Read Full Story
Part 2: Who He Was
Welles Remy Crowther grew up in Upper Nyack, New York. A small town on the Hudson River.
His father, Jefferson, carried a white handkerchief in his front pocket and a red bandana in his back pocket. When Welles was six, his father gave him a red bandana of his own.
Welles carried one every day after that. Through grade school. High school. College.
At sixteen, he joined the volunteer fire department in his town. Like his father before him. He trained on weekends. He learned how to move through smoke. How to stay calm when people were scared.
He went to Boston College. He played lacrosse. He wore the red bandana under his helmet during games.
After graduation, he took a job on Wall Street. An equities trader. On the 104th floor of the South Tower.
He was good at it. But friends and family said he talked about wanting something different.
He’d started thinking about becoming a full-time firefighter in New York City.
He was twenty-four years old.
Part 3: That Morning
On September 11, 2001, Welles was at work on the 104th floor.
At 9:03 a.m., a hijacked plane struck the South Tower. The impact zone was between the 77th and 85th floors.
Below him. Between Welles and the ground.
At 9:12, he called his mother. She didn’t pick up. He left a short voicemail. He told her he was okay.
It was the last time his family heard his voice.
What happened next was pieced together later. From survivors.
People in the 78th-floor Sky Lobby had been waiting for elevators when the plane hit. Many were badly injured. The lobby was filled with smoke and debris.
Survivors described a young man appearing out of the smoke. A red bandana over his nose and mouth.
He said he’d found a working stairway. He told people to follow him.
He told them that anyone who could help someone else should do it.
He carried a woman on his back. Down to a lower floor. Then he set her down and went back up.
He returned to the Sky Lobby. Survivors remembered him carrying a fire extinguisher. Directing people. Helping the injured stand up.
He led another group down.
Then he went back up again.
Survivors believe he helped about a dozen people reach safety. Some accounts say up to eighteen.
At 9:59 a.m., the South Tower collapsed.
In March 2002, Welles’s remains were recovered. In the lobby area of the South Tower. Near firefighters. He’d been working with them when the building fell.
Part 4: The Red Bandana
For eight months, his family didn’t know what he’d done.
They knew he was gone. They didn’t know how.
In May 2002, The New York Times published a story. Survivors from the Sky Lobby describing what happened that morning.
Two women remembered a young man. They didn’t know his name. They only remembered one detail.
A red bandana.
His mother, Alison, read the story. She knew immediately.
She sent photographs of Welles to the survivors.
One of the women, Judy Wein, recognized him right away. Another survivor, Ling Young, did too.
That was him, they said.
The young man who told them to follow him. Who carried people down. Who kept going back.
For eight months, he’d been a stranger in a red bandana.
Now he had a name.
His parents later said that learning what he did didn’t ease the grief. But it gave them something to hold on to.
He didn’t just die that day.
He spent his last hour saving people.
Part 5: Every Year
In 2006, the New York City Fire Department made Welles Crowther an honorary firefighter. The only civilian ever given that honor for actions on 9/11.
He had dreamed of joining the department. He finally did.
His family started a charitable trust in his name. It supports young people through scholarships, youth programs, and service.
At Boston College, his old lacrosse team plays an annual game in his honor. The Red Bandanna Game. Every player wears red.
At the 9/11 Memorial Museum in New York, one of his red bandanas is on display. People stop in front of it every day.
In 2014, at the museum’s dedication, his story was told in front of the country. Survivors stood up. People cried.
Every September, thousands of people wear red bandanas. Runners. Firefighters. Students. Strangers.
Some of them don’t know his whole story. They just know a young man went back into the smoke.
He didn’t know the people he saved.
They didn’t know his name.
Twenty-four years old. A red bandana. A stairway.
And a choice.
Follow me.
