(September 11, 2001, New York, NY) -- The terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center left an indelible image of horror and devastation on our country. Under the pressure of the crisis, our country also saw the true character of its citizens. Heroic volunteers, such as Capt. Joseph A. Cooke, a Delaware National Guard officer, originally from Sussex County, rose to the occasion as needed and helped spark a wave of patriotism everywhere.    

In his autobiography It Doesn't Take A Hero, General Norman Schwarzkopf, commander of the coalition forces in the Persian Gulf War, stressed the importance of doing what's right and doing it when it's needed rather than waiting for a hero to come along. Excellence and persistence are two of the major components of leadership in his long and distinguished career.

Those attributes also apply to everyday life. But they truly surface in some during times of crisis.

Cooke's experience that day and the days to follow is certainly a case in point:

The first indication of something amiss was a cryptic e-mail on Joseph A. Cooke's computer screen in his Manhattan office. It was a little after 9 a.m. on Tuesday, September 11.

Cooke, the senior MIS manager at his firm, was in the middle of a routine morning E-mail exchange with colleagues in the financial district, when someone messaged that the World Trade Center, about five miles away, had been struck by an aircraft.

Confirmations from the net followed and Cooke raced upstairs to his boss's office where cable TV was available. He was soon joined by nearly 20 others who squeezed into the room, each glued to the images on the screen in individual disbelief.

As the second tower was struck it became clear this was no accident. As amazement, anger, frustration and fear motivated people to call families and head home, Cooke knew he too had to get to his Harlem apartment and begin making calls.

As a captain in the 198th Signal Battalion of the Delaware National Guard, he began to think like a soldier. Knowing his parents were physically safe in his hometown in distant southern Delaware, his plan was to call them, to check on a cousin who worked at Charles Schwab downtown and then, depending upon the gravity of the situation, possibly respond to an activation order.

His trip home was interrupted at the Madison Ave. Bridge. Like all others, it had been closed by police.

"It occurred to me they'd locked everyone out of the city," he said. "I kept thinking, 'I can't stay here. I'm a soldier with a job to do.'"

After parking his car near the bridge, he walked and ran to his apartment. To his relief, the phone still worked. After reassuring his parents he was all right and checking in with his Manhattan cousin, Cooke called Guard headquarters in Wilmington. No one had been activated but he was told to call back every few hours.

Sitting by the phone waiting for a call wasn't going to help the ongoing disaster on his doorstep. He phoned the NY National Guard to ask for directions to the nearest armory. As luck would have it, the 369th Corps Support Battalion at 142nd & 5th Avenue was near where he parked. His bicycle made the return trip to his car quicker.

His BDUs attracted the attention of many on the street. Strangers approached to thank him for being there, seeking reassurance that someone was "going to get them" for what they'd done to their city. He tossed his bike into the trunk and a police officer assigned to the bridge waved him across.

Upon arriving at the armory several minutes later, Cooke was introduced to Maj. Norman Easy who informed him that he 369th had neither a signal unit nor radios, but as their new acting battalion signal officer, Cooke was charged with setting up communications both in the unit and in the community, as needed. Without radios to deal with, he focused on coordinating land line usage in the unit's Tactical Operations Center (TOC).

While transportation subunits were deployed to staging areas around the disaster, Cooke called the NYPD and offered to provide whatever assistance he could coordinating communication. The offer was quickly accepted and a soldier was assigned to drive him to Police Emergency Operations Center downtown. Within minutes of his arrival, he was issued credentials and escorted to the hub of operations on the 8th floor.

He found a room filled with city, state and federal officials trying to coordinate rescue activities and provide security from additional assaults. They were having a great deal of difficulty reaching people outside the facility because of the number of land lines that had been destroyed, a flood in Verizon's basement downtown, and frequency saturation on cell phones.

An official briefed Cooke and asked for his suggestion. The captain's first response was to ask about the availability of FM radios. It was determined there were units stored at a police facility at 66th & Park Ave. Two officers were dispatched to take Cooke there. They returned to the OPS center "about 100 mph," after being issued 20 radios and two bullhorns. Another request, to set up satellite phones, was passed along to the 107 Corps Support Group upstate. Although the satellite was not available, center coordinators did have local communications as a result of Cooke's expertise.

The rest of the day was a blur of nonstop activity and memorable stories.

The 2 a.m. drive back to the 369th for some sleep provided another. Cooke and his driver were flagged down by four firemen covered in the white snowlike dust that hung over everything. They were stragglers from a company that had been nearly decimated by the collapse of the first tower. The firemen, whose vehicle had been crushed, continued to work until overcome by exhaustion and needed a ride to their station in the Bronx.

"I'll never forget the look of exhaustion and hurt in their eyes. They named about 30 of their brother firefighters who were gone forever. When we got to the station a cheer went up that they'd survived. We were thanked for bringing them home and asked to stay for sandwiches and coffee and we did," said Cooke.

 "Compared to what they'd been through I felt like I'd done nothing."

For the first time the heroes saw the TV coverage of what they'd lived through and exchanged horror stories.

"That really brought home the enormity of what had happened. We headed back to the 369th with tears in our eyes, an emotion we fought all next day."

Like others directly involved in relief efforts the following days were a series of nonstop activities punctuated by only a few hours of critical sleep for Cooke.

On Friday he realized the 261st was conducting a scheduled exercise at Ft. Dix so he left to report for duty the following morning. His commanding officer, Lt. Col. Chris Haser, released him to go back with an offer that Delaware would supply any communications planning and implementation requested.

Cooke stayed until the following Tuesday, volunteering for any duty that would help, including relieving some of the exhausted security people at Ground Zero.

He was placed in charge of 46 soldiers guarding the coolers used for body parts, the FBI's crime scene recovery area for aircraft pieces, and the dump truck entrance and exit areas.

"There's no way to describe the experience. If you saw ground zero like I saw it, it was worse than anything on TV." He talked about the rescuers' highs and lows, comparing them to a balloon inflating and deflating. "The most poignant moments were early on when rescue crews would find a void in the wreckage and everyone would grow silent waiting for them to emerge with survivors. With few exceptions, they never did," he said with a stammer in his voice.

Because he felt his contribution was so small compared to those who lost family, coworkers and friends, very few were told of this Delaware National Guard soldier's important contribution to the City of New York and the people of America.

Cooke has retained his Police Emergency Center identification card as a memento of an event his fellow Americans will never forget.