ABSTRACT
Five years later, two images from 9/11/2001 compete in my memory. The first is the image of a friend, a musician named Johnny Bully. The morning of 9/11 he kissed his wife and kid goodbye and rode into NYC from Middle Village on his Harley. He had the day off, but he needed the overtime. An hour later Johnny Bully aka Fire Fighter John Heffernan was crushed as the second tower went down. Like so many people, I wondered, where was God as the concrete and steel pummeled another Rockaway hero.
