One Man’s Incredible 9/11 Journey

By Tom Deignan

By the morning of September 11, 2001, Walter Coughlin had already lived quite a life.

He was born and raised in Hell’s Kitchen when the West Side Manhattan neighborhood was still substantially Irish. Coughlin’s father, whose own parents came from Dublin, was an electrician who worked on the Empire State Building in the early 1930s.

So, at the age of 18, Coughlin worked toward entering the same electrician’s union, as many Irish American sons had done before.

Labor would be a vital force in Coughlin’s life. Just in unexpected ways.

For there were problems. Walter Coughlin would not have worked very well on, say, the Empire State Building because it turned out that he was afraid of heights. Another problem was that Coughlin developed a taste for bars as well as the bar business.

“I was a better bartender than electrician,” says Coughlin, now 62.

The Coughlins moved to another Irish enclave, Woodside, and then to Flushing, where Walter bought his first bar. What began then was a slow but sure descent into alcoholism which would ultimately leave him homeless for well over a decade.

Things were high flying for awhile, with Coughlin drinking in hot spots from the Upper East Side to the Hamptons.

But he was also killing himself.

“I’ve been through everywhere, from Park Avenue to the park bench,” said Coughlin.

By September of 2001, however, Coughlin had cleaned himself up, thanks in part to Irish friends from Queens, such as labor leader Brian McLaughlin and funeral home owner John Hogan. Coughlin found shelter on the North Shore of Staten Island, not far from the Staten Island Ferry terminal.

There, a Dublin priest at St. Peter’s Church named Vincent Bartley was among those who helped Coughlin adjust to his new life. Coughlin grew so close to the parish’s surrounding community that he began organizing get-togethers for parishioners and even helping those in need from time to time.

“I had never done anything for anyone when I was drinking,” said Coughlin.

Then, the planes hit. Across the Narrows, Coughlin and thousands of others had a clear view of the burning towers, which left thousands dead and untold numbers wounded when they fell.

St. Peter’s church was open for more than a month straight for people in need of comfort. It was out of that experience that Coughlin helped form what is now called The Dakota Group (An Alliance of Friends).

What began as a small, significant effort to help with the wounds of September 11 has grown into a small, significant effort to help all those in need, from recovering alcoholics such as Coughlin to battered wives, abused children or those left homeless by cataclysms which simply do not dominate the headlines.

Just this Labor Day weekend, Coughlin said The Dakota Group — and its wide, vast alliance of charitable friends — helped two families in need of shelter, furniture and a break on life’s hard road.

“Anyone in desperation, we help,” is how Coughlin puts it. “One life at a time.”

It is now four years since the terror attacks of September 11. Of course, the deepest wounds of that day will never heel.

But things are changing. The mere words “September 11” were thrown around quite casually this year, mainly because it was the opening day for the National Football League.

But when you hear the story of Walter Coughlin and the Dakota Group — and as we struggle to comprehend the horror of what happened in New Orleans — it is important to recall that it is not always good that things “get back to normal.”

Walter Coughlin and many of his Irish American friends in the church, labor and other charity groups want better than normal. They want to help people for whom normal is very painful, and there are many of them still out there, most notably, of course, the families of September 11 victims.

It is important to reflect upon that this September 11, and every subsequent September 11.

(Contact Sidewalks at tomdeignan@earthlink.net.)