‘WINDOWS ON THE WORLD’ TELLS STORY OF SUE KELLY’S FRIEND WHO LOST HER HUSBAND KEN IN 9/11 ATTACKS ON WORLD TRADE CENTRE 25 YEARS AGO
Susan P. Kelly — Special to MuskokaTODAY.com
The stories connected to Canadians and 9/11 are deeply personal. There are stories of loss, final phone calls, survival and extraordinary kindnesses that occurred during the days that followed the 9/11 attacks. Windows on the World is one of those stories. It is Maureen Basnicki’s story as written by me, her long-time friend since kindergarten. In 2001 Maureen and I turned 50 years old.
September 10, 2001
Exhausted, Maureen flopped onto her hotel bed in Mainz, Germany. She had just completed a seven-hour flight from Toronto, where she had met the countless needs of her Air Canada passengers. Her swollen feet burned from walking all those miles across the ocean, as flight attendants often said. “I’m 50,” she thought, “no wonder these long-hauls are zapping my energy. My claustrophobia is kicking in, too.”
Like a balloon slowly releasing pent-up air, Maureen’s posture relaxed and a wee smile pursed her lips as she fondly thought of her husband, Ken, who was in New York City.
At the pinnacle of his career in telecommunications, he eagerly awaited a business meeting at 285 Fulton Street — his first visit to the World Trade Centre.
Her mind travelled back to the first time she met Ken. She’s not sure if it was destiny, luck or divine intervention. But on that sultry July afternoon they had the same destination in mind, a little crescent beach on Georgian Bay. While Maureen’s two-year old daughter, Erica, played at the water’s edge, the couple chatted. By day’s end they’d exchanged divorce stories, career goals and dreams.
A sensuously organic connection had begun and was still beating strong that day after 17 years. She chuckled thinking of their wedding day on December 8, the feast day of the Immaculate Conception, because their son Brennan was born three weeks later. What would the nuns at St. Joseph’s High School have thought about that?
Dreaming of Ken eased Maureen’s weary spirit, as she drifted in and out of sleep. She thought, “soon our flight paths will carry us back home and we’ll snuggle in our sweet spot in Collingwood, once more.”
September 11, 2001
Ken arrived early for his meeting on the 106th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Centre. He was always early for everything. It gave him time to explore and gauge his bearings. He was awed by the 50,000 square feet of conference and restaurant space, known as Windows on the World. (It later became known as the jumper floor.) Ken felt like the man-in-the-middle, suspended between the mysterious heavens above and the urban sprawl of Lower Manhattan. From his lofty perch he was at the peak of happiness, in his career, his marriage and in his life — literally on top of the world.
As he walked over to the meeting room, he had to have thought “if only Maureen could be with me in N.Y.C. it would be perfect.”
At 8:46 a.m.
It was 8:46 a.m. and business people were gathering in the meeting room, grabbing coffees, selecting their seats. Ken found a seat near one of the expansive windows and introduced himself to those on either side of him.
Suddenly they heard a thunderous boom, then an acrid smell of smoke filtered into the room. Mild concern quickly escalated to frenzied panic as people gulped down an unthinkable horror. Some had lived through the terrorizing bombing of 1993, and they wasted no time in searching for an escape. Innate fight, flight or freeze responses took over as thick, foul gases penetrated the room. And like the densest of all fogs, visibility was poor.
Ken knew he couldn’t call Maureen because she was in Germany without a cell phone, so he called his mother, in Toronto.
He tried his best to be calm: “Mom, something has happened. I’m on the 106th floor of the World Trade Centre, the stairway to the roof is blocked — and I don’t know how I’m going to get out.”
The line went dead ….
American Airline Flight 11 had crashed into the 80th floor of the North Tower.
At 9:03 a.m.
At 9:03, United Airlines Flight 175 sliced into the South Tower and about an hour later the giant twin smokestacks of steel and concrete collapses into a heap of death, destruction, body parts and broken dreams.
In Germany …
Maureen began her Germany layover by having her typical three-hour sleep. Then a relaxing hot shower allowed warmness to revitalize her body and spirit.
Drying her hair, she flipped on the TV to CNN, the only English station. She loved current events and was always on top of the stories of the day.
Suddenly a plane flew into the North Tower of the World Trade Centre – a thick dark column of black smoke began billowing from the upper floors. “Oh my God, what’s going on?” Then a second plane tore into the South Tower raining shattered glass and shredded debris.
Maureen’s heart stopped. She couldn’t swallow. She watched in nauseous dread as the events unfolded.
“I can’t remember if Ken was going to the North or South Tower? Maybe Ken never arrived at the World Trade Centre? Maybe he already made it out safely?
“Dear God,” she pleaded. “Please let Ken be OK and bring him back home to me.”
The TV played and replayed the attacks, her eyes searching the images for any sign of Ken.
Paramedics with injured victims, firefighters bringing workers outside, employees, gasping for air as they made it to the street level, people helping people scrambling to safety, and ghastly videos of some who jumped rather than face the burning inferno.
‘Dear Sweet Mary.… Dear Guardian Angel.…’
Trying to reach Ken from her room phone was futile, so the Hilton desk clerk took over. Time after time no answer on his cellphone — only his business-like voice: “Please leave your number, I’ll return your call at my very first opportunity.” Distraught, desperate and dredged in horror, the waiting was an endless nightmare.
As repulsion and sorrow hung over the lobby, crews from United Airlines, American Airlines and Air Canada struggled to absorb the enormity of the senseless acts.
The world had come to a halt. The skies were unnaturally still as all flights around the globe were grounded.
Maureen couldn’t fly home. She couldn’t get closer to Ken.
Fraught with hopelessness she prayed for a way forward.
“Dear Sweet Mary.… Dear Guardian Angel….”
Maureen called her mother and learned about Ken’s call to his mom. She was grateful for this bit of information, even though it confirmed his arrival at the WTC. The family had gathered in Toronto and were praying too: Maureen’s mom, Erica, Brennan and Ken’s mom, dad and two brothers.
The tiring hotel vigil lasted all day into the night.
Sept. 12
The following morning, while Maureen was comforted by colleagues, she was overwhelmed by an extraordinary sense of peace. As if a blissful veil of Ken’s love had descended, wrapping her in a warm blanket. Her pulse slowed as her heart relaxed and she “felt Ken’s head rest against her shoulder,” enveloping her in a protective bubble. She knew it was his spirit. She believed it was a heavenly message from Ken telling her … “I’m fine. I’m in a good place. Don’t worry about me. I love you.”
This was the “divine intervention” she’d been praying for. A crew member said she saw Maureen transform from a bundle of nerves to one of calm.
Maureen never dreamed in her 30 years of flying that a plane would be used as a weapon to murder her husband.
More than ever she needed to get home, desperate to be with her family. Soon reality struck: she was trapped overseas suffocating in the clamour of a time-warp. Her emotions ricocheting like a pin-ball machine from panic to peace, suspicion to repulsion. Her heart raced. Chills and sweats made her tremble and then her claustrophobia exploded.
Grabbing a man in-charge by his collar — like Dorothy in the “Wizard of Oz” — she screamed: “I’ve got to go home, I’ve got to go home!”
Air Canada crew members always at her side tried to be positive. One stayed in her hotel room as she tried to sleep; another called a physician for anti-anxiety medication. Others used airline connections for information.
One felt it would be helpful if Maureen had a priest. Father Edward, an English-speaking minister from St. Stephen’s came to the hotel and said Mass for everyone. A community now, they prayed for the victims, survivors, first responders and restoration of the skies.
Although her brain understood Ken was no longer alive,
her heart never stopped hoping.
Realizing she needed to plan a funeral, Maureen told her flight attendant friends “Ken is dead and I don’t have any suitable clothes to wear for his funeral, so I’m going shopping.” They headed to the shops of Mainz where Maureen bought a beautiful, long black skirt and jacket.
Sept. 14
On Friday September 14 as Maureen finally boarded the crew bus for the Frankfurt airport Father Edward presented her three crucifixes for Erica, Brennan and herself, before he drove to the airport to offered prayers for the crew’s safe return to Canada.
The skies were clear, not a cloud in the sky when Maureen and her crew boarded the Boeing 747. Heavily medicated, a colleague accompanied her in the front row of the upper deck, where she slept most of the way home.
Maureen’s window on the world had been cruelly and indelibly altered. Her immediate need now was to hold her children close and never let go.
Dear Sweet Mary. Dear Guardian Angel.
June 2026
This year marks the 25th anniversary of 9/11. For a quarter century Maureen has worked tirelessly to honour Ken’s memory and all the victims and seek new counter-terror legislation and support for victims rights.
9/11 aftermath
In the aftermath hundreds of Canadian firefighters and EMS personnel travelled to NYC to support the recovery efforts. Thousands in Gander, NL, opened hearts, homes and pocketbooks to provide refuge to stranded airline passengers — or as the Newfoundlanders called them, the “plane people.” More than 40,000 Canadian Armed Forces were deployed to Afghanistan between 2001 and 2014. These incredible acts of service inspired Maureen to establish The Canadian National Day of Service – colloquially known as “Service Day.”
National Day of Service was declared on September 11, 2011, by prime minister Stephen Harper to give a positive focus to a tragic date.
Maureen’s mission has been to redefine that day, from one of hate, horror and destruction into a day of kindness and gratitude, whereby we honour our men and women of service: “service to our country and service to our communities.”
Through the lens of a maple leaf, it is now more important than ever to thank all our heroes: the armed forces, the intelligence agents and first responders, including police, RCMP, firefighters, paramedics, doctors, nurses and everyday unsung heroes.
Service Day, though, is not just about those who put their lives on the line — it is a day for all Canadians to pay it forward in a positive way. Its aim is to encourage everyone to engage in activities of kindness and gratitude and leverage the spirit of volunteerism in Canada.
In March 2022, Ontario was the first province to legislate (Bill 51) September 11 as a Provincial Day of Service.
Can a day make a difference? You bet it can! Visit serviceday.ca to learn more.
Sue Kelly is a retired public health nurse and author of “Still Sexy After Sixty … Seven Secrets to Finding Life’s Sweet Spot.” She lives in Gravenhurst with her husband Paul.
September 9, 2026 @ 5:25 pm
Sue is a great lady.