CITIZEN HEROES.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair...." Thus begins A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens' classic novel set in the French Revolution. Were Dickens alive today, he could apply those immortal words to our own age.

Certainly Black Tuesday was the worst of times. In one morning lived not just a season but a lifetime of darkness and despair. Still, even in the darkest depths of the day's gloom came a ray of light. Ordinary citizens -- policemen, firefighters, and civilians -- turned into extraordinary heroes, thwarting further attacks and rushing to rescue others yet endangered. These ordinary citizens have covered themselves in glory and brought honor to the nation. They have been, in the midst of darkness, that spring of hope.

It is not known with certainty exactly what happened during the final moments of United Airlines Flight 93. Bound for San Francisco from Newark, New Jersey, the Boeing 757 was hijacked over northern Ohio and eventually crashed in a field in rural southwest Pennsylvania, killing all 42 persons on board (31 regular passengers, seven crew members, and the four hijackers). It appears that at least three passengers bravely attempted to overpower a hijacker who was reportedly carrying a bomb and rush the cockpit in order to regain control of the plane. Whatever caused the plane to crash during the ensuing struggle, there is almost no doubt that those passengers who resisted prevented an attack on another target -- most likely in Washington -- and saved countless lives.

At least 20 calls from Flight 93 were placed from on-board telephones after the plane was commandeered. Other calls were made with cell phones, though the exact number is unclear. Todd Beamer, 32, of Cranbury, New Jersey, dialed an operator for GTE Airfone Service (which manages the on-board phone system). The businessman and Sunday School teacher conversed with Lisa D. Jefferson for about 13 minutes. Details of their conversation, subsequently made public by Mrs. Jefferson, point to a passenger revolt that apparently caused the plane to crash short of its intended target.

The passengers and crew had been divided into two groups. Some were forced to the first-class compartment, while the others, including Beamer, were ordered to sit on the floor in a galley at the rear of the cabin. Beamer told Jefferson that there were three knife-wielding men on board (the FBI later identified four; the passengers may not have been able to see one). One at the back of the plane, he said, appeared to have a bomb. "I know I'm not going to get out of this," he said, then asked Jefferson to pray with him. They recited the Lord's Prayer, then he asked her to promise that she would call Lisa, his wife of seven years, who is expecting their third child in January. "Tell her I love her and the boys," he entreated. Jefferson said she would (a few days later, she did).

Beamer told Jefferson that the hijackers had stabbed at least one person to death. and that the plane's two pilots had been overcome and possibly injured. He said he and at least two other passengers had decided to act against the bomb-carrying terrorist, after which she heard him say, "Are you guys ready? Let's roll." Since the connection was left open, for a few moments she heard a commotion that included screams and the sounds of a scuffle, then the line abruptly went dead.

When Todd Beamer told Jefferson that he and others were going to "jump on" the hijacker with the bomb, he specifically mentioned fellow passenger Jeremy Glick as a participant in the plan. Glick, 31, was from West Milford, New Jersey. A sales and marketing executive for an Internet company, he was also the father of a three-month-old daughter and had been a college rugby player and judo champion.

Glick called his wife, Lyzbeth, during the ordeal. He wanted to know if what he had heard from another passenger was true: that the World Trade Center towers had been hit by jetliners. Reluctantly, she confirmed it, and moments later he told her that he and others were discussing whether to rush the hijackers. He asked what she thought he should do. She told him, "Honey, you need to go for it." He was, she later recalled, understandably nervous about rushing the hijackers, but still displayed a sense of humor, stating at one point that he was at least armed with his butter knife from the in-flight breakfast.

Glick asked his wife to stay on the line, but she could not bear to listen, so she handed the receiver to her father, Richard Makely. He later told reporters that he heard rustling, a brief silence, then more rustling, then screams, then -- nothing. The line, as had Beamer's, went dead.

Thomas Burnett Jr., 38, of San Ramon, California, was senior vice president and CEO of a medical device manufacturing company in Pleasanton. He was also the father of three girls, including five-year-old twins. He called his wife, Deena, four times. He first assured her that he was okay, and asked her to call authorities. She dialed 911, and had a dispatcher put her through to the FBI. When Burnett called a second time, his wife told him about the attacks on the WTC. In his third call, the couple discussed whether a bomb was aboard. And during his final call, the former high school quarterback told her "We're getting ready to do something." "Who?" she asked. "A group of us," he replied. "We're going to do something."

Many other passengers, like public relations executive Mark Bingham, may have been involved in the attempt to "do something." Collectively, they most likely prevented an even more terrible atrocity than actually occurred that fateful day.

Fearless Firemen

During his September 20th address, President Bush also singled out police officer George Howard of Hicksville, New York, as an example of the courage and heroism demonstrated by police and firefighters on September 11th. Howard, 45, had served 16 years with the Port Authority that owns the WTC. He was also a volunteer fireman and the father of two teenage sons. In 1993, he had been among the first to reach the scene (on his day off) after terrorists bombed the WTC. On that occasion he helped hundreds of persons grope their way to safety, and was awarded the Medal of Valor for helping to rescue many school-children who had become trapped in an elevator.

It was also his day off when the jets slammed into the Twin Towers. He jumped into a rescue truck and raced to ground zero. He arrived moments before the second tower collapsed and was caught in the avalanche. A flying sheet of steel struck and killed him as he ran into the dust and smoke.

His mother, Arlene, gave her son's Port Authority Police Department shield (No. 1012) to President Bush as a reminder of her son's sacrifice. The president held it up during his September 20th address to the nation, and said that he would carry it as a reminder of those who died in the disaster.

Firefighter Daniel Brethel, 43, captain of a Manhattan ladder company, had completed his shift and was off-duty when the first jet hit the north tower, but did not hesitate to remain on the job. When one of the buildings began to collapse, he grabbed a colleague and dived under a nearby fire truck. They were both crushed to death by the falling debris.

Staten Island resident Robert Curatolo, 31, was the youngest of four brothers, one of whom became a police officer while three (including Robert) opted to become firefighters. Robert had been married only three weeks when all four went to ground zero to assist with rescue efforts. The next day, Robert's brothers returned to search for his body. Rescuers, however, had already found Robert's body pinned under a fire truck. Robert, who was off-duty at the time of the attack, had hitched a ride in a police car in order to assist. After the south tower collapsed, he was seen dragging a man with two broken legs to safety. Moments later another firefighter snapped a photo that happened to catch him heading back toward the building. It is the last image members of his family have of him.

In the wake of the attacks, firefighters at Engine Company 1 in Manhattan recalled how they had scurried from the north tower after the south tower had collapsed. Their lieutenant, Andy Desperito, had ordered them to get out, which they did. But Lt. Desperito himself stopped to assist someone. The building collapsed moments later. His body was among the relative few recovered later that day.

Sergeant John McLoughlin, a 21-year veteran of the Port Authority Police Department, was helping to secure the WTC when the south tower crashed to the ground. He was able to crawl into a tiny space beneath about 40 feet of rubble, where he was pinned down for nearly 24 hours, entangled in metal cables used to bind cement.

At about 8 p.m. that night, rescuers digging through the rubble thought they heard human sounds. At first, they assumed it was too good to be true, but as they kept digging toward the sounds it became apparent that someone was indeed alive. They were eventually able to slip a two-way microphone into Sergeant McLoughlin's air chamber, which helped confirm where (and who) he was. Then, risking their own lives, they formed a human chain above him and passed the necessary tools and other instruments up and down the line. At one point, it appeared that his legs (both of which were broken) might have to be amputated to free him, but rescuers were able to modify some of tools to dig under and around the limbs. Eventually he was freed, legs intact.

Sergeant McLaughlin had performed a dramatic rescue of his own after the 1993 WTC bombing, diving into a gaping hole caused by the explosion to shield others from harm.

Port Authority Police Officer Dominick Pezzulo, 36, had been on the force for little more than a year and was assigned to the Port Authority bus terminal when the first plane struck. He and his fellow officers commandeered a city bus and raced to ground zero. When the south tower collapsed he was buried in rubble, but was able to dig himself out. He made it to safety, but when he realized a fellow officer was missing, he ran back and crawled through the same tunnel he had dug to escape. He was killed in the attempt. When rescuers found his body, they wrapped it in an American flag prior to having it transported by ambulance to a temporary morgue.

Some heroic acts were performed by rescue workers and civilians who have yet to be identified. One firefighter was caught on television video covered in dust and ash after the second tower was struck. He had made it to safety, and was striving to catch his breath before returning, when a reporter asked him if he actually wanted to go back in. He replied that he had no choice, since it was his job, and many of his buddies were trapped in the wreckage. Typically, since it is an aspect of a firefighter's job, he began pushing his way toward the burning building as hundreds of persons were striving to get away. Moments later the tower collapsed. His last words to the reporter had been: "I ain't trying to be a hero."

Dan Baumbach, a 24-year-old New York software programmer, made it from the 80th floor of the north tower to the concourse below, and was coming up the escalator to street-level when the power went out. With debris pummeling down, an unknown policeman threw himself atop Baumbach to shield him from injury. Moments later both were covered by a shower of debris and ash. Baumbach believes that he must have passed out, and when he revived the policeman was gone and daylight could be seen ahead. He staggered to the street, not knowing the name, or the condition, of the officer who had risked his own life to protect him.

And in another incident, a woman only able to walk with crutches (who asked not to be identified) was on the 64th floor of the south tower when the second plane struck the building. Fellow employees, refusing to leave her behind, began carrying her down the stairs. She told the next day's New York Times, "It was incredibly difficult. They had me over their shoulder[s] for 5 or 10 flights and just couldn't do it." At that point, a man she knew only as "Louis" came upon the struggling group. He lifted the woman to his shoulders and began carrying her by himself. As they descended below the 20th floor, a security guard erroneously told them they were out of danger, and urged Louis to leave the woman and continue on his own. He refused. The woman told the Times, "He carried me down all 54 flights, and then out of the building, all the way to the E.M.T. [Emergency Medical Technician] guys, and he stuck with me until we got one who said I could go in an ambulance."

Civilian Courage

In addition to the acts of courage and heroism by police officers, firefighters, and rescue workers, there were many by civilians as well.

John P. O'Neill, for instance, was a former FBI investigator who specialized in the hunt for terrorists around the world. He supervised the on-site investigation of the terrorist bombing of the USS Cole in Yemen last year, as well as the attacks on U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania in 1998.

O'Neill, 50, had become director of security for the WTC only two weeks prior to September 11th, after retiring as head of the FBI's national security division in New York. He was in his 34th-floor office when the first jetliner hit the north tower. He descended the stairs to safety within minutes, then phoned a son and a friend to reassure them he was fine. After placing a call to FBI headquarters, he re-entered one of the buildings to assist with the rescue effort and was apparently inside when it collapsed.

Brian Clark was in a brokerage firm on the 84th floor of the south tower when the second plane slammed into the building. He began descending the stairs when, at the 81st floor, he heard cries for help. Stanley Praimnath, 44, who worked in the loan department of a bank on that floor, had crawled through the rubble toward the stairway, but had become trapped under a collapsed wall. Clark began removing debris and broken doors. "Make it through the wall!" he yelled. "I can't!" Praimnath replied. "You have to do this!" Clark insisted. Praimnath kept trying, and after he had partially extricated himself, Clark grabbed him by the head and a hand and pulled him free. They hugged like brothers, then scurried down the stairs.

There were undoubtedly scores of courageous actions that will go unrecognized due to a dearth of evidence. In some instances, however, there are mere snippets of information that tend to further pinpoint the heroes of September 11th.

William Fallon Jr., 53, was a general manager in charge of commerce at the Port Authority. After the 1993 WTC bombing he had helped carry the injured from the building when he could have easily chosen safety for himself. On September 11th, every member of his department escaped but him. He had called his wife, Brenda, from his office on the 62nd floor of the north tower before it collapsed, but later made calls from the 64th floor. He had, again, apparently opted to help others when he could have saved himself.

William Joseph Wik, 44, an assistant director in the risk management service department of a corporation on the 92nd floor of the south tower, called his wife shortly after the north tower was struck. She urged him to leave the building immediately, but he told her, "No, I can't do that, there are still people here." He died when the building collapsed. When his body was found, he was wearing work gloves and a mask and was grasping an Emergency Medical Service flashlight that was probably handed to him by a rescue worker.

Some instances reflected not so much heroism as courageous compassion. Abe Zelmanowitz, 55, was on the 27th floor of 1 World Trade Center when the hijacked plane struck. He could easily have escaped from the building. Instead, he called his brother, Jack, who was watching the nightmare unfold on television at his home in Brooklyn. "I'm still here in the office," Abe informed him, insisting "I'm OK."

Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Why are you still in there?" he demanded. "I'm with Ed," Abe replied. "He's afraid to go down because the smoke is so strong." Ed Beyea, Abe's fellow programmer and close friend, is a quadriplegic confined to a wheelchair. "You've got to get out of there," Jack frantically exclaimed. "Have the firemen or someone help you carry him out." "Don't worry, don't worry," his brother replied. "We're getting ready to go." But Abe, Ed, and the firefighter who was with them were unable to reach safety before the building collapsed.

President Bush cited the incident as an eloquent act of sacrifice during his remarks at the National Day of Prayer and Remembrance service on September 14th.

In addition to instances of courage and heroism, there was also an unprecedented deluge of support for survivors and the loved ones of victims. Blood donations filled the nation's blood banks beyond capacity within 24 hours. Women cooked dinners for shifts at fire stations. Money contributed or pledged exceeded $840 million by October 8th, with children breaking into piggy-bank savings and teens sponsoring car washes to help. The ingenuity and energy for raising funds and otherwise rendering assistance seemed boundless. The spirit of the moment is evident in an incident at Fire Station No. 20 in Sacramento, California, where a homeless woman donated her entire fortune to the rescue effort: eight cents and a United States bank note dating back to the 1940s.