The children of 9/11: living through a public tragedy

BY DAVE MARCUS | Newsday Staff Writer

Grabbing a burger from the grill in her backyard, Caitlin Langone, 17, flops onto a chair. Her brother Brian, 15, carefully trims a piece of fat from a chicken kebab.

"That's exactly how your father did it," JoAnn Langone tells her son. "Cutting up food into little pieces. Just like a Langone."

Tommy Langone has been gone for five years, but at moments like this, he seems to be back. Or when Brian moves his hands while speaking. Or when Caitlin talks in great bursts, barely pausing for a breath.

"Slow down, Caitlin," her mom says.

Or the way both kids perk up whenever they hear a siren. "Ambulance," they announce in unison. Sometimes it's so far away that their mom can't hear anything, and they have to tell her how it sounds.

At the Langone house, time is divided -- before Sept. 11 and after. Before the collapse of the Twin Towers that killed their father, a police officer, and their uncle, Peter Langone, a firefighter, Caitlin and Brian use to love dinnertime. Tommy, who specialized in rescue work, would come home to Williston Park and delight them with tales of saving people from car crashes and elevator accidents.

He would chatter away in rapid volleys even as he listened to a scanner, monitoring emergency calls. In his spare time, he was chief of the volunteer Roslyn Rescue Fire Co. Peter also volunteered in Roslyn.

After Sept. 11, the house became eerily still. No one listened to the scanner. Dispatchers stopped calling at odd hours. Dinners ended quickly.

Caitlin and Brian Langone are two of the 2,172 minor children who lost a parent in the World Trade Center. Like the others, they have had to grow up with a tragedy that every stranger knows about and that keeps replaying on TV and in movies.

Until now, the family has refused to discuss their lives publicly because, as Caitlin says, "Dad and Uncle Peter weren't showboats." Caitlin and Brian also skip Sept. 11 commemorations. Peter Langone's widow still doesn't talk to the media.

Caitlin decided to go public because she kept seeing the same people quoted in coverage about plans for a Sept. 11 memorial. She felt nobody can represent the views of 2,973 families, which includes those of victims at the Pentagon. Also, she worried that arguments about architecture were overshadowing what's truly important: reminding the world about Sept. 11.

He knew the risks

Despite their loss, Tommy Langone's family often points out that he knew the risks of his job. And unlike some who died in the World Trade Center, he had life insurance and a good pension. Besides, in the months that followed the attacks, his police colleagues and his buddies from the Roslyn fire station brought food to the family, drove them on errands and tried to keep Tommy's memory alive by sharing stories. "We're very lucky," JoAnn Langone said.

Of all the things she misses about her dad, Caitlin misses dinner the most.

"With my dad, it was, 'How was the work day?' " Caitlin recalled. " 'Oh, fine. We had some guy who wanted to jump off a bridge, but we stopped him. Then we saved a turtle that got stuck in an inlet. Then we helped a man trapped under a subway car and took a pig out of an apartment, And -' "

"Slow down, Caitlin," her mother said.

For Caitlin, the best dinners were the ones interrupted by the Roslyn dispatcher. When Tommy got summoned, he'd strap the kids in his Chevy Tahoe, switch on his flashing lights and roar to the station.

As Caitlin, Brian and their mom finished dinner in the backyard the other evening, a whine came from just beyond the table. It was their yellow lab, T.J., named for Tommy and JoAnn. The dog favored Tommy, and it's as if he's still waiting for his master to come home. His prized plaything is an orange cone meant to keep drivers away from construction sites.

"Your father taught him to fetch the cone," JoAnn told Brian, who had stayed at the table. "Your father knew how to throw it right."

Brian hears that several times a week: Your father used to . . . your father would have . . . The last time he saw his dad was his 10th birthday. Sept. 10, 2001.