money. If Anthony
or his brother, Alex, broke rules, Ms. Castillo,
scarcely five feet tall, would reach for her
The eldest of 11, Ms. Castillo, 49, had
immigrated to the United States at 20,
penniless, speaking no English and with only an
elementary school education. But by Sept. 11,
2001, she was a homeowner and landlady, an
American citizen, a junior accountant at Marsh &
McLennan and a few credits shy of her
associate's degree from Union County College.
She had a companion of 14 years, Edward Skrypa,
whom she wouldn't marry because she preferred
Ms. Castillo, who was called Chela, had four
grandchildren, whom she uncharacteristically
spoiled with presents. "We loved to tease her
that she was just trying to get to heaven," said
Sergeant Roman, a Marine Corps reservist.
She kept all his letters, including the one
where he told her she was his hero.
A. Todd Rancke, Summit
Todd Rancke knocked you down, you did not want
to get back up, because you were too busy
laughing. Mr. Rancke, a managing director at
Sandler O'Neill, had a teasing sense of humor
that played on people's flaws but did not
generate any ill will, said his sister, Cindy
Bienemann. "He could crack on you in a way
without making you feel bad," she said.
In fact, it seemed that he did just the
opposite. Mr. Rancke, who would have been 43
today, was such a fixture in the Summit, N.J.,
community where he lived that people teased him
about being mayor someday, said his wife,
Deborah. He was so well loved by his clients
that they would sometimes join him on family
vacations with his wife and children, Christina,
11; Brittany, 9; and Todd Jr., 7.
For all his jocularity, Mr. Rancke was a
gentleman at heart, a caring man whose primary
concern was his family's happiness. Mrs. Rancke
sees that same quality in her children,
especially her son. Now little Todd puts his
arms around her when she's sad, Mrs. Rancke
said, "just like big Todd used to do."
Carlos S. DaCosta, Elizabeth
All the houses on his block in the Elmora
section of Elizabeth, N.J.. were well kept
and aging in a graceful, uniform way. But
Carlos DaCosta's property stood out, its
individuality coming from a three-foot-high
concrete and wrought iron fence constructed
in the style of walls in Portugal.
That fence — the only one on that side of
the street — was built by Mr. DaCosta and
his father-in-law. Even after more than 30
years in the United States, Mr. DaCosta, who
had been born in Portugal, showed off his
native culture whenever possible. "There was
a special place in his heart for Portugal,"
said his younger sister, Celeste. "He loved
Portuguese culture, and Portuguese food."
Mr. DaCosta, 41, regularly took friends to
the Portuguese restaurants in Newark's
Ironbound section. On special occasions, he
would take Portuguese pastries to his office
at the World Trade Center, where he was
general manager of building services for the
Mr. DaCosta spoke only Portuguese at home
to make sure that his two children learned
the language, and he tried to make them
aware of how big and diverse a world this
is. "Carlos was fascinated by different
cultures," said Antoinette Viana, a friend
since high school. "He would take his kids
anywhere that would seem different."
Clive “Ian” Thompson, Summit
international currency broker, Clive
Thompson, who was known to almost everyone
as Ian, did not fit the stodgy profile of
high finance. Among fellow volunteers on the
first-aid squad in his hometown, Summit,
N.J., he was one of the guys, just more fun
"He would make himself the fall guy, "
said Daniel MacMahon, a friend and fellow
volunteer, who recalled Mr. Thompson's being
thrown into a swimming pool, and stepping up
to be the target of water balloons, at
Fourth of July picnics.
"He was a magical person," said Mr.
Thompson's wife, Lucy, with whom he
immigrated to New York in 1992 from southern
England, bringing a zest for work, friends,
food and good wine. "He was living in the
fast lane, and always thinking of other
people, not himself."
Mr. Thompson, 43, worked pressure-laden
hours at Euro Brokers, but by starting at 5
a.m., he managed to retain afternoons for
other interests. There were the
carpet-cleaning company that he founded, his
volunteer work as an emergency medical
technician and the meals he prepared for his
wife and children, Ella, 13, and Rachel, 10.
He had "so many worlds that did not
collide," his wife said. Mr. MacMahon put it
differently: "Ian was a Renaissance man."
Colleen Laura Fraser, Elizabeth
advocate for people with disabilities for 20
years, served on the [New Jersey
Developmental Disabilities Council] for more
than 11 years. She was appointed chair of
the Council by Governor James Florio in 1990
and served in that position for five years.
In July, she was elected by the Council as
Colleen was recently hired as executive
director of the Progressive Center for
Independent Living (PCIL), the independent
living center for Mercer and Hunterdon
counties and is president of the board of
Community Access Unlimited, an
Elizabeth-based non-profit agency providing
housing, employment and support services for
7,000 people with disabilities. She was on
her way to a seminar on grant writing, to
boost her skills for her new job at PCIL
when her plane went down. Over her career
she served as director of the Union County
Office on the Disabled and as the director
of D.I.A.L., another independent living
Colleen is well known statewide as a leading
voice for people with disabilities. She
advocated strongly for community living
options for people with developmental
disabilities, urging the state to move more
quickly to end the institutionalization of
more the 1,500 people still living in the
state's large developmental centers who have
been determined ready to move and who want
to move. She also worked tirelessly to
promote the importance of listening to
people with disabilities about the supports
they need and making sure those supports
meet those needs.
Colleen had also established a national
reputation for her fiery advocacy on behalf
of people with disabilities. She was
instrumental in launching a statewide
initiative to improve health care for women
with disabilities following her
participation in a national conference on
the same topic. She joined other New Jersey
advocates to lead the largest state
contingent supporting the ADA at the first
congressional hearing on that landmark
Recently she led a group of people with
disabilities to a "Speak Out" on
deinstitutionalization in Washington. This
event typified her passionate support of the
1998 Supreme Court decision, Olmstead vs.
L.C., which ruled it was a violation of a
person's rights under the Americans with
Disabilities Act to keep them in an
institutional setting past the time when it
had been determined to be appropriate.
Colleen believed this landmark decision was
a key component to her ongoing efforts to
get people with disabilities out of
institutions and nursing homes.
David Brian Brady, Summit
41, David B. Brady had the trappings of
success: an office on the 39th floor of the
World Financial Center, where he was a first
vice president at Merill Lynch , and a home
in Summit, N.J.
He also had his priorities: faith, family
and friends. A devout Catholic, he attended
Mass almost every day and occasionally wrote
prayers, said his wife of 12 years,
Jennifer. But he never made a big deal of
"He would just say, `I'm doing a cameo,'
" said Joy Fingleton, an assistant.
And he made sure that his four children —
Matthew, 9; Erin, 6; Mark 4; and Grace, 2 —
saw him every day. "If he had an evening
meeting, he'd stay home for breakfast," Ms.
Brady said. "Or sometimes he'd even come
home for lunch."
He was an eager school volunteer. "I
think it was shocking to his clients, who
would call to find out that he was gone for
an hour but he would be back from reading in
his daughter's class out in Summit, N.J.,"
Ms. Brady said.
On Sept. 11, he went to 1 World Trade
Center to meet with a client on the 106th
floor. Now, every night his family prays for
him with the words he taught them: "Thank
you, Jesus, for the love you bring. Thank
you, Jesus, for everything."
Margaret Susan Lewis, Elizabeth
Margaret Lewis of Elizabeth was a traveler.
Atlantic City was her second home and the
Bahamas was probably her third, said her
brother, Kevin Lewis.
"And everywhere else she could get to, she
was there," he said.
After work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Miss
Lewis would often hop a bus for Atlantic
City so she could relax and test her luck at
the slot machines. Then she'd go back again
on most Sundays, her friends and family
"The girl was crazy about Atlantic City,"
said her best friend, Jo Anne Pryor. "She
kept going back. She said, 'It's just
peaceful.' I'm like, 'How could it be with
all those bells ringing?'
"She gets a charge from hearing the bells
ringing," Pryor said, adding that Miss
Lewis' last trip to Atlantic City was the
Thursday before the attacks on the World
Miss Lewis, 49, worked for the Port
Authority of New York and New Jersey as a
legal secretary. Her office was on the 68th
floor of the Trade Center's North Tower.
She was at work when American Airlines
Flight 11 crashed into the building Sept.
Miss Lewis loved her job, Pryor said. It was
a job she had dreamed about long before she
was offered a position with the Port
Authority in 1988. She prepared for it by
attending Union County College in 1987 to
train as a secretary, then again in 1994 to
improve her speedwriting, Pryor said.
Miss Lewis had two sons, John, 32, and
Melvin, 31, and even though they were grown,
she doted on them as much as when they were
"From the time they were born, she would
pinch their cheeks," Pryor said. "She still
did that with them. When she'd see them, she
just brightened up."
John Lewis said he never minded his mother's
outward displays of affection.
"That's a mommy thing, I guess," he said.
Lewis said he last saw his mother on the
morning of the attacks, when he dropped her
off at the train station.
Miss Lewis and her sons lived together in
Elizabeth, and John Lewis said the house
often was filled with children.
"When I got my niece and nephews, or my kids
around, it was all about making her laugh,"
But Miss Lewis also saved time for herself.
In addition to her trips to Atlantic City,
she took an annual cruise to the Bahamas.
"It was good for her sinuses and to get some
good air," he said. "When she'd get back,
she was perky. She was cleansed."
In addition to her sons and brother, all of
whom are from Elizabeth, Miss Lewis is
survived her mother, Rebecca Lewis of
Elizabeth; a sister, Lula Parker of Rahway;
and 10 grandchildren.
Mark Bruce, Summit
Even in the
middle of his most hectic days, Mark Bruce
rarely passed up an opportunity to pull a
The urge to play a practical joke might
strike Mr. Bruce during a five-minute break
from the harried bond-trading floor at
Sandler & O'Neill Partners. He would call
his brother, Steve Bruce, a bond trader in
Los Angeles, and together they would make a
quick conference call to an unsuspecting
"We would call our cousins and say we were
the Sears above-ground pool installers and
there had been some confusion -- did they
want the new pool in the front yard or the
back? We'd really have them going," Steve
"They're not going to get too many more of
Mr. Bruce, who lived in Summit and worked on
the 104th floor of the South Tower of the
World Trade Center, was killed in the Sept.
11 terrorist attacks. He was 40.
The California native had moved to the East
Coast in 1991 and married Dawn Bryfogle. The
couple met working in the securities
industry and moved to Summit five years ago.
His wife said Mr. Bruce had a great passion
for the outdoors and loved to hike and
To spend more time in the wild, the couple
bought a weekend house near Pennsylvania's
Pocono Mountains. But Mr. Bruce had his
heart set on a house in Montana.
"He wanted to do it right now," Bryfogle
said. "I wanted to get more money in the
It was an argument Mr. Bruce was very close
"We were going to doing it," she said.
Mr. Bruce also loved competition and
relished playing alongside his brother in
pickup basketball games at a local park when
both lived in Lower Manhattan.
"He was a great competitor," Steve Bruce
said. "He didn't hold a grudge if he lost.
But he always wanted to make sure he got to
play you one more time."
After graduating from University of
California at Chico, Mr. Bruce took a job as
a management trainee for a retail store in
California, but ultimately he wanted to be a
bond trader, his brother said.
He made it to Wall Street largely by
teaching himself the intricacies of trading
bonds. Once he got there, he often mentored
Steve Bruce said he learned at one of the
memorial services for his brother that Mr.
Bruce had had a particularly good day on
Sept. 10 and was planning a special dinner
for some of his company's support staff for
the night of the Sept. 12.
"He was all pumped up to take some of the
back office people to diner on that
Wednesday," Steve Bruce said. "He had done
well and his attitude was: Let's go share
In addition to his wife and his brother, Mr.
Bruce is survived by another brother, David
Bruce of Santa Rosa, Calif., and his mother;
Diane Bruce of Windsor, Calif.
Frankie Serrano, Elizabeth
When Frankie Serrano went shopping for Dino,
he spared no expense. "He totally spoiled
Dino," said Mr. Serrano's girlfriend,
Kristen Gasiorowski. "All the toys he bought
him, you can't imagine. It was like it was
his child." In fact, Dino was a dog, a
year-old Neopolitan mastiff who weighed in
at 109 pounds and slept in a king-size dog
Mr. Serrano, a telecommunications
technician at Genuity, a network services
provider, lived in Elizabeth, N.J., with his
mother and his sister Angie. The three of
them were to go to Puerto Rico on Sept. 14
to visit relatives, but Mr. Serrano was
going to be back by Sept. 23, to spend his
25th birthday with Miss Gasiorowski.
His sport was bowling: he was a member of
four leagues in Roselle, N.J. He liked music
from the 50's and 60's, rooted for the Mets
and the Giants, preferred to eat at
McDonald's and dressed only in Ralph Lauren.
"Anything else he wouldn't wear," said Ms.
Gasiorowski, who now takes care of Dino. "It
was kind of crazy and expensive."
It would take Mr. Serrano about half an
hour, and four elevators, to get from the
basement of 1 World Trade Center to his job
on the 110th floor, where he worked in a
room without windows. "We were the highest
around-the-clock tenants," said his
supervisor, Joseph Conti. "We were up there
365 days a year."
Robert Alan Hepburn, Union
Every morning, Theresa Hepburn and her two
girls would drive Robert A. Hepburn to the
train station in Union, N.J., where they
lived, for his commute into the city. It was
just one of the many routines that defined
their family life.
Another unfolded after he settled into
his office. He would call every day around 8
a.m. to make sure that Allyson, 6, and
Jennifer, 4, were ready for school. And he
would always ask what they wanted him to
bring them that night. "They always wanted
gum or candy," his wife said.
When he returned home, he would take care
of the girls so their mother could go to her
Mr. Hepburn, 39, was an office service
manager for Marsh USA, a job he had held for
only two months. He worked on the 93rd floor
of 1 World Trade Center, and his desk was
against a window with a view of the Statue
of Liberty and Ellis Island, and of course
he shared it with his family. During the
summer, Mrs. Hepburn and the girls took the
train into the city every Thursday for
lunchtime concerts downtown.
"He would go down to our train and meet
us and put us in our seats, and then he'd go
back upstairs to work," she recalled. "Then
he'd come down during his lunch hour and
watch the rest of the show with us."
Anthony Tempesta, Elizabeth
The World Trade Center had a wealth of
family history: Anthony Tempesta, had
proposed to his wife, Ana, at Windows on the
World. And Mr. Tempesta, 38, a broker, and
his mother worked on the same floor at
Cantor Fitzgerald, but she did not have to
start work until 9 a.m., and he was in at
Growing up in Staten Island, Mr. Tempesta
learned how to play the bass guitar when he
was just out of high school, by taking two
trains and a ferry to classes in Harlem. One
of his favorite audiences? His daughter,
Amanda, 7, and her friends. (He also had a
son, Matthew, 10.) He had to reschedule one
of Amanda's sleepovers, because he had to
attend his brother Michael's bachelor party.
"Anthony explained he had to be at the
sleepover because he was the entertainment,"
Clifford Tempesta said at his son's memorial
The family decided Michael's wedding,
Sept. 23, should continue as planned. "He
wouldn't want to be like a party pooper,"
Clifford Tempesta said. And at the end of
his eulogy, he said, "I know Anthony would
like to hear one last round of applause."
Edward Calderon, Union
Calderon was always proud to wear the
uniform that marked him as a security
guard for the Port Authority of New York
and New Jersey, but his feet felt best
in dancing shoes. "When I think of him I
remember that he loved salsa," said his
niece, Desiree Henley. "He was extremely
outgoing, loved to dance."
He was the life of any gathering,
said his sister-in-law, Sandra Calderon.
And for years, he organized a regular
Wednesday night salsa party in different
locations at the World Trade Center for
anybody who wanted to come, said his
brother, Anthony. "He liked to act and
he wanted to direct — he was an
entertainer," Anthony said. "That was
his knowledge. That was his calling."
Eddie Calderon, 43, lived in Jersey
City and worked at the trade center for
22 years. He was last seen running
toward the north tower after helping
guide dozens of workers to safety. He
was hoping to reach a few more just
before the building collapsed, Mr.
Calderon's boss told his brother.
Robert Kaulfers, Kenilworth
Men and women of the Port Authority of New
York and New Jersey, friends and family
members: Soon, the famed lyrics of Sgt.
Robert M. Kaulfers may be available. These
are the tunes you know and love from
retirement parties, wedding receptions and
slow days on the job. Take it from Sgt. Mark
O'Neill: "Bob was a minstrel."
You'll get "The Hat," the famous ode to
Officer Mike Barry, set to the tune of the
theme from "The Cat in the Hat," and "Carnevale
Time," the paean to Lt. Mike Carnevale. And
who could forget the tribute to Sgt. Bernard
M. Poggioli, a world-renowned expert on
runaway children, "I'm Much Taller Than
Many of the lyrics were found in Sergeant
Kaulfers's locker. His wife, Cookie, thinks
she may soon be strong enough to go through
his papers at home to meet requests for the
other songs. "I would hear him in the shower
singing and laughing to himself," she
Sergeant Kaulfers, 49, also found time to
study world history, keep the rookies on the
right path and raise two children. His
friends said he never held a grudge; perhaps
the best evidence of that was his 25- year
marriage to the girl who beat him in the
election for sixth-grade class president.
Khalid M. Shahid, Union
Khalid Shahid and his fiancée, Jamie Castro,
had everything planned. They were building a
house in Mount Olive, N.J., close to Union,
where he grew up and where his parents still
live. They were to marry in November. When
the first baby came, Leonor Shahid, his
mother, was going to quit her job to
baby-sit while her son and daughter-in-law
were at work.
Mr. Shahid, 25, had three passions:
Computers. He was a network systems
administrator at eSpeed ;
Sports. He had been in the ski club and
tennis club at Montclair State University.
"He was very, very fond of skiing," Mrs.
Most of all, his family, present and
future. "His idea was to create a family
just like ours," his mother said. He had a
younger sister and brother. His father, Syed,
an engineer, came from Pakistan, and his
mother was from Colombia. "He'd tell us all
the time, he was so proud."
John J. Tobin, Kenilworth
winter, John J. Tobin helped neighbors
shovel out from under the snow. In the
summer, he often helped mow their lawns. One
week in July was reserved for the annual
family trip to the seashore and every
weekend for the traditional family dinner
"He really just liked to be at home," said
his wife, Barbara Tobin. "He didn't have to
go places to enjoy himself. He liked to be
around the house, having barbecues and
Mr. Tobin, a senior vice president of the
FINPRO Division for Marsh and McLennan Inc.,
was a dedicated worker. But in his off time,
he took pleasure in coaching his son's
Little League team, watching the Mets or
Jets on TV and spending time at home with
his wife and two children.
Mr. Tobin worked in Midtown Manhattan, but
last Tuesday he left his Kenilworth home
early to attend a meeting on the 99th floor
of the North Tower of the World Trade
Center, which was hit by a hijacked plane.
He was 47.
Family members remember him as a
good-hearted, quiet family man who did not
distinguish between the custodians in his
office and his highest ranking colleagues.
"He treated everybody the same," said
Barbara Tobin, his wife of 24 years. "He was
very modest. You wouldn't know the kind of
job he had. He didn't drive a Lexus or wear
a Rolex. He didn't need material things. He
didn't need a fancy car. As long as it took
him to the train, that's all that mattered."
Mr. Tobin was the father to Jennifer, 19,
and Sean, 11. The Tobins would have
celebrated their wedding anniversary next
A Bronx native, Mr. Tobin attended Cardinal
Hayes High School, where he ran track and
graduated in 1972. After high school, in
order to help his family, Mr. Tobin went to
work for Equitable Life Insurance Company
but enrolled in night school, earning his
degree from Manhattan College in 1976. While
working at Equitable, he met Barbara Wilk.
They were married in 1977.
"He always cared very much for his family,"
said his brother, Michael Tobin, of Bogota.
"He was probably old before his years in
terms of assuming responsibility." Mr. Tobin
joined Marsh & McLennan in 1984. Despite
working long hours, he always set aside time
to help his children with their activities
and instilled in them the importance of
education. "He pushed my kids to be the best
they could be," Mrs. Tobin said.
By Ivelisse DeJesus/Star-Ledger Staff
Charles Karczewski, Union
Charles Henry Karczewski did not have
children, but he might as well have. His two
dogs, Princess, a yellow Labrador, and Baby,
a cocker spaniel, are devastated that he is
gone, said his wife, Philomena. "Every male
person that walks in the house they look at,
and you see the disappointment in their
eyes," she said. For comfort, they are
sleeping with one of Mr. Karczewski's dirty
His dogs and his wife were only two of
Mr. Karczewski's passions. He loved "that
stupid trade center," as she put it, where
he had worked for three years as a benefits
consultant for the Aon Corporation . Every
time they drove by the buildings, he would
say, "I work there."
He loved to talk, and hated silence. He
loved wine and the beach. He loved the stock
market, even when it was on the downswing
("You never marry a stock," he liked to
say), and had started a stock club.
Mr. Karczewski, 34, loved to vacation,
often in adventurous ways - sky-diving,
canoeing, kayaking. He had been to Italy,
Bermuda and Alaska, among other places. This
month, he and his wife were planning to go
to Arizona. The books he had ordered about
hiking the Grand Canyon arrived last week.
Wanda Anita Green, Linden
Whether she was
listening to neighbors at their front gates
in Linden, befriending the families she
helped to find homes as a real estate agent,
or comforting children during rough landings
as a part-time United Airlines flight
attendant, Wanda Anita Green delighted in
Green, 49, was an earnest listener who never
judged, said her longtime friend and fellow
flight attendant Sugar Manley.
"She would stay up all night with you, she
just cared for your soul, your spirit," said
As a deacon at Linden Presbyterian Church,
Mrs. Green visited people in local
hospitals, and volunteered her time for
church activities, said her daughter,
Mrs. Green adored dancing the cha-cha and
the slide, said Manley, but she wouldn't buy
herself new dancing shoes unless her
children each had two pair.
"Oh, she would sacrifice it all for her
children," said Manley. "Her shoes might
have had a slight hole in them, but she
wouldn't do for herself. Her kids came
Mrs. Green, who worked as a United Airlines
flight attendant for 29 years and was
getting ready to retire, was aboard the
hijacked United Flight 93 from Newark to San
Francisco when it crashed in rural
Pennsylvania on Tuesday. Mrs. Green had
planned to visit her mother in Oakland,
"Wherever she went, she made a friend, she
really cared about people," said Jennifer
Mrs. Green grew up in Oakland and married
and lived for several years in Rockland
County, N.Y., before settling in Linden.
After she earned a real estate license in
1996, Mrs. Green flew less frequently, and
she worked as an office manager and agent at
NorthStar Realty in South Orange.
In addition to Jennifer, Mrs. Green is
survived by a son, Joe; her former husband,
Joe Green of Stamford, Conn.; her parents,
Francis and Aserene Smith of Oakland; sister
and brother-in-law Sandra and Aristeed
Jamerson of Antioch, Calif.; brother and
sister-in-law Tommy and Tammy Smith of
Fairfield, Calif.; nieces Arion Jamerson of
Antioch, Calif., and Portia Smith of
Fairfield, Calif.; nephew Frank Jamerson of
Antioch, Calif.; and father-in-law Joe Green
of Queens, N.Y.
A candlelight memorial service will be held
Tuesday at 7:30 p.m. at the Linden
Presbyterian Church, 1506 Orchard Terrace in
Profile by Dore Carroll published in THE
Brian Frederic Goldberg, Union
Jodie and Brian Goldberg started dating
in high school. After seven years -- going
to the movies, roaming the New Jersey
suburbs, eating out in Manhattan -- they got
married in May 2000 at a temple in
New Jersey. "We danced," Mrs. Goldberg said.
"We were just so happy."
They moved into a new town house
in Union, N.J., after the wedding, and he
hung the fans, wired the stereos and "made
everything work." He was the handyman in the
extended family. He fixed a broken wall unit
at his sister's house and made a microwave
stand for Jodie's sister.
On weekends, he was often hired to
photograph weddings, bar mitzvahs and
birthdays, a sideline he had gotten into
when he was 13. It suited him well. "He
wasn't really able to sit still," said Mrs.
Goldberg. "He had to go from place to
Having a first baby, Mrs. Goldberg
said, was in their "five-year plan."
Mr. Goldberg, who worked at
Fiduciary Trust, would have turned 27
Anthony Infante, Mountainside
Anthony Infante, an inspector for the Port
Authority Police, had gotten in shape for
the New York City Marathon after laying off
the race for a few years. His regained
slimness came in handy as he ran up the
stairwell of 1 World Trade Center, aiding
victims. He was seen giving his coat to one
man to protect him from burning materials.
Mr. Infante, 47, became a cadet with the
Newark Police Department at 18. After staff
cuts, he joined the Port Authority Police.
As he progressed through its ranks, he
attended college and then graduate school at
His last post was as the highest-ranking
policeman at La Guardia and Kennedy
Airports, when Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani was
campaigning for the city Police Department
to take over the job. Mr. Infante marshaled
evidence to show his force was doing well.
"There is no issue with the police
departments," he said. "It's with the
The mayor went to his funeral, where Mr.
Infante was remembered as a nice guy. Paul
Brady, a friend, recalled how Mr. Infante
nursed him through a divorce. He had tried
to say thanks.
"What, are you nuts?" Inspector Infante
answered. "We're friends."
Thomas J. Fisher, Union
Carving the turkey. Slipping out for a round
of golf. Taking his wife and three children
to a Britney Spears concert. Not to mention
working, as a vice president for operations
at Fiduciary Trust Company International.
How did Thomas J. Fisher, 36, get it all
"The Bible says God created our world in
seven days," Mr. Fisher's brother-in-law,
Chris O'Donnell, said in his eulogy. "I
think Tom could have done it in six and
still gotten 18 in along the way."
The Fisher family had the most
meticulously mowed lawn in their Union,
N.J., neighborhood, and Mr. Fisher insisted
on painting the house himself. Twice. "He
was on double ladders, hanging off a slate
roof. I was panicking," said Susan Fisher,
his wife. "But he wouldn't hire people to do
things like that."
Mr. Fisher was a planner. "Get it on the
calendar!" he would cry when friends
proposed a tentative get-together. And on
the calendar it got. "He exhausted me," said
Mrs. Fisher, 38.
Now she is the one raking the lawn and
shopping for groceries. "He left me with a
three-month supply of paper towels," she
said. "And big shoes to fill."
William Tselepis, Jr., New Providence
William Tselepis Jr. grew up in a family
that stressed loyalty, and he applied that
value to just about everything he did. Mr.
Tselepis, 33, a Chicago native, never
wavered in his devotion to all of its sports
teams. His best friend and frequent golfing
partner was his older brother, Peter. He
married his college sweetheart. He followed
his older brother to New York and became a
foreign exchange broker. He worked for
almost 10 years at Cantor Fitzgerald, mainly
trading foreign exchange options. He spent
all of his free time on his wife, Mary, and
daughter, Katie, now 3 1/2. And without a
doubt, his older brother said, Mr. Tselepis,
known as Billy, would have doted on the son
he never knew, Will, born on Oct. 5.
A few weeks ago, a group of Mr. Tselepis'
Kappa Sigma fraternity brothers gave Peter
Tselepis a scrapbook with pictures, notes
and other ephemera related to their buddy
Billy, and asked that the book be turned
over to Mr. Tselepis' children "so that they
would know their father better," Peter
Everyone, he added, said that they were
still trying to cope with Mr. Tselepis'
absence. "The predominant description from
men and women was that Billy was gentle,
caring and generally always good to be
around. People wanted to be around Billy. He
was just a graceful soul."
Wing-Wai Ching, Union
He was the
Outwardly, he always seemed so phlegmatic.
He did not talk much. He did not reveal his
emotions. If anything, when you spoke to
him, he would send you a stern look. But
inside, Eddie Wing Wai Ching was the exact
opposite — all warmth. So his family
nicknamed him Cool Man.
Since Mr. Ching, 29, was the youngest of
four, his relatives also liked to call him
Ah- B, Chinese for baby. In truth, though,
he was mature beyond his years. He had
clear-cut goals of owning a home,
establishing a successful career and raising
a family. He had already bought a home in
New Jersey when he was 27, and his intention
was to propose marriage to his girlfriend by
the end of the year.
As a client support administrator for
UmeVoice, one of his clients was Cantor
Fitzgerald, and he was at its office on
To keep in shape, he liked to play
basketball every week. His motto, on and off
the court, was the old standard "Action
speaks louder than words." As his
half-sister, Patricia Liu, put it: "You
would ask him a favor and he wouldn't answer
you. But then he'd go ahead and do just what
you asked him."
Gerard J. Coppola, New Providence
Already at age 12, he was a broadcasting
nut. He bought a two-watt transmitter, built
a mini-radio station in his basement in East
Orange, N.J., and began broadcasting, rock
'n' roll and personal musings throughout the
town. His friends loved it.
Gerard Coppola's love of broadcasting and
music was the central thread of his life.
Mr. Coppola, who was also known as Rod and
JRod, was antenna engineer for WNET, Channel
13, on the 110th floor of the World Trade
Center's north tower. His Web site --
NJPeople.com/jrod -- lives on and features
his doleful songs. Not only did he mix the
songs, but he sang and played all the
instruments -- guitar, bass, keyboards and
"Gerard was a dreamer," said his sister,
Cynthia. "These are the people who are
visionaries, who are risk-takers. They dare
to listen to their own voices."
As a teenager, he began playing in rock
bands and writing songs. At family
gatherings, everyone wanted to hear him tell
stories. "People sought him out," his sister
said. "He had a gift. He was like the Pied
Piper of the family."
At home, he sought to bring his love of
music to his wife, Alice, and their four
daughters, Angeline, 20, Angela, 19, Delinda,
15, and Alison, 8. He would have turned 47
"When his first grandson, Andre, was born
five months ago," his sister said, "he came
to my house and said, `Cindy, I can't wait
for you to see him. He's a gorgeous baby.'
He said, `I'm going to be such a cool
Bella Bhukhan, Union
Bhukhan, 24, danced the part of the youngest
with a certain spark. Of the three sisters,
she was the most playful, the most stubborn,
the bluntest - in a sense, the most western.
Raised in a Gujarati family who settled in
Union, N.J., after migrating from Zambia,
she was the defiant one who returned from a
Cancún vacation with a tattoo on her lower
Yet she also embraced her Indian
heritage. At her eldest sister Vicky's
wedding last month, Bella performed a
traditional Indian dance wearing a long
brown and gold skirt, sleeveless top and
jewelry that glittered and clattered.
With her engaging smile, Bella was a
people-person. At the Cantor Fitzgerald
memorial service, her family was struck by
how many employees, especially the
foreign-born, remembered how well Bella took
care of them in the human resources
department. That was the role this youngest
sister assumed at home, too: "The three of
us were best friends and she was very upset
I was moving so far away," said Vicky
Tailor. "She always told my in-laws to take
care of me and called every other day to see
if I was being treated right."
Richard A. Dunstan, New Providence
When Janet Gaffney was vacationing in
England years ago, she followed a cousin's
suggestion and looked up some of the
cousin's friends. So she met Richard A.
Dunstan for a drink, and he took her to a
cricket match the next day. "I said to
myself, `I really like him; he's a good
man,' " Mrs. Dunstan said.
Six months later, she gave up her
apartment, job and car to move to England. A
year ago, they celebrated their 25th wedding
anniversary. "He used to bring me flowers,"
she said. "Not just on my birthday or
Valentine's Day. Just because it was Friday,
Mr. Dunstan, 54, a vice president at Aon
Corporation and a father of two, kept
himself fit. "He exercised so that he would
live a long time — he wasn't really prepared
for a building falling on him," she said.
And he was a fine golfer.
"He would be very self-effacing with me,"
Mrs. Dunstan said. "He'd say, `Oh, it was an
O.K. day,' I have since heard from all of
his golfing buddies how he had a beautiful
swing, a natural swing. He loved the game,
he was a natural at it. And he would make
par. And one fellow would say, `Was that
par?' and Richard apparently would just
Wayne Alan Russo, Union
Wayne Alan Russo never got to Egypt. He had
been to China, Japan, Russia, all over
Europe -- he was planning his eighth trip to
Italy for early November -- and returned on
Sept. 2 from India. But some sort of trouble
always blocked the trip to the pyramids.
At home, he led an organized life. He
gave blood several times a year, and
supported a child in Africa. He took the bus
from Union, N.J., where he lived with his
parents, every morning at 6:30 to arrive
early for his accountant's job at Marsh &
McLennan. He went to almost every Giants'
home game since Giants Stadium opened in
1976 with his father, Arthur Russo. And
there were the Yankees. He and his family
saw them beat the Red Sox on Sept. 8.
On Sept. 11 Mr. Russo, 37, was to have
had dinner with Cheryl Marx, who had been in
the group that went to New Delhi, Jaipur and
Agra. They never got to exchange photos. But
they did receive each other's postcards,
sent from India on that last trip. Each said
"Egypt next year."
Michael Gogliormella, New Providence
Unfortunately a biography
is unavailable. If you are a family member and would like to provide information,
kindly contact Nathalie Alcaide from the Office of the Clerk of the Board at
908-527-4815 between the hours of 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
Andrew J. Alameno, Westfield
Andrew Alameno loved the guys on his desk at
Cantor Fitzgerald. "They were not like a
frat house," said his wife, Sally Cohen
Alameno. "But they were." They would get
together in Westhampton in the summer with
their families. At Christmas, they brought
their young children into the office to eat
candy and throw around a football. No one
got any work done during those visits, Mrs.
Years ago, Mr. Alameno saw Sally Cohen
walking down Washington Street in Hoboken
nearly every night for months. She was
heading home from her step aerobics class
wearing a University of Miami sweatshirt,
and he was lifting weights in his apartment.
One night, he saw her in a bar. He sent a
friend to ask her if she owned a University
of Miami sweatshirt. The next day, he asked
They have two children: Joe, 5, and Nina,
2. Mr. Alameno, 37, was home in Westfield,
N.J. every night by 6 p.m., in time for
dinner with the kids. He joked about
retiring to North Carolina and becoming a
golf pro. He had begun teaching Joe how to
play. "My husband had a hobby of making golf
clubs in the basement," Mrs. Alameno said.
"He made Joe a set of his own clubs. They're
fit for a 5-year-old. It'd make you cry to
look at them."
Robert Wayne Hobson, III, New Providence
Robert Wayne Hobson -- universally known as
Wayne -- talked a lot, dreamed big and was
so lighthearted about everything that his
wife, Cindy, made him propose three times
just to make sure he was serious. "He called
me a hundred times during the day, always
with some new idea or big plan for the
future," Mrs. Hobson said.
Five years ago, Mr. Hobson, 36, left a
job as a broker at the World Trade Center to
fulfill one of his dreams -- he opened
Hobson's Bar and Grill in Hoboken, N.J. It
soon became the place for his friends to get
together after the stock market closed for
the day, said Mrs. Hobson, who told her
husband a more appropriate name for the bar
was "Wayne's World."
In 1999, Mr. Hobson returned to the trade
center as a broker for Cantor Fitzgerald,
but he kept the bar. "He loved to be around
people," Mrs. Hobson said. "He had unlimited
amounts of energy."
She said that when she went out golfing
with her husband, he, not the game, was the
draw. "It was the only time I had five hours
straight of his undivided attention."
Michael A. Davidson, Westfield
He is going to get married in July," Jeff
Davidson was saying Friday about his brother
Michael, a 27-year-old equity options sales
trader for Cantor Fitzgerald. "Her name is
Dominique DeNardo. They met in college, at
Rutgers. He just saw her from a distance,
fell in love with her and wanted her. So he
beat up her boyfriend and took her.
Caveman-like, pretty much. And they've lived
happily ever after. They got engaged on
Sept. 21, 2000. On her 25th birthday, he
took her to Cancun to propose. He lied to
her by saying he won a trip on one of the
Web sites just for the weekend. About midway
through, he finally popped the question. He
waited until sunset on the first night.
"He's a big mush ball. He cries at
commercials. But you better not put that in
because he thinks he's a tough guy. He's
kind of a big kid — 5 foot 10, 215 pounds.
But he's as sensitive as they come. We have
a grandma down in Florida. So every chance
we get, we try to get Grandma to fly up.
Grandma's like, `I don't have the money
right now.' My brother's like, `Don't
worry.' He pays for it, or we all pitch in,
whatever. We get her up here somehow. He
Susan D. Murray, New Providence
Unfortunately a biography
is unavailable. If you are a family member and would like to provide information,
kindly contact Nathalie Alcaide from the Office of the Clerk of the Board at
908-527-4815 between the hours of 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
Stephen Mark Fogel, Westfield
Unfortunately a biography
is unavailable. If you are a family member and would like to provide information,
kindly contact Nathalie Alcaide from the Office of the Clerk of the Board at
908-527-4815 between the hours of 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
Tyrone May, Rahway
music collection was vast: hundreds and
hundreds of records and CD's, running the
gamut from reggae and disco to rhythm and
blues. And his apartment in Rahway, N.J.,
was littered with the announcements for
record fairs he received in the mail each
month. Naturally, people leapt to
"Everybody comes into the apartment and
says, 'Who's the D.J.?' " said Mr. May's
wife, Marva May. The truth is that on any
given day, Mr. May, 44, an auditor with the
New York State Department of Taxation and
Finance, was more likely to be crunching
numbers than spinning records. But he had an
expert ear and, more important, the
party-planning skills of a born impresario.
Nearly every December, Mr. May would rent a
club somewhere in the city and throw a huge
dance party for a few hundred friends and
family members. By early September, he had a
date (Dec. 15) and location (a club in
Brooklyn). On Sept. 11, before he left home
for 2 World Trade Center, Mr. May told his
wife to keep an eye out for a fax from the
agency that was designing the tickets for
"I still have the fax," said Mrs. May, who
is saving many of her husband's possessions
for their son, Tyrone Jr., 2. "Everything is
the same way since he left."
Leo Russell Keene, III, Westfield
L. Russell Keene III, a 33- year-old
equities analyst at Keefe Bruyette & Woods,
was such an avid sportsman that he once
hiked through New Zealand for two solid
months. "He has plenty of stamina to
survive," said his wife, Kristen, who is
offering him more than just spiritual
support. The other day Kristen, who lives in
Westfield, N.J., was escorted by Union
County sheriffs to the disaster site outside
2 World Trade Center.
Instead of standing
there offering respectful witness, "I wanted
to go dig him out," she said, "but they
wouldn't let me. I know just where he is."
Two other employees from Bruyette escaped
from an elevator jammed near the lobby, and
reported that Russell and 15 others were
alive inside. Then the building collapsed.
And so, while Kristen and other Bruyette
relatives tried to lobby the rescuers to dig
near the elevator, she remembered the man
she met six years ago in Ocala, Fla., saying
simply: "I loved him from the start."
Manette Marie Beckles, Rahway
Unfortunately a biography
is unavailable. If you are a family member and would like to provide information,
kindly contact Nathalie Alcaide from the Office of the Clerk of the Board at
908-527-4815 between the hours of 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
Richard B. Madden, Westfield
Richard B. Madden's daughter, Patricia, was
only 19 months old when she kissed her
father for the last time. But already they
had their little jokes.
Every morning, before setting off for his
job as an insurance broker at Aon , he would
warn her, "I'm going to work. Don't grow up
on me now." Then, when he got home, he would
chide her for having disobeyed him.
Mr. Madden, 35 and a first-time father,
would also forbid her to mess with his still
full head of hair, which, of course, she
took as an invitation.
And as only a dad can do, he taught her
how to clink her juice bottle to his beer
glass and say, "Cheers."
Father and daughter shared one other
little ritual long before it became
fashionable. Mr. Madden would take down the
flag outside his home in Westfield, N.J.,
each night before bed and take it indoors.
Each morning, little Tricia would shout,
"Flag! Flag!" to remind him it was time to
hang it again. "My husband was a strong
Republican," said Mr. Madden's wife, Maura.
"He was very proud that at her age, his
daughter wanted the flag outside."
On Sept. 11, he had called Mrs. Madden
from the 100th floor of the south tower,
afraid he would not make it out. The
authorities later identified his body in the
rubble from the inscription on his wedding
ring, which read, "Rich, all my love,
Since Sept. 11, the flag has remained on
display, round-the-clock, and the ring has
remained on display around Mrs. Madden's
Mark Stephen Carney, Rahway
Richard Carney was haunted by a dream. In it
he was walking through empty hospital
corridors searching for someone. The
"bizarre dream" woke him from his sleep
three times in August.
The following month, his younger brother,
Mark Carney, 41, died in the World Trade
Just as odd, said Richard Carney, was that
the two had talked about terrorist attacks
in June after a suicide bomber struck a Tel
"We were talking about terrorism and we were
concerned about security. We were talking
about how easy it would be for a truck to
blow up on a street while people were eating
lunch," Richard Carney said. "We had a
premonition that something was going to
Mr. Carney was a recruiter for the
Association of Independent Recruiters on the
79th floor of Tower One. He grew up in
Woodbridge, graduated from St. Thomas
Aquinas High School of Edison and received a
bachelor's degree in history from St.
Peter's University in Jersey City before
moving to Rahway six years ago.
On Sept. 11, Mr. Carney managed to call his
brother, who also works in New York.
"He said he was not afraid," said Richard
Carney. "I told him to meet me at 40 Wall
Street where I work . . . He said, 'I have
to go now.' "
That was the last conversation the brothers
A devout Catholic, Mr. Carney regularly
attended St. Thomas the Apostle Byzantine
Catholic Church in Rahway, sitting in the
same pew every week and carrying his Bible.
"He was a really quiet guy," said his
sister-in-law Patricia Carney. "He was the
kind of person who never had a bad word to
say about anyone."
John “Pepe” Salerno, Jr., Westfield
"Now that I look back, he wasn't cocky, he
was just very sure of himself," Danielle
Salerno said of her husband, John S. Salerno
Jr., a broker at Cantor Fitzgerald. Back in
high school, he was the last person she
would have said she wanted to date. He was
not shy. Once at a New Year's Eve party, she
walked past and he pinched her. When she
gave him a how-dare-you look, he said, "You
liked that, didn't you?"
They both laughed.
Danielle married Pepe (a childhood
nickname, inspired by his superabundance of
pep). He was loyal and funny; he was
generous; and he knew what he wanted. He
wanted a family. Ms. Salerno held off for
five years while they were living abroad in
London and Tokyo. Now their first child is
due in March. "Every night, he'd kiss my
belly," Ms. Salerno said.
A few weekends ago, the Salernos, who
lived in Westfield, N.J., were in the
Hamptons. Someone who knew them well
observed that Mr. Salerno, who recently
turned 31, was such a wise guy sometimes, it
was a miracle that he had not gotten his
tail kicked. And, Ms. Salerno recalled, "His
best friend, Thomas, said that was because,
by the end of the night, the guys who wanted
to beat him up were buying him shots."
John G. Ueltzhoeffer, Roselle Park
Super Bowl Sunday was a family holiday for
the Ueltzhoeffers. After all, John
Ueltzhoeffer's first date with his wife,
Uschi, was a Super Bowl XXIV party at his
parents' house in 1990. More important, the
first of the couple's three children, Sarah,
was born on Super Bowl Sunday in 1994. "I'm
in labor and John and the doctor are
discussing the Super Bowl," Uschi
Sarah came into the world at 5 a.m. "We
would always tell Sarah that she came a week
late, that she waited for the Super Bowl,"
Ms. Ueltzhoeffer said. The couple watched
the Super Bowl from the hospital.
Uschi was wide awake after giving birth,
but John kept falling asleep on the couch
after the all-nighter. Sarah was followed by
Jacob, 4, and Rebekah, 3 -- neither of them
born on Super Bowl Sunday.
Every year, the Ueltzhoeffers have a
Super Bowl party at their house -- sometimes
it coincides with Sarah's birthday party and
they celebrate with cake. Uschi Ueltzhoeffer,
who is from Austria, has developed a better
understanding of football and the Super Bowl
since her first date with the man who would
become her husband. "We'll keep watching
it," she said. "Just for the kids, we'll
keep some traditions to remember."
See-Wong Shum, Westfield
Since Sept. 11, Rebecca Shum has adopted a
vegetarian diet and started chanting
Buddhist prayers. It is these religious
rituals that help Shum cope with the loss of
her husband, See-Wong Shum, who announced a
week before the World Trade Center attacks
that he was converting to Buddhism.
He made this decision after spending endless
hours in the public library exploring texts
about Judaism, Hinduism and Buddhism.
"If I'm chanting, I feel like I'm connected
with him somehow," said Shum, who was not
affiliated with any religious group before
the terrorist attacks. "Somehow I feel like
if I do something for him in the practice of
Buddhism, I think that's all I can do for
Mr. Shum, 44, was on the 82nd floor of One
World Trade Center when a hijacked airliner
crashed into the building. The Westfield
resident managed computer systems for New
York Metropolitan Transportation Council and
reportedly answered phones amid the chaos of
that Tuesday morning.
Rebecca Shum did not get a chance to talk to
her husband one last time. However, when she
returned home that day after dropping their
3-year-old daughter Chanel off at nursery
school, there was a message on the answering
machine. There were no voices on the
message, just the sound of wailing sirens in
"I bet that might've been him," she said.
Mr. Shum was a restless spirit who was
always seeking new adventures. Raised in
Hong Kong, Mr. Shum worked as a high school
teacher, corrections officer and suicide
hotline counselor. During his free time, he
backpacked through Europe, China, Israel,
Peru, Egypt and Thailand.
It was in Thailand where Mr. Shum was first
exposed to Buddhism and meditated in a
temple for the first time. He felt at peace
there and wondered if he was a Thai monk in
a previous life. But years would pass before
he announced that he was Buddhist.
"Maybe he knew that something would happen
to him," Shum said.
After numerous career changes, Mr. Shum
finally settled on a computer-related job
and started working at the transportation
council nine years ago. He rarely missed a
day of work -- taking off only to tend to
his wife or children if they were sick.
These days, the couple's 6-year-old son,
Leon, is having problems sleeping and is
disturbed by nightmares he has of a monster
carrying a bomb. He insists he's feeling
better, but he cannot sleep unless the
lights are on in his bedroom.
"I think so far he is handling it good,
considering his age," Shum said.
A memorial service is scheduled for 2 p.m.
Sunday at the First Methodist Church, East
Broad Street, Westfield.
In addition to his wife, son and daughter,
Mr. Shum is survived two sisters, Christina
Shum and Sandy Shum of Hong Kong, and his
parents, Soo-Chu Cheng and Ching-Ho Shum of
Matthew Horning, Scotch Plains
At an office Christmas party in 1999,
Matthew Horning told a colleague he had two
goals: improving at guitar and finding
someone to love.
In January he started taking guitar
lessons. In August he met Maura Landry, who
also lived in Hoboken, N.J.
"Hi," he called down the table at a
Mexican restaurant where mutual friends had
gathered. "We're neighbors."
In the following months, Mr. Horning's
grin grew into what his family called the
"Maura smile." He started getting sappy,
observed his sister, Dana.
A database administrator for Marsh &
McLennan, Mr. Horning, 26, aspired to write
a fantasy novel or a comic book. His dreams
were simple and sincere. "We didn't have to
live in the biggest house on the street, but
the people inside had to be happy," said Ms.
Though not yet engaged, the couple were
planning a life together. She wanted four
children; he talked her down to three. He
wanted her to walk down the aisle to the
"Star Wars" theme. She said, "We'll see."
Anthony Starita, Westfield
Cigars were a necessary accessory for
Anthony Starita. He had one in his mouth
when he went to beach, when he puttered
around his backyard in Westfield, N.J., and
when he relaxed on his deck every night
after dinner. "He liked the flavor," said
his wife, Diane Starita. "He didn't always
actually smoke them, but he would just have
one in his mouth to sort of chew on."
Mr. Starita, 35, also chewed on coffee
straws, mostly when he got nervous about a
deal at his job as a government bond trader
at Cantor Fitzgerald. "When he got a little
nervous he put the straws in his mouth and
he would start wiping his hands with
napkins," said Eddie De Castro, Mr.
Starita's longtime friend and former trading
partner. "Those were his two things."
Last year, Mr. Starita gave up his full-
time golf membership at a country club so
that he could spend more time with his wife
and two children, Kaila, 6, and Jason, 3.
After the terrorist attacks, Mrs. Starita
told the children that their father had gone
to heaven. Kaila wondered why "does he have
to be with God?" Mrs. Starita said. "My
3-year-old wanted to know if we could call
Daddy in heaven."
Biographies are courtesy of the New York
Times and the Star Ledger