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 Culver Industries.

 

 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 more loving."

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 kids.

"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 word.

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 children.

"We always called her a bottle of sunshine," her niece said. "She was so beautiful, so down to earth."

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 children live.

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 now.

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

At work, 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 glowing.

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 Connor.

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 "Family hugs!"

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, N.J., station.

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 his arms.

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 loves it."

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

You 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."

"If he had a nickname for you," his sister, Cathy Dodge, said, "he loved you and that was his way of expressing it."

Looking 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.

Mr. 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 his wife."

Kevin Raymond Crotty, Summit

The 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 dance lessons.

"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 time."

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

If 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 returned.

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, Suzanne.

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, Arcelia Castillo.

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 belt.

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 independence.

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

When A. 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 Port Authority.

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

As an 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 than most.

"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

Colleen, an 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 its vice-chair.

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 center.

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 legislation.

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

At 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 it.

"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 said.

"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 Trade Center.

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. 11.

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 children.

"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," he said.

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 good-natured prank.

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 relative.

"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 Bruce recalled.

"They're not going to get too many more of those calls."

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 flyfish.

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 bank."

It was an argument Mr. Bruce was very close to winning.

"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 younger colleagues.

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 this."

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 bed.

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 evening job.

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 7:30 a.m.

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 service.

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 Poggioli"?

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 remembered.

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. Shahid said;

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

 

In the 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 out.


"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 watching sports."


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 month.


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 shirts.

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 helping others.

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 Manley.

As a deacon at Linden Presbyterian Church, Mrs. Green visited people in local hospitals, and volunteered her time for church activities, said her daughter, Jennifer Green.

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 first."

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, Calif.

"Wherever she went, she made a friend, she really cared about people," said Jennifer Green.

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 Linden.

Profile by Dore Carroll published in THE STAR-LEDGER.

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 place."

Having a first baby, Mrs. Goldberg said, was in their "five-year plan."

Mr. Goldberg, who worked at Fiduciary Trust, would have turned 27 today.\

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 night.

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 mayor."

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 done?

"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 Tselepis said.

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 Cool Man.

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 Sept. 11.

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 drums.

"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 today.

"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 grandfather.' "

Bella Bhukhan, Union

Bella 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 back.

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, or whatever."

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 grin."

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. Alameno said.

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 her out.

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 cares."

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

Tyrone May's 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 conclusions.

"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 the event.

"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, Maura."

Since Sept. 11, the flag has remained on display, round-the-clock, and the ring has remained on display around Mrs. Madden's neck.

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 Center attacks.

Just as odd, said Richard Carney, was that the two had talked about terrorist attacks in June after a suicide bomber struck a Tel Aviv discotheque.

"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 happen."

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 had.

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 Ueltzhoeffer recalled.

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 him."

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 the background.

"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 Hong Kong.

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. Landry, 24.

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