In the early hours of September 11, 2001, Michael Lunden stepped into the World Trade Center. As the Vice President of an energy trading company who's offices were located at the WTC, husband to his wife Michelle, and as a father to their 10 month old son, Michael had many responsibilities both at the office and at home. He lost his life at the young age of 37 during the terrorist attacks that destroyed the Twin Towers.
Please take a moment to pray for his family, especially his wife and son.
And let us make sure, as Americans, that what happened on 9/11 will NEVER happen again.
The following is the article that was posted in the NYT in his honor, and after that what some of his family, friends, and fellow Americans wrote about him
Michael P. Lunden's friends always said he was worth waiting for, an assertion he tested frequently. "They called him the Human Rain Delay," said Michelle Lunden, who married him even though he was 20 minutes late to their first date.
People would wait for Mr. Lunden, 37, 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 hyperfriendly guy in a loud Brooks Brothers shirt who introduced himself to each and every waiter, bartender and vineyard keeper he came into contact with.
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.
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," Ms. Lunden 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.
People would wait for Mr. Lunden, 37, 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 hyperfriendly guy in a loud Brooks Brothers shirt who introduced himself to each and every waiter, bartender and vineyard keeper he came into contact with.
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.
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," Ms. Lunden 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.
The following is some of the things that were said about him by his friends and family:
To Michael and his family --
As with no doubt many others, Mike touch my life in a sort of indirect way. My brother and I, Pat, played ice hockey with Mike in the 80-81 Loyola Academy school year. No offense, but Mike was a terrible hockey player. I was not much better, but his spirit, good nature, and constant comedic presence made the season bearable and every practice something to look forward to. I look back at the picture of the team, Neil H, MIke P, Ziggy, etc. And there is Mike, the one guy I knew who perished on that terrible day. May his spirit, craziness, good-heartedness, and all of the rest live on. Go Ramblers, Go Holy Spirit, and Go Mike. Peace to all.
As with no doubt many others, Mike touch my life in a sort of indirect way. My brother and I, Pat, played ice hockey with Mike in the 80-81 Loyola Academy school year. No offense, but Mike was a terrible hockey player. I was not much better, but his spirit, good nature, and constant comedic presence made the season bearable and every practice something to look forward to. I look back at the picture of the team, Neil H, MIke P, Ziggy, etc. And there is Mike, the one guy I knew who perished on that terrible day. May his spirit, craziness, good-heartedness, and all of the rest live on. Go Ramblers, Go Holy Spirit, and Go Mike. Peace to all.
