WHEN THE NATION CALLS: A COMPANY’S COMMITMENT TO COMPASSION AND HUMANITY DURING 9/11

I was in my office when hearing the North Tower of the World Trade Center (WTC) was hit on 9/11. It was jarring, for every reason shared by others and written about over the next twenty-five years.

At the time I was the President and Chief Operating Officer for Beverly Health & Rehabilitation, Inc, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Beverly Enterprises, the largest nursing home company in the U.S., with over 700 locations in 38 states, 45,000 patients served daily, and 54,000 workers and caregivers.

Every day, colleagues and co-workers crossed the nation, flying from their homes to a nursing home, or other employment destination.

Every. Single. Day. To—and from— Boston, Washington, D.C., Pittsburgh, New York City, coast-to-coast and points in-between.

Together, we witnessed the live, unforgettable coverage of the crash into the WTC’s South Tower. Struggling to center myself, I took a few extra minutes before entering an upcoming meeting, then quickly exited, returning upstairs to my office.

Grabbing a company-wide field operations directory, covering eight regions, fifty-plus districts, and several hundred workers, I asked my assistant (and a few others) to begin reaching out to offices to confirm locations and responses for every associate, and to assemble a handful of other executive assistants in the building to do the same for people routinely in the office that were away.

No other work mattered. The priority was to answer one question:

Where is everyone?

Returning, albeit very late, to this meeting proved fruitless. In the interim, a plane had crashed into the Pentagon, and another in western Pennsylvania.

It was nearly impossible to maintain any attention to the agenda or conversations. Out-of-town attendees were attempting to confirm their location, learn about flight changes, hotel arrangements, rental car extensions, and one-way drop-off fees.

Most telephone circuits were jammed, and this—combined with this devastating news—brought people and their work to a halt. Shortly thereafter, we adjourned. People quickly scattered to deal with this experience privately. Some attendees immediately left the building, and were not seen or heard from for a few days.

Returning to the floor where my office was located, my assistant, Carol, approached. Ashen, and rattled, she said,

“You need to call your mother and brother, now.”

Listening to Carol, I called my mom and brother. After a few attempts, I got through to them. Conversations with each were emotional, then cathartic. Riveted to their televisions—at home and work—they feared I was aboard a plane that had crashed, or flying across the nation, and wanted only to hear my voice and tell me they loved me.

Finishing the call with Mom, Carol handed me a pink phone memo, and remained beside my desk. This note said:

YOU NEED TO GET OFF THE PHONE, RIGHT NOW.

I did. Exiting my office, she said, “Stay off the phone for a minute. You have a call that is on-hold.”

Answering the blinking, beeping line, and identifying myself, I heard:

“Mr. Devereaux, I am calling on behalf of (branch of U.S. government). Please write down this telephone number, and call it as soon as this call concludes. Do you have it, and can you repeat it?”

I had it. I repeated it. Confirming the number, I then heard.

“Good. Talk to you in just a second. Thank you.”

Click.

I was terrified. Carefully, I dialed this telephone number. Over a speaker phone, I heard a deep and powerful voice. There was a slight echo. The voice on the other line shared,

“Mr. Devereaux, thank you for calling back. We have a problem and are asking for your help. My name is (rank and name) and I am with (name of U.S. governmental agency). I am joined in this room by (many ranks or titles, names, and many U.S. governmental agencies).”

Sweating and short-of-breath, my heart raced. Desperately writing ranks, titles, full names, and agencies, I was failing. My hand was shaking to the point where the piece of paper I was writing on resembled an EKG printout. The conversation continued.

“Mr. Devereaux, you are responsible for the largest provider of health care on the eastern side of this country. As you know, sir, this has been a very dark day for America, and we are asking for you and your company to do your part.”

Responding, “What can we do for you, sir?” 

“We believe that we could be looking at hundreds, maybe thousands of casualties. It is too early to know, but we have to plan for this. What we are asking you and your nursing homes to be prepared for is this…we may have to empty hospitals, from New England to the Carolinas, to make room for people who were injured today and require treatment.

We do not have the luxury of time to do this in a piecemeal fashion, and want to know if your company is able to make room in your nursing homes to help us with the triage we must plan for—right now.”

I answered immediately and affirmatively. Questions about coordination and communication were answered directly.

Concluding this exchange, the chairperson said,

“I want to make sure that you understand that we do not yet know what we will be dealing with. Please work to be ready, and then be prepared to stand by. When we know something, we will let you know. You should not expect a call with updates. This will be a ‘GO’ or ‘NO GO’ situation. When we are fully informed, we will reach out to you. Do you understand?” 

For several hours, this was the only telephone conversation involving these national leaders. E-mail communication outlined patient transportation methods, sharing patient histories and physicals, medical records transfers, multi-day medication supplies, and temporary variances to licensed bed capacities.

The scope, depth, and specificity of this communication, advanced preparation—and planning for the unplanned—was evident. In a time before the creation of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), whatever map simulations or ‘if, then’ scenario analytics multiple agencies and their leaders were required to do as part of maintaining safety, order, and flow within America, this experience was proof positive that people knew what they were doing.

Our preparation involved three regions and their teams, executing previously established disaster plans across more than one-hundred nursing homes. Under ordinary and predictable circumstances—fire, snow, flood, hurricane, and tornado—these disasters stretch nursing homes to their upper limits, exposing threats and weaknesses from initiation to conclusion. The additional elements of horror and fear made this work exponentially difficult.

And yet, as roll calls determined the whereabouts of field-based associates, and unstable telecommunications to parts of the country ensued, these regions – under the direction of competent and incredible leadership—and their nursing homes, were as ready and able as possible…on a Tuesday night, when America was under attack, and people were terrified.

Though ready, we waited. For many hours more.

Sometime after 11:00 PM, my office phone rang. No need for a telephone number exchange and return phone call. No speaker phone or echo. Just two people talking on the telephone.

“Mr. Devereaux, this is (the chairperson from the previous call). I am sorry that it has taken me so long to get back to you, and appreciate the work you and your company has been doing since we last spoke. Unfortunately, we are not going to need your help tonight.”

I asked this gentleman, whose voice was spent, if the nursing homes should remain on stand-by, and remain prepared in case this effort was experiencing a delay.

“No. That will not be necessary. They are all gone.”

Click.

Expletives.

Tears…

Understanding the magnitude of this news was impossible. I hadn’t been following continuing coverage over the preceding hours. It took time to grasp its enormity and understand the thousands of lives lost, and millions changed.

Worldwide and forever.

The Next Day: A Very, Very Early Surprise

Around 6:00 AM Wednesday, September 12, I took a shower, shaved, put on a jacket and tie, and went back to work. Exiting the elevator and turning the corner toward my office, I saw Mary, the person in charge of the company’s payroll department, seated outside.

After exchanging good mornings, Mary said,

“It’s Wednesday, and I want to tell the team what do to about checks. What do you want to do, Dave?”

This was a wake-up call. Prior to pay cards, direct deposit en masse, ACH transfers, and payment in Bitcoin, most people—banked and un-banked—received their pay in a check.

For a company with 54,000 people, payroll processing was arduous. Split among two cycles, with 27,000 paychecks per cycle, preparing, bundling, addressing, and mailing correct paychecks to nursing homes to deliver to its workers required precision.

Mailing checks required airplanes. On September 12, 2001, all planes in the United States were grounded.

Given what had transpired the day before, it would have been easy to “kick the can,” send an e-mail and blame the delay on FedEx, air-traffic control, or an unknown level of terroristic activity.

And in doing so, good people would have been screwed.

I replied to Mary, “Run the checks, and come see me in an hour.”

“Hitting the Road” and Getting People Paid

Without former U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower’s foresight and leadership, the rest of this story doesn’t happen. Eisenhower’s WWI and WWII experiences were the driving force behind this nation’s interstate highway system.

Using a map and many highlighters, I began drawing circles around a handful of locations in each compass direction of our company’s location. As reference, Fort Smith is just miles from Interstate 40, and once on I-40, you can get to anywhere in the U.S. Might take you a while, but you can get there.

Multi-colored lines filled this map. I-40 eastward and westward, intersecting I-55 in Memphis, I-65 in Nashville, I-75 near Knoxville,  I-85 near Greensboro, and I-95 near Raleigh. Extending lines northward and southward on the interstates ending in “5” to points where paycheck bundles could be handed off safely, and delivered—achieving timely pay deadlines—in eastern markets ranging from Boston in the north, to Fort Lauderdale in the south, and westward across all of the Eastern and most of the Central time zones.

Sharing this plan with Mary an hour later, laughter interrupted swearing, and accompanied headshaking…by us both.

While never done before (never needing to be done before), we agreed that getting people paid timely was one thing that could be done to sustain confidence, in a world that had more unknowns than knowns.

Doing this correctly, safely, and get people paid, required cars and drivers. Volunteers from the office were in endless supply. After the previous 24 hours, people wanted to get out and do something. Anything.

No rental cars could be had. To meet their relay partner, people needed a car that could survive a non-stop, several hundred-mile trip. Excuses involving cars breaking down on the interstate would not work. This disqualified people with broken down or unreliable cars. Incredibly, some people found alternative quality transportation, putting them back in the pool. They wanted to help.

We established ground rules:

• People must travel in pairs.

• One-way trips could be 500 miles, or longer.

• Expenses with receipts would be paid. Speeding tickets wouldn’t.

• Gas and drive-thru fast food excepted, no stopping until handoffs were completed.

• Handoff recipients could not stop until payroll bundles were handed to nursing home administrators or district leadership for distribution.

• Sleep or celebrate after deliveries.

• Don’t return to work until the following Monday.

Many spouses accompanied selected drivers. Others took neighbors, friends, or family members. Only people with massively positive work histories and responsibilities were green lighted.

A few surprises surfaced during the organization phase. People asked me directly if they could “pack.”  Suffering from a lack of attention, I said, “Pack whatever you want.”

Noting my response, someone refined this question, stating, “Dave, people want to know if it is OK to take a gun on the trip.”  Missing a beat, I remember replying,

“It’s your car, your gun, and my payroll. If you want to be a Pinkerton for a day, go ahead. If you lose this payroll, do me a favor and don’t ever come back to the company, OK?”

By 12:00 noon Wednesday, just as they had in every other cycle, checks were cut, addressed, and bundled.

By 1:00 PM, every car was loaded and on Interstate 40.

By 9:00 that evening, I started receiving phone calls confirming handoffs to drivers that would begin dropping paycheck bundles like Santa Claus over the next 36 hours. Others were confirmed in the early Thursday morning hours.

By 9:00 AM Friday, hundreds of nursing homes possessed regularly scheduled paycheck bundles and check registers. Workers received checks on time, like clockwork—as if planes were flying and nothing had happened.

This defined winning.

Eventually, I gladly signed numerous expense reports, received zero incident reports, and not a single phone call regarding road rage or bail money.

Among the 9/11 stories you’ve read, this one is probably new. Beginning with a number of high-ranking government officials trying to do the right thing, and ending with everyday people making sure that those paid to take care of others…got taken care of, too.

During these moments, these people were my heroes.

Dave Devereaux is a nationally recognized expert and thought leader in long-term care, and author of the award-winning book, Beyond Bedrails and Bingo: Myths, Truths, and the Future of America’s Nursing Homes. Over a 45-year career he has championed excellence, empathy, and innovation in care delivery. A graduate of Cornell and Temple Universities, Dave’s philanthropic work has advanced research and education in nursing, public health, and music therapy. For more on Dave’s career, please visit www.davedevereaux.com.