I met a man from New Jersey last Saturday, and it was without a doubt the most compelling and powerful introduction I’ve ever been a part of.
His name is Michael P. Lunden.
It was a name I was tasked with reading during the 9/11 Flags Across America commemoration of the 20th anniversary of that tragic day. Lunden, then an employee of Cantor Fitzgerald — a company that lost numerous employees when terrorists flew a plane into the North Tower of the World Trade Center — was among those lost.
On that day, Lunden was 37, married and the father of a 10-month-old son. Born in Elizabeth, New Jersey, he was living in Manhattan with his wife Michelle and son.
But on that Tuesday morning, he was at work and, like the rest of the workers in the Twin Towers, he was unaware of the fate that awaited him.
As I took just seconds to read a portion of his biography, I suddenly felt like I was giving the eulogy of a friend.
Lunden is just one of 50 names read last Saturday morning, and only one of 2,983 names attached to those who were killed during the day of terrorist attacks on our nation — in New York City, in Washington, D.C., and in Pennsylvania.
They are names we should all take a moment to remember and honor.
But Lunden’s name, for me, became so much more personal. He was the name I was randomly given, but it also felt like fate that his was the one. Today, he would be just seven years younger than I.
According to the New York Times, Michael’s friends always said he was worth waiting for, an assertion he tested frequently. “They called him the Human Rain Delay,” said Michelle, who married him even though he was 20 minutes late to their first date.
It was said that people would wait for Michael because, basically, no event could start without him. He was the constant center of an ever-widening social circle, a member of 26 wedding parties, a hyper-friendly guy in a loud Brooks Brothers shirt who introduced himself to each and every waiter, bartender and vineyard keeper he came into contact with.
The New York Times story continued: “When Mr. Lunden was not cocooning (loudly) with Michelle and their 10-month- old son at their Manhattan home or their weekend place on the North Fork of Long Island, or playing Friend’s Best Man for the umpteenth time, or touting a new Merlot, he was an energy trader at Cantor Fitzgerald. “
To me, this was a guy who could fit into any gathering and shine. He seemed to be the type of person others wished they could be.
More from the Times’ story …
The night before Mr. Lunden’s memorial service, a few of his pals — about 85 of them, actually — got together at his favorite steakhouse, Smith & Wollensky.
“Somebody said that only Michael would have a rehearsal dinner for his funeral,” Michelle said.
Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani happened to be eating there. He went over to see what all the noise was about and ended up donning a baseball cap that said “Lundo!!” and giving a speech about the indomitable spirit of the city.
Now THAT is someone who left behind a positive legacy.
The Bible, in Isaiah 57:1–2 (ESV), states: “1 The righteous man perishes,and no one lays it to heart; devout men are taken away, while no one understands. For the righteous man is taken away from calamity; 2 he enters into peace; they rest in their beds who walk in their uprightness.”
Today, 20 years after having his life cut far too short by a demonic act of cowardice, Michael’s memorial can be found at Ground Zero in NYC, Panel N-53 of the North Pool.
Rest in peace, my newest friend.
W. Curt Vincent can be reached at 910-506-3023 or [email protected].
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