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REMEMBRANCES OF BOSTON COLLEGE ALUMNI WHO DIED IN THE TERRORIST ATTACKS OF SEPTEMBER 11, 2001.


 

Remembrances are arranged chronologically by the victims' graduating years.

 


JOSEPH VISCIANO ’01

by Elizabeth Gallishaw '01
    I was deeply moved by the article in the [Fall 2001] BCM concerning the horrific events of September 11th, and shocked to hear of Joe Visciano '01. I met Joe in the first weeks of my freshman year at B.C. We were living in the same dorm, and I would frequently run into him on the steps of Cushing where, many times, we would sit and talk. I remember the way that he listened so intently to stories of my adjustment to college. He had a solid presence, and a kind and wonderful smile. After our freshman year, I only saw Joe a few times around BC. And although we never sat down and talked as we had that first year, we always exchanged a smile and a "hello" with a certain nostalgia of those few special moments that we shared together our first year of college. I know that he was a very special man because I never forgot those moments, and I feel blessed that I had the opportunity to meet him. My condolences to his family, I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers.


 


WELLES R. CROWTHER ’99

by Brian Fox '99
   

Welles Crowther was the first person in my class that I met at BC. We were assigned to be freshman year roommates. I spoke to him on the phone, and we agreed to meet outside Giants Stadium prior to the Kickoff Classic game that we were both attending as our first activity as BC students. My first impression of him, after realizing that he was a Yankees fan and wondering how I was going to live with such a person for a whole school year, was, to my relief, that he was a laid back guy who almost always kept a smile on his face. I learned that day that he played lacrosse and hockey in high school, that he was going to be on the lacrosse team at BC, and that in his spare time he was a trained volunteer firefighter.

We only lived together for a little over a semester, as Welles moved out of our Newton Campus room during the spring semester to live on Upper Campus to be closer to his lacrosse parctices. We didn't become close friends, but we got along very well as roommates. I have several memories of that time: baseball arguments, a late night trip to St. E's, a ridiculously enormous sub sandwich, Welles' generosity in sharing everything he had, and more.

We didn't see each other very much after he moved out, but it still came as a shock when I heard that he had lost his life on September 11th. It did not come as a shock, however, when I found out later that he had a chance to escape, but he sacrificed himself and used his volunteer firefighter skills to help many others reach safety. It wasn't surprising at all. He was trained and he was generous with everything he had.


 


WELLES R. CROWTHER ’99

by Jane Lerner, The Journal News
   

In March, the body of Welles Crowther '99, an equities trader in the South Tower, was found among those of firefighters and rescue workers in the lobby of the building. Crowther was himself a volunteer fireman, and it has since come to light that he joined the rescue efforts on the morning of September 11, rather than evacuate. Below is a story from the Journal News of southwestern Connecticut.

WTC Victim's Heroism Saved Lives

By Jane Lerner, The Journal News (Original publication: June 10, 2002)

It was a habit he picked up from his father and maintained until the last day of his life.

Welles Crowther always carried a red bandanna in his back pocket.

He had it with him during his years at Nyack High School, friends at Boston College noticed it and fellow volunteer firefighters at Empire Hook & Ladder in Upper Nyack teased him about it.

The red bandanna was tucked in his pocket the morning of Sept. 11 when the 24-year-old equities trader set out for his office at Sandler O'Neill & Partners on the 104th floor of the World Trade Center.

And it was the red bandanna that helped identify Crowther as the rescuer who saved countless people trapped on the top floors of the burning south tower that morning before losing his own life.

A man, a bandanna tied around his face, stepped out of the swirling clouds of smoke and crushing debris high up in the burning tower and led groups of wounded to safety, survivors recall.

"He spoke with such authority," recalled Judy Wein, who encountered the man on the rubble-strewn 78th floor. "He was calm, he showed us where the stairs were, he found a fire extinguisher, he carried people down the stairs and then went back up to help more."

No one knew his name at the time, but the people who survived those harrowing moments between the plane crash and the building collapse said they would never forget him.

"That face is always in my mind," said Ling Young, one of a handful of people who escaped from the floors above the plane's impact. "He saved my life."

Alison Crowther suspected her son was at the center of the mystery as soon as she began hearing reports of survivors ushered to safety by a man in a red bandanna.

"It made sense," she said. "All the pieces of the puzzle came together."

Welles, with his years of training as a volunteer firefighter, assumed the role of rescuer to help the injured and trapped reach safety following the terrorist attack on New York City, his family suspected.

Survivors who encountered the man in the red bandanna that morning confirmed their hunch.

Alison Crowther contacted Young and sent her a recent picture of Welles.

"As soon as I saw it, I knew it was him," said Young, a New Jersey resident who is still undergoing treatment for burns she suffered. She met Alison Crowther for lunch last week at a Manhattan restaurant.

"You don't forget a face like that," Young said.

Confirmation that their son was the civilian who came to the rescue of people trapped beyond the reach of emergency workers has brought comfort to the bereaved Upper Nyack family.

"He looked the devil straight in the eye that day and fought with all the strength and fiber of his being," Alison Crowther said. "He died saving others."

Welles and his father, Jefferson Crowther, made a habit of keeping a bandanna with them at all times. Jefferson Crowther favored blue; his son, red.

"The monogrammed hanky is for show," the pair would joke. "The bandanna is for blow."

Like his father, Welles became a volunteer firefighter as soon as he was old enough to qualify. He joined Empire Hook & Ladder in Upper Nyack when he was 16 and spent countless hours learning to be a firefighter at the Rockland Fire Training Center in Ramapo.

"When we were cleaning down the truck or working, I'd see him wipe his brow with the red bandanna," said Dave Low, a longtime family friend and fellow Empire volunteer.

Welles put his heart into his firefighting training, Low said.

By all accounts, he used that expertise on Sept. 11.

After the first plane hit the north tower that morning, he called friends and left a message for his mother that he was going to evacuate.

That should have given the strapping former lacrosse and hockey player enough time to reach safety, his parents reasoned.

They didn't know his fate until his body was recovered in March. No sign of the bandanna was found.

Puzzled officials told the Crowthers that Welles was found on the ground in the south tower lobbyÑone of only two civilians in a staging area where the bodies of numerous firefighters and emergency workers were recovered.

"Welles did what he did out of his sense of duty as a firefighter," Alison Crowther said. "He was not Welles Crowther, equities trader, that day. He was Welles Crowther, firefighter."

Survivors recall the hellish scene on the 78th floor where they encountered the man in the red bandanna.

Judy Wein had made her way from her Aon Corp. office on the 103rd floor to the 78th, which had a lobby and a bank of elevators that workers took to lower levels. She reached the 78th floor just as the plane hit.

"The impact was so strong that I was thrown so far Ñ I don't even know how far Ñ but it felt like I was airborne forever," the Queens resident said.

She landed on her arm, shattering it. Seconds later, a shock wave threw her back in the other direction, this time breaking her ribs and puncturing her lung.

She battled unconsciousness and woke to a hellish scene.

Corpses were everywhere. Severed limbs littered the floor. She recognized co-workers hopelessly pinned beneath steel beams and chunks of debris. Flaming embers were falling all around.

"People were lying there dead," Wein recalled. "Some were sitting up, dazed, some were whimpering."

She and small groups of people who survived the plane's initial impact made their way to an area that seemed better lighted.

"We didn't know where we were. We didn't know what to do," she said. "Then Welles shows up out of nowhere."

The man had his nose and mouth covered with the bandanna as protection against the smoke and dust.

He pointed out the stairs and issued instructions.

"Anyone who can walk, walk down the stairs. Anyone who can walk and help someone else, help. There are people here you cannot help anymore, so don't try to," survivors recall Crowther telling them.

He accompanied Wein, a woman with one broken arm and one burned arm, and a man with a severed arm to the 61st floor. From there, he instructed them to continue down the stairs.

"I have to leave you here," he said. "I have to go back up and help others."

Wein recalled seeing a fire extinguisher lying against a wall.

"It was a strange place for a fire extinguisher," she said.

She didn't know at the time that Ling Young had left the fire extinguisher there minutes before, when the man in the red bandanna accompanied her downstairs before going back up to the 78th floor.

Young was also dazed and injured after the plane struck. She had made her way to the 78th floor from her office at the state Department of Taxation and Finance on the 86th floor.

"My glasses filled with blood, I wiped them so I could see," she said. "There was nothing but dead people. My head was numb. I was afraid to move. We didn't know what to do."

Then the authoritative young man she later identified as Crowther appeared to show her the way.

The man removed the bandanna from his face on the way down, so Young got a good look at him.

He instructed her to carry a fire extinguisher in case they encountered flames, she recalled.

Along with Young, Crowther also accompanied a tall, thin, middle-aged white man. He carried a tall, thin, light-skinned black woman on his back.

Young does not know if either of those two victims made it out of the building alive.

Crowther left Young's small group around the 61st floor, telling them he had to go back for more people.

It is unclear how many trips up and down Crowther made or how many lives he saved that day before losing his own.

For the people he saved, identifying the man in the red bandanna has been bittersweet.

"He saved so many people, but he didn't save himself," said Young, who has a 24-year-old son.

When Young met with Alison Crowther last week, she looked through a family album showing a smiling youngster fishing with his grandfather, an impish schoolboy dressed for Halloween, a beaming brother with his two younger sisters, Honor and Paige, on Christmas morning.

"His whole life was ahead of him," Young said. "It's such a tragedy."

She embraced Alison Crowther and "thanked her for raising such a wonderful son." Both women recalled the instance.

Judy Wein, who is still undergoing treatment for her injuries, also hopes to meet the Crowther family. "He was a hero for doing what he did," she said. "It's amazing that in this day and age someone could give of himself in a dangerous situation like that. Totally amazing."

But people who knew Welles say they aren't surprised by the feats he performed that terrible morning.

"People talk all kinds of talk," said Dave Low, a Vietnam War veteran who has known the Crowthers for years. "But when the moment of truth comes, you either do it or you don't do it. There was never any doubt in my mind that when the moment of truth came, Welles would do what needed to be done."

Copyright The Journal News. Reprinted with permission.


 


DANIEL W. McNEAL ’94

by Dave Dering '92
    I knew Dan McNeal from several activities at BC that Dan was involved in, including the Fulton Debating Society and the Residence Hall Association, and as a fellow RA with the housing office. I will always remember Dan as what we hope the prototypical Boston College student will be: intelligent, with the ability to communicate the fruits of that intelligence to others; studious, with the ability to understand the importance of occasionally leaving the studies behind for awhile; and one who understood that there are as many valuable experiences to be had outside the classrooms at BC as there are inside. Unquestionably, Dan was always proud and happy to be a BC student, and I am sure that he remained a happy, proud BC alum.

Before I graduated, Dan gave me a biography of a famous trial lawyer, which I have always kept with me in my office. When I found out about Dan's passing from the most recent Boston College Magazine, I retrieved that book and once again turned to read the message he had written inside the cover page. When he wrote it, the words were meant to wish me well on my way from BC. I now rewrite what he wrote to me, to return those wishes to Dan and his family in this troubled time: "May the sun shine warm upon your face, may the wind be always at your back, and may God hold you in the palm of his hand. . . ."


 


DANIEL W. McNEAL ’94

by Alex Houston ’94

    Loyola Blakefield High School in Towson, MD, is home to the Dons. Technically, a "Don" is "a Spanish lord or nobleman," but at the all-male school it is the embodiment of the Jesuit ideal: a man for others. In 1986, I came to Loyola a scared, lonely freshman, the few grade-school friends who came with me scattered randomly among the class of 1990. I don’t remember the first time I met Dan McNeal, because he was the type of guy who made you feel like you’d known him all your life after speaking with him for five minutes. He had been there two years already, coming as a seventh grader and immediately making a name for himself as a scholar and a gentleman. Within the first week, I knew that as a close friend or not, Dan would always be around with a joke, a kind word, or a reassuring comment. Over the years, our circles of friends sometimes overlapped and sometimes touched only on the edges, but like all who knew him, I considered Dan a friend.

"Dan the Man" as we called him, was a true Don, a class leader, extremely competitive, a shoe-in for every student government position for which he ran, but always modest. Deflecting praise from himself to the people who participated in any of the myriad successful programs he organized was a knee-jerk reaction. Though he didn’t claim to excel as an athlete, he managed the football team and went to nearly every game in every other possible sport, often leading the war chant: "Roll, Dons, Roll!" (clap-clap-clap). On campus, he was everywhere, breathless on some important errand but always able to stop, smile, and make a witty remark, or recite, word for word and tongue-in-cheek, the "greed is good" monologue from the movie Wall Street. Dan followed the stock market, and the Wall Street Journal was often under his arm.

Once during a free period before my Senior year photography class, I heard whispers that he was, at that very instant, secretly donating in the blood drive he organized. I grabbed my camera and made a beeline for the nearby building to capture this Kodak Moment. There I found the president of our student government far in the back, trying his best to be inconspicuous, giving body and soul to the school as usual. To this day I can still hear him saying, "Oh, no. Houston, don’t you dare!" and with a click of the shutter and a twinkle in my eye, he was immortalized in the yearbook (being visibly annoyed at the time, I hope he has since forgiven the transgression), hard evidence of what all 180 of us in the class already knew: Dan always gave all he could. Something as mundane as adherence to the dress code wasn’t exempt from his philosophy of excellence. While many of us slacked by keeping our ties loose, barely buttoning our top shirt buttons, Dan tied his tie in a full Windsor knot and wore a tie clip. He told me once while discussing the finer points of Loyola fashion statements, "If I’m going to tie a tie, I might as well do it the right way."

He and I were the only two from Loyola’s class of 1990 to attend Boston College. In a classic housing snafu, BC accepted him early but assigned him to the freshman overflow housing on nearby Newton Campus, ten minutes away. He should have lived on Main Campus instead of me. On second thought, Dan probably opted for Newton Campus so that another student would be closer. Still, it was comforting to know his familiar Towson accent would be local. During move-in weekend, I remember we rolled our eyes together when our mothers commiserated about their sons going away to school. Their hand-wringing seemed needless. After all, we were Dons. We could take care of ourselves. I went to my first BC party with Dan the night they left; a Mods party — Mission Impossible for two freshman guys. Thanks to Dan’s charismatic diplomacy, we managed to get in, and he held the door for me. The entire night we watched each other’s backs like two anthropologists surrounded by a ring of dancing cannibals. Roll, Dons, Roll.

Now we were Eagles, Let’s Go Eagles (clap! clap! clap-clap-clap!), Dan in the Carroll School of Management and I in the School of Arts and Sciences. In the quirky kaleidoscope of the BC social scene, our circles of friends drifted apart as we made our own ways and pursued our own collegiate identities over the next six semesters. Then early in Senior year, Dan started popping up everywhere, first as a volunteer of the walking escort service — the blue humor of the scholar and gentleman becoming an "escort" is not lost on those who knew him — then at football tailgates and games where he showed the same school spirit I remembered from high school; at the Kells once or twice, and the rare party when he had a weekend off from his RA duties. We began playing racquetball at the Plex regularly. Dan was always generous to a fault, but he was just as competitive. He won every time, but never gloated on his victory or talked any trash. Instead he highlighted my one or two good shots as evidence of an improving game.

It didn’t matter why we began to move in some of the same circles. Maybe it was because we were Dons; the Blakefield spirit still coursed through our veins and pulled stronger than the random shifts in BC culture that had separated us in the first place. Maybe it was chance. Maybe it was Dan’s ability to make a name for himself as a scholar and a gentleman wherever he was. No matter, it was great to hang out with him again, but time was running short. Dan was graduating early in order to get the jump on the job market, ever to excel, and we lost touch for a while.

We both returned to live in Maryland and talked on occasion. When Dan asked how you were doing, telling him good news never felt like bragging. Dan always said "That’s fantastic!" and he always meant it, because he knew the whole time you could do well and he was happy when his friends were achieving. He always played down his outstanding accomplishments so that your own small steps toward success seemed like giant leaps for mankind.

Again we drifted apart, until I learned at a Washington, D.C., BC alumni event two years ago he was in the area making (not surprisingly) quite a name for himself as a scholar and a gentleman in Georgetown’s MBA program. I was excited at the chance to get back in touch, but never did except through the grapevine. Though we kept just missing each other, Dan was often in my thoughts. I never knew he had moved out of the area after graduating from Georgetown that spring.

On the very day weary heroes found his body lying on a New York City street amidst the dust and rubble of an unspeakable horror, (before I heard it spoken) I was thinking it would be a good idea to track down his number, and come hell or high water, give him a call once and for all. It was finally time to catch up, damn it. I had accumulated plenty of good news to share: I had done well in my career, finally met that girl who might be "the one," and followed his footsteps to graduate work at Georgetown. I hoped hearing some of what would surely be good news from him would help us both forget, for a while, the senselessness of recent events and put needed smiles on both of our faces. I wanted to have that beer in downtown Baltimore we were supposed to have, way back when. I wanted to introduce him to my girlfriend. I wanted to introduce him to a friend of hers. But hell came. Would that there were waters high enough to drown the inferno.

So with a click of the keyboard and a tear in my eye, I try in vain to immortalize Dan once again for those who did not know him (not caring whether he forgives this transgression), wishing I knew him as well as others; better than when he rolled as a Don, better than when he flew as an Eagle, and better than when, with the final slam-dunk leap of a Hoya, he made it to the top of the world, a hundred-odd floors up. Better as a friend, though I call him that anyway and am honored to think he once called me the same, "This is Alex, my friend from high school. You should hear him play guitar!" Yet even those who counted him in their circle of friends for only a short while knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dan was the epitome of the Jesuit ideal: a man for others. His death affects them profoundly. They know he now soars as an angel in that different, but widest and most inclusive of perfect circles, far above the smoke and ruin of our own confused sorrow.

Now more than ever I will follow in his footsteps, as a man for others. I will be modest and giving. I will work hard, laugh often, do it right, hold the door for people, and tie my tie in a full Windsor knot. I will make sense of this senseless event by telling the story I know of Dan the Man (the Myth, the Legend) to all who will hear it so that they, like me, will have the chance to be better people for having remembered even the smallest part of who he was. I hope some of them share memories with me. For in grief, we mourn not our memories, but the lost opportunity to make new ones: the jokes, kind words, and reassuring comments we will never hear. It is a loss beyond measure, the deepest wound bandaged only by reminiscing, and a scar for life.

When my time comes, I hope our circles will become tangent and Dan will hold the door for me again to the greatest party in all eternity. I know this much: He had better have his racquetball racket with him, ready for a few grudge matches in that big Plex up in the sky.

Until then, Dan, I promise to stay in touch.

A memorial Web site for Daniel W. McNeal is located at
www.danmcneal.com


 


JOHN MURRAY ’90

by Kevin Mahoney '90
    I remember the summer after our freshman year at BC when I went to California with John, Sean Gavin '90 and Brian Charbonnier '89. We started out in Los Angeles and worked our way down to San Diego and Tijuana, Mexico. Whenever I think of John I remember the great time we had during those two weeks.


 


THOMAS J. FITZPATRICK ’87

by James McEleney ’87
   

Tom's enduring friendships with his BC classmates was evident at his memorial service in NY in September. More than 30 BC colleagues were in attendance and countless others have reached out to his family in the months following this tragedy. Personally, I will remember Tom as:

- another native New Yorker from the other Jesuit high school in New York City;

- my next door neighbor from Duchesne West who I met on my first day at BC;

- the roommate who lived with me for the next three years and shared so many college memories;

- the friend who grew closer long after we graduated;

- the connection that enabled me to know his wife Marianne and his children, Brendan and Caralyn;

- the person I talked to almost weekly on the phone right up until September 11th.



 


THOMAS J. FITZPATRICK ’87

by Peter Pacella '87


    To all of Fitz's family and friends. . . All my best.  


BRADLEY VADAS ’86

by John Edwards '86
   

Brad, Ray, Jim and I were roomates junior year. Always the best dressed of us at the Rat, Brad loved to dance (a huge Michael Jackson fan) and had the prettiest girlfriend. I remember our food runs to the local market, filling
his old Mercedes with ice pops and mac 'n cheese, the staples of our diet.


Brad called me out of the blue about two years ago after stumbling across my phone number and filled me in about his job, new home on the water and the obligatory wave runner he scooted around on.


When I read his father's account of Brad's final phone calls from the WTC, I remembered the many calls between he and his dad while we lived together at BC. I remembered the sound of his voice and how close he and his dad were. I cannot imagine how heartbreaking those final moments were for the two of them. Peace to you Mr. Vadas and rest well Brad.


 


STACEY S. MCGOWAN ’85

by Cathy Beyer DeFilippo '85
   

As I sit down to write this, I am filled with such sorrow that I am doing what I am doing. It seems so wrong to be writing words about Stacey because she is no longer with us. I had the privilege and pleasure of being Stacey’s roommate in the Mods during my senior year at BC. While we knew each other before senior year, we got to be great friends during that year. Stacey was an incredible person–she truly knew how to love life and she showed me how to enjoy it to its fullest. One of my very fondest memories of Stacey is of our trip to "Play it Again Sam's" for its Monday night $1 pizzas. After ordering 2 large pizzas (because we figured we could enjoy one the next day) we were challenged by other patrons to eat both...we did, along with 2 pitchers of beer! We made it home but only to be able to lie flat on the floor of our mod because we were so full! Despite feeling disgusting, we were proud of our consumption that night.

After BC, I moved to Washington DC and again was lucky enough to again share living quarters with Stacey. With both of us being new to DC, we ended up spending a lot of time together. That time was one of the best in my life. Stacey and I explored DC and adjusted to the real world after college. I can truly say that had Stacey not been in DC, I am not sure if I would have stuck it out.

Every time I think of Stacey being gone, I first get this horrible crushing sadness in my heart....it is hard to catch my breath..but once I do, I begin to remember the good times with Stacey. For those who have been fortunate to know Stacey, you know that the good times with her were numerous. As those good memories flow back into my head, I can’t help but smile, and even with the pain of losing Stacey, I still feel lucky to have been her friend. Stacey had so many important qualities–she loved her friends and family, she loved life, and she made you a better person when you were with her. The world is unfortunately a lesser place without her but we must remember the beauty that she left with us and the joy that she shared with us while she was here.


 


STACEY S. MCGOWAN ’85

by Anne "Mam" Lenihan Hennelly ’85
   

Stacey was one of my dorm-mates from Cheverus. I remember Stacey's warm smile, laughter, natural beauty, gentleness & athleticism. Through our four years at BC, we shared a few rides to NY, ran into each other at parties and exchanged friendly greetings on campus. Stacey was the kind of person who left an impression on you — it is an impression I will always remember.

My sympathy and prayers are with Stacey's family.


 


STACEY S. MCGOWAN ’85

by Tania (Zielinski) McNaboe ’85
    I can't say I knew Stacey that well – she was a friend of a roommate and often came to our parties – but even in the haze of college days
and nights, she registered in my mind as a special person at Boston College. Here is why. Stacey smiled from the heart. Whether you were talking to her in a classroom hallway or chatting over beers at a keg party, she was always friendly, honest and sincere. And here was the clincher. She married the class cutie, Tom McGowan. I always felt that it was because he didn't need all the glitzy, made-up girls who were after him – Stacey was salt-of-the-earth, a natural beauty. The tragedy of September 11th is that Stacey is gone. The gift is that her life is immortal – I will never forget her kindness, her fun-loving attitude and grace. As I raise my children, Stacey is a person I will always remember as I teach them the value of kindness and love and how a simple act like a smile can be cherished forever.



 


DANIELLE DELIE ’76

by Lois Gannon ’76
    She was generous, compassionate, smart, funny and a connoisseur of fine food, wine, and fashion — especially French. She loved visiting friends and family in the Hamptons, Long Island, and in France. Vacations in St. Barts, and St. Martin were welcome respites from a demanding but exhilarating life in Manhattan. She was renowned for her facility with words, evidenced by her quick wit, the quality of her writing, and her ability to polish off the Times crossword puzzle in record time in INK!

A warm friend, Danni had many enduring relationships spanning childhood schoolmates from Dominican Academy, which has established a scholarship fund in her name, classmates from Boston College, her Alma Mater, business associates from the CPA firm, RGL Gallagher, for which Danni, a partner, established the NYC office, as well as coworkers at Marsh & McClennan.

Danielle loved life — her pets, and people, including her parents, numerous godchildren, nieces, as well as the friends who miss her every day.


 


DANIELLE DELIE ’76

by Elizabeth Hurley ’76
    Lois Gannon, Kathy Murphy and I were Danni's roommates at Boston College and we miss her dearly.


 


DANIELLE DELIE ’76

by Patrick J. Collins '75
   

Dear BC family and friends:

Don't let time slip away. Both of us got busy with our lives, and missed opportunities to meet over the recent years.

We were kindred spirits and accountants. We were both investigative, or so-called forensic, auditors and extremely hard working coworkers and we both moved on; since February 1, 2001, she was a Vice President in the CAPS group at Marsh, Inc. on the 100th Floor of One WTC. Before that she was on the 56th floor, of One WTC. Both of her former co-workers got out safely. No one got out alive from the 100th floor.

Our mutual friend and hard-working accountant coworker, Art Reynolds, a non-BC, but easily could have been one, passed away in 1996. Danni joins him. We were a threesome. Danni was a good person, fun to be with, and energetically lit up any room she entered. I also attended the memorial Mass for Danni and the other alumni, friends, and their relatives lost. There were a lot of fond remembrances and her only crime was her responsible work ethic and getting into the office on time that day, which she did every day anyway.

Danni was a working stiff like the rest of us, in this country of immigrants. She was a French-American and even had a French education in grade and high school by the Dominican nuns, and she was a great crossword player, which she did sometimes at lunch. Danni knew all those offbeat Peter Greenaway films, one being The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover. She lived on the East Side of Manhattan in the 50s.

Danni was one of the good ones in the world, of which there are so few and we cannot afford to lose, we will all miss her.

In memory of Danielle Delie '76


 


JOHN J. DOHERTY ’66

by Ray Beattie '71
    I read with sadness the article in BCM concerning those who died at the World Trade Center attack on September 11. A particularly painful notice was that of John Doherty ’66. I had not seen nor spoken to John in many years but we had worked together for awhile in 1973 when I went to work as a marketing trainee for Commercial Union (CU) in lower Manhattan. Our office was on John Street, not very far from the just completed WTC. I arrived in New York, from Boston, not really knowing anyone.

John was a commercial underwriter for CU at that time. He heard that a Boston boy had started up with CU so he sought me out to say hello. John was from Medford, I was from West Roxbury. Quickly we discovered we had BC as a common background, as well as our Boston roots. Just as quickly we became friends, and we would join others at the office and, a few nights each week, take part in the nightlife Manhattan offered. Many time we would go out and paint the town red (sometimes two coats of red!) but we were young, single, and were in a great place. John was quiet but had a great sense of humor. He was very smart and very kind. He was just fun to be around. My deepest condolences to his wife and two daughters. I was glad to see he was married and had a family. My best wishes to them and I am very sorry for their loss.




 
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