Jaime Hazan on the effects of 9/11, 8,401 days later
By Benjamin Marcus
Jaime Hazan is a 9/11 first responder who has been struggling with the effects — and the litigation for compensation — of the terrorist attacks ever since. He spoke at the Composer’s Breakfast Club on Monday, Sept. 9, but we had an email conversation that weekend. Jaime had a lot to say about the past, present, and future of 9/11.
Let’s start with the music first. You’re a pianist?
Yes, I’m a pianist. My journey with music started at [age] 5, learning by ear from my dad’s vinyl collection. I’d climb up, set the needle on Barry Manilow, and play along. Music always felt instinctive, especially with artists like Elton John, Billy Joel, and Willie Nelson. “She’s Always a Woman” and “You Were Always on My Mind” stuck with me for their emotional pull.
In my 40s, after realizing my health from 9/11 was deteriorating, I closed my business and went to Berklee in Boston,did the online program. It was a way to focus on something I loved, even as my health kept interrupting. Studying there was incredible, especially working with Brad Hatfield, but I had to withdraw because of health issues.
Music remains my constant. I’ve toured with Chicago City Limits, originally Robin Williams’ troupe, and despite the setbacks, music has always been my outlet. Even now, living in Los Angeles to pursue music, I’ve had three surgeries since moving here. My health always seems to get in the way, and that’s been a source of enormous frustration for me. Please — the game of Whac-A-Mole is getting old and so am I.
For 9/11 I was in Alaska traveling with Ike the Norwegian Forest Cat, working in a fish processing plant in Valdez — about as far from New York as you can get. Your experience was much closer.
I remember it like it was yesterday — talking to my mom on the phone, staring at the television set, and feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience. When the first tower fell, my mind couldn’t fully process it. I remember thinking something ludicrous, like, “How are they going to call it the Twin Towers when there’s only going to be one tower left?” I guess that was my way of coping with the enormity of what was happening.
I don’t remember much from those early moments. I grabbed my boots and started walking down Central Park West, and I remember the sky — it was one of the clearest, most gorgeous blue skies I’ve ever seen. I call it “9/11 blue” because it felt like the crossroads of serenity and hell. I also recall seeing airplanes in the sky, as all flying objects were ordered down to identify which ones were hijacked. I kept thinking more planes were going to crash and kill. The whole day was surreal, a mixture of calm, chaos, and some serious disassociation.
I eventually ended up at Chelsea Piers, where we set up a triage center. We expected thousands of injured, but as the day wore on, it became clear there wouldn’t be many survivors. The dust cloud reached all the way to Chelsea Piers, and we had only so many supplies. Doctors started showing up to volunteer, and we all came together to try and help in any way we could.
I worked late into the night and even stopped by Fox News at around 4:30 a.m. on 9/12 to talk about what we were doing. I have the footage somewhere, but I haven’t managed to convert it yet.
The physical health effects from Ground Zero exposure have been rough, but the psychiatric toll has been even worse. The trauma, the sights, the smells — it’s all stayed with me. It’s hard to snap back from that kind of fight-or-flight response, and 20-plus years later, I know my mind hasn’t fully recovered. Litigation for benefits was part of the process, but it was exhausting. I’m grateful for Jon Stewart’s involvement because, without him, many of us wouldn’t have the benefits we rely on today.
Currently, there’s an ongoing lawsuit between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the first responders and families of 9/11.
Still? Twenty-three years later?
While I can’t talk about it, I just hope Washington doesn’t make it harder to prove our case. The Victims’ Compensation Fund has always felt like blood money — “take this and go on your way” — but it failed to hold accountable the people who attacked this great nation. That’s what I want to see. Period.
It’s frustrating that our own government makes it so difficult to hold people accountable. I love this country, but sometimes it feels like those in power don’t truly understand the sacrifices people make. We all need to come together, regardless of political leanings. It’s not about liberal or conservative — it’s about survival as a nation. I sometimes joke that lawmakers should just wear jerseys, like sports teams, so they can duke it out and we can buy tickets to watch.Politics has become ludicrous.
At the end of the day, we all need to step up and acknowledge that we’re in this together. And that’s part of what I’m exploring in a song I’m currently working on, though I can’t share more until it’s ready. There’s a role for everyone to play in this country, and no politician will ever convince me otherwise.
I’ve interviewed a lot of white shark victims who say recurring nightmares are the worst part of it.
Nightmares are definitely part of it, though. In fact, last night I had a nightmare knowing I’d have to answer these questions. No two traumas are alike, and I don’t want to downplay the terror of a shark attack, but the recurrent trauma of being a responder is different. These diseases don’t follow timelines. You could avoid going in the ocean again, and chances are, a shark won’t come knocking at your door to take another bite.
Unfortunately, we don’t have that luxury when it comes to the aftermath of 9/11. Thankfully, my service dog, Sergeant Bernstein — Bernie — has been a huge help over the years. He’s incredibly intuitive, and since moving to Los Angeles, I’ve been learning how to rely on him less. But he’s been a great partner in all of this, reading my feelings and providing the comfort I need.
In one article you state: “I think America needs a national 9/12 day. 9/11 was horrible but 9/12, something magic happened that day and that is that all of us got together and we worked as a team for a common goal. So we know America works.”
Yes, I stand by that. 9/11 was a day of unimaginable horror, but 9/12 was something else entirely. For one fleeting moment, we were all the same. No politics, no divisions — just people pulling together, trying to make sense of what was left. It was proof that this country works best when we’re united, when we stop looking for reasons to be at odds and start looking for ways to rebuild.
That’s the feeling I’m trying to capture in a song I’m working on now. It’s about remembering what’s possible when we come together, about realizing that heroism doesn’t always look like risking your life in a fire or a war. Sometimes, it’s just showing up for people when they need you. A hero is someone who protects, who offers care, even in the smallestways.
What is the status of your claims? Did you get some justice and relief?
Yes! $400 a week.
That’s not gonna go too far in Los Angeles.
It covers my admission to the Composer’s Breakfast and the rest for Bernie’s food.
You will be talking at the Composer’s Breakfast Club this Monday, What can we expect?
At the Composer’s Breakfast this Monday, I’ll be speaking about advocacy, resilience, and the personal cost of 9/11. It’s not just the story of what happened that day, but what happened after — the long battles, the uphill fight for justice that never really ends. I’ll share moments from my own journey, the ways we’ve fought, and the moments of quiet triumph that came long after the towers fell.
In the end, it all comes back to unity. The kind we saw in the days after 9/11, the kind I’m still trying to keep alive today, through music, through advocacy, through whatever I can give.