This will mark the third year I honor John R. Crowe for Project 2,996. I wrote my first tribute in 2006, and then skipped a year due to self-absorption, I guess. It felt awful, so I picked it back up last year, which turned out to be kismet. Last year I had two people comment that knew John personally: a close friend of his, Mark, and one of his sisters, Peggy. I was so humbled and honored that they were each pleased with what I wrote and that they said I captured him well, as I had very little to go on! So this year I contacted each of them again and asked if they’d be willing to talk with me more about John. They each willingly agreed. And then I got busy with life and school starting and a teenaged daughter and I didn’t call Peggy until today, the 10th, and I left Mark my number in an email but with such short notice, I didn’t get a chance to speak with him (Mark, I apologize, and please leave your thoughts and memories here in the comments for now).
I spoke with John’s sister Peggy, a gracious and lovely woman who shared so much with me in such a short time on the phone that I would have given anything in that moment to give her a hug. Peggy was in Tower One, the building the first plane hit. John was in Tower Two that day, and after the first plane hit, he called their other sister at home to assure her that Peggy was okay—that was the kind of man John was, always thinking of others.
John’s father died when he was only 5 years old, the oldest of three children. He tried to step into the role of “man of the house” almost immediately, and spent his life fulfilling it, not just for his own family, but also for anyone who knew him. He was the go-to guy. If anyone needed anything, they knew John would fix it. He went to a Jesuit high school and was a star athlete there, exceptional enough in football to be awarded several scholarships to colleges out of state. John instead chose to stay close to home so he could continue to help his mother and sisters, so he attended a local Jesuit college. In subsequent years he helped do fundraising for both, and was always the one to raise the most money. Everyone wanted to help him out because he was John Crowe.
It was hard for me to keep up with the charitable activities Peggy listed that her brother was involved with: Meals on Wheels, Christmas in April were two. When a cousin bought a ramshackle house that needed renovation, John was the one who went there every weekend for 3 months to help out.
John was a man of great faith, a Catholic who lived his faith each and every day—a man of his word. Anyone who became friends with John was a friend for life. He married his high school sweetheart in Pamela and had two beautiful sons.
Peggy is certain that John died helping others on that day, and I agree. As tragic and horrific as it was, Peggy told me about how everyone in the buildings immediately showed the better nature of humanity: there was no shoving, no running; security guards stayed at their posts; civilians helped other civilians before the firemen could get there, and after.
After we lost John (and I say “we” because any of us who might have had the chance to know him have suffered a loss), Peggy’s daughter (and architect) designed a memorial for him in Rutherford, NJ, their home. Family and friends have a gathering there every year, and the first year there were over 1,000 people. Peggy spoke and talked about how John would want them to find things to laugh about, to remember stories about him. Afterwards, she encouraged people milling about to start sharing, and it seemed everyone had a “John Crowe story.”
I feel so blessed to have been randomly given John R. Crowe when I first signed up for this project. In this, my third time remembering him, I feel close to him and grateful for the good he brought during his life. More importantly, I am grateful for the good he and all the others lost that day may continue to bring by reminding us to be present, to treasure every day. As Peggy says, we are human and small annoyances and pettiness will creep back in now and again, but she stops herself and remembers how any of those lost on 9/11 would gladly have her very worst day if it meant being alive again.
The lessons we can take with us from that day are not how
evil man can be, but how good. Amidst all the fear there was raw love—that is
what I saw as humans all around the world sent prayers. And within all of
that—I see 2,996 lives that mattered. They mattered in life and they matter in
their deaths. They teach us, if we let them.
Peggy, thank you so very much for your gift to me today.
John, thank you for the gift you give us every day.
