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“We said I love you a thousand times over and over again, and it just brought so much peace to us.”
— LYZ GLICK

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A friend, a father, a hero

Friday, September 14, 2001

By ADRIAN WOJNAROWSKI
Record Columnist

An e-mail flashed on Josh Denbeaux's office computer Wednesday morning, a frantic missive from his sister wondering whether the name on the list of passengers on United Airlines Flight 93, Jeremy Glick, was the younger brother of his old high school friend, Jonah. Denbeaux's mind started racing, remembering this was the hijacked, Newark-to-San Francisco flight that missed its targets and crashed in rural Pennsylvania. This was the flight on which officials believed passengers had overtaken the terrorists, and preserved lives and American institutions on the ground as they perished in a cornfield.

"When I heard those terrorists only had knives," Denbeaux said softly Thursday afternoon. "It had to be the Jeremy Glick that I knew. He wasn't just going to be fighting them, he was going to be a leader of it. Those attackers are pretty [expletive] sorry, because they ran into the toughest son a bitch I've ever known."

At the time, Denbeaux hadn't heard the story of the cellphone call Jeremy made to his wife, Lyzbeth, in the final minutes of the flight, telling her to live a good life and take care of his sweet, 2 1/2-month-old daughter, Emerson. Denbeaux hadn't heard the story of Jeremy assuring his wife of the passengers' plan to storm the terrorists in the cockpit, and go down fighting on Flight 93.

When word first got out that Glick had died on this plane, nobody had heard these stories. It didn't matter. They knew they were coming.

They knew Jeremy Glick.

"Immediately, I knew he was one of the guys who took them down," said Joe Augienello, the coach of Glick's soccer team at Saddle River Day School. "I guarantee it. He was a tough, hard-nosed kid. He was my captain, the protector on my team, and if you gave him a bloody nose, and knocked his teeth out, he'd still be coming after you again. He wasn't the most talented kid on the team, but Lord, you never wanted to be in that kid's way."

They remember him on the mats, and soccer and lacrosse fields of Bergen County. They remember Jeremy Glick, the judo black belt and the high school wrestler, who as a freshman, walked into the gym and instantly had upperclassmen deferring to him. Most of all, they remember his sweetness and decency, his good character and good family, the way he loved Lyz, his grade school sweetheart, and that sweet baby, Emerson.

Now and forever, they'll remember him as a hero. Always, they'll remember him charging that cockpit, ending his life the way he lived it: fearlessly, and for everyone else.

He was the third of the six Glick children, raised in Oradell by parents, Lloyd and Joan, who worked tirelessly to give their kids an elite education at Saddle River Day School. He wasn't the best student, the most graceful athlete, or the best looking kid in the class. It never mattered. Jeremy Glick was just the kid everyone wanted to be.

"I was two years older than him, but all I ever wanted to do was emulate him," said Brad Stein, a high school wrestling teammate and now the owner of a computer consulting firm in West Paterson. "He and his brother, Jonah, ran our wrestling team. You know, I don't know that I ever remember Jeremy losing a match. Ever."

Today, Jeremy Glick could well be one of the greatest champions American sports has ever produced. Who knows where our country would be without him and the heroes of Flight 93? Where were those terrorists going to fly the hijacked plane? The White House? Air Force One? The Capitol? Somehow, the darkest day in American history could've been worse, officials insist, without the daring courage of Glick, and the people promising to storm the cockpit with him. They saved lives, even as they lost their own.

Sometimes, we wonder about sports, about its redeeming value, about lessons learned on fields, and courts and mats. Today, a nation remembers the courage of West Milford's Jeremy Glick, 31, and the passengers of Flight 93, husbands and fathers turned national heroes. Still, there's an excellent chance those terrorists are on the way to Hell, wondering who that tough SOB was that insisted on fighting them to the death.

"All I can think is that it's too bad he didn't know how to handle a plane," said Nagayasu Ogasawara, the owner of Kokushi Dojo, a Westwood judo school where Glick started studying as a 7-year-old. "Because he smashed those people right away. Maybe he had help with others on the plane, but I know he wouldn't have needed it. Three people with knives? It would've been no problem for him."

Glick was traveling to San Francisco on Tuesday morning for his sales and marketing job, the city where eight years ago Ogasawara had an unexpected meeting with his old student. All the Glick children learned judo under Ogasawara, but Jeremy was the best of them, nearly winning a national junior championship at 15 years old.

"He was not just physically strong, but mentally too," Ogasawara said.

Ogasawara had made the trip to San Francisco City College to coach West Point's cadets in the 1992 college championships, when out of nowhere, Glick rushed across the gymnasium and threw his arms around his old teacher. As a University of Rochester senior, Glick had no coach. He had no team. "Actually, he was the team." Ogasawara said.

It was just Jeremy, all alone, winning the national title with Ogasawara cheering in his corner.

Jeremy Glick was unforgettable. Just a kid who people never, ever forgot. And they wouldn't have needed him to die a hero for this to be true. Just Monday, his younger brother, Jared, stopped by Coach Augienello's office, just to visit and say hello. Jared told him that Jeremy was doing wonderful in his job, that Lyz and Emerson were the lights of his life.

"All I did was cry this morning," Augienello said Thursday. "But the only time I could come close to smiling was imagining sitting next to Jeremy on the plane. I could hear him, saying, "Aug, let's get these [bleeping] guys.' I'm sure they pounded the [crap] of them."

"It's just a shame Jeremy couldn't fly the plane, too."

So Thursday afternoon, Augienello told the Saddle River Day School soccer team the story of Jeremy Glick, and promised the kids they were going to wear his old jersey number on their uniforms this season. It's been a long time, 13 years, since the kid graduated, but the coach knew he remembered the number. The assistant principal found him an old yearbook of the Class 1988, and sure enough, there was Jeremy Glick, No. 17, just as his coach remembered.

"There's a big picture of him on the cover, that No. 17 kicking the ball, and getting ready to head down field," Augienello said, and always that's the way they'll remember Jeremy Glick, running fast and furious, inspiring everyone to understand that those terrorists never counted on running into Jeremy Glick and the passengers at his side on Flight 93.