12/09/2026
They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, and whilst I could go on with 14,000 words, I will stick to these few and leave the rest for you. I’ve spent the majority of today thinking back to that Tuesday, 25 years ago. Every New Yorker has their own story of where they were that fateful day.
It was a beautiful morning, much like it was today - not a cloud in the sky. As I left for school, the voices of newscasters Charlie Gibson and Diane Sawyer echoed through the house as they announced that a major recall on GE appliances due to unexpected fire was coming up after the commercial break. My father, Chris, and his best friend, John, were set to commute in together. In true Vasilas fashion, my father was running on “Greek time”, and was most definitely running later than usual. John had called to say he was about to start walking to the train if my dad didn’t leave immediately, because he couldn’t be late! My dad insisted John turn on the news and watch the recall announcements as everyone had GE appliances, following which he’d be right over and they’d be on their way in. Reluctantly, John stayed and turned on the TV. No surprise, the two were indeed running late, after stopping for a newspaper and coffee, listening to disco on the drive in and not 1010wins news. As fate would have it, as they came out of the Battery Tunnel the South Tower fell. What I didn’t mention before was that John worked in the Twin Towers, and my father worked on Rector Street just a few blocks South. Speechless, they drove to the Elka office on Rector so my dad could transfer the phones and grab some files - they made a pact that if they got separated they would meet back in Bayside at our home. As the morning unfolded, they indeed were separated. John made it back home with the car, and my dad ended up walking half way from lower Manhattan to Northeast Queens before a Good Samaritan drove him and a friend back to us. I will never forget watching him walk up the path, hours later, white as a sheet, and covered head-to-toe ash. He didn’t speak a word except for “throw these clothes away, I don’t ever want to see them again”, tears streaming down his face. It was not until we were older that he eventually was able to vocalize the apocalyptic scenes he witnessed.
Our house has always been the meeting point for the neighborhood families, and that afternoon was no different. The adults were gathered around the radio glued to the news, so the children wouldn’t see the horrific events unfolding on TV. After the hugging and relief that all were present and accounted for, they realizing we were still missing one. Immediately, my dad walked to the garage, got out his bike and set out the city, to find the mother of a friend. He biked her commuting route, found her alongside the highway not in a state to continue driving, and brought her back to us.
Today we tell stories of kindness, patriotism, heroism and the extraordinary ability of the human spirit. Today we honor and thank all of our first responders for their service and pray for their loved ones. Today, we are all Americans; and I, for one, am extremely proud to come from the land of the free and the home of some of the incredibly brave. For the past 25 years, our families have come together to toast to life, and thank God for John and Dad returning to us. Though my dad isn’t here anymore to tell his story, I promise to continue telling of his bravery, selflessness, sense of duty, spirit, and how a penchant for lateness could lead to saving a life.
Tonight we pray that God keeps our soldiers safe, our land safe, and our loved ones safe. We pray for those families who still wait for the day that they see their loved ones once more; may their memory be eternal.
We remember and we will never ever forget.
I will close by sharing how fortunate I feel to be a New York, to have spent my professional life living and working downtown and to have captured the revitalization of the neighborhood over the last two decades. The resilience of the human spirit, especially that of New Yorkers is unparalleled!
📸: The RAF and Red Arrows flying over the WTC, the cross being lifted onto of the St. Nicholas Shrine Church, the first time we processed with the Epitaphio on Good Friday after the reopening of the Church, the annual doxologies honoring our Greek and American heroes with Evzones at the World Trade Center, and the blessing of His All-Holiness, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew I.
The St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church was originally built in 1916, for the sailors and immigrants arriving to New York. Our beautiful little church was leveled on 9/11, and now 25 years later has been rebuilt, consecrated, and a is open as a house of worship for all. The marble is sourced from the same quarry as the Acropolis, when the light shines through you feel as though you are in the heavens. The iconography portrays familiar biblical scenes of Jesus’s life, but also honors the heroes of 9/11 including those ship captains who orchestrated the largest maritime boat lift in American history. There is no doubt that St. Nicholas, patron saint of those at sea was protecting them that day.
