Matthew Moran

Contribution from Matthew Moran, former sales representative, Waters

Flowers placed by Risk and Waters staff to commemorate colleagues lost on the 25th anniversary of the 2001 attacks

I was a wet-behind-the-ears sales guy from New Jersey when Neil Cudmore, along with his partner Dinah Webster, took a shot on me to sell market data research for Waters. I interviewed with Neil and David Rivers in August 2000. It was very much an entry-level position, but I was very proud of the job.

For 15 months of my life, I worked virtually kneecap to kneecap with Dinah, Neil, Paul Bristow, Joanna Vidal and David. My orders were to sell the MDI – Market Data Industry, a subscription-based product. It was a big binder you needed to go to the gym just to carry around.

I was at the Windows on the World on September 10 for a seminar – part of our inaugural Financial Technology Congress – with the main event to be held the next day. “The bigwigs are coming to town, so best behaviour,” Neil warned me, as I stood there awkwardly in an ill-fitting suit. Later that evening, I chose to watch the New York Giants play the Denver Broncos in the Monday Night Football game with friends back in Cranford, a bedroom community of New York where I grew up. I drove back to Hoboken where I was living, near the rail terminal, just over the river from lower Manhattan. I got up late – only to awake to a new world.

Walking down the main drag of Hoboken, Washington Street, the first time that I realised something was off was seeing an inordinate number of what looked like suited Wall Street employees standing on the street, drinking liquor out of paper bags. I thought ‘This is really odd’.

I got to the corner, just before the left turn towards the terminal. There was not a cloud in the sky. I looked to my left: both the planes had hit the towers. There were throngs of people in various levels of disarray, crying. I asked someone, as the inferno was in full blaze, “which tower has the Windows on the World?” I knew it was the one with the spire on top, but at that moment I was devoid of any logical thinking. As I stood there, the South Tower fell down.

I had an antiquated flip-phone, and I wanted to call my parents. I knew they were going to be worried about me. But the network was totally shut down. I thought, ‘I’ve got to get out of here’. As part of the security response, they were starting to shut down Hoboken; I remember driving my beat-up Saturn onto the sidewalk, thinking: ‘I’m getting out of here, one way or another’. I was crying the whole way back to my parents’ house.

Meanwhile, my brother Michael, who works on Wall Street, had walked up to the Lafayette Street office of Risk Waters, some 20 blocks, to try and find me. My family knew that this conference was going to be a big thing, all hands on deck. The phone lines in the office were operating, so Michael was able to get through to my parents. They asked about me and he told them a bold-faced lie: “Matt’s fine,” because he didn’t want to scare them. Mercifully, Michael and the rest of my family soon discovered I was, indeed, safe.

The days after that were grim. There was a macabre feeling in the air. It was just a very dark time. I struggle with memories of a host of lost friends from my hometown as well. Cranford is a small town, maybe 20,000 people, and six residents had passed away. I knew most of them. I attended memorial after memorial, my head spinning.

“We come to celebrate how these friends lived, not how they died”

Neil was my first boss. When he called to offer me the position, he reached my mom; they hit it off, and ended up talking on the phone for a half hour.

Neil was a leader. He was always very proactive in making sure the sales folks received our commissions. “We’re gonna take care of our boys,” he would say; that, and: “Moran, I want your seat warm by 9:05.” He loved Aston Villa and Stella Artois. He would always talk about fishing in Dorset – “the Florida of England”. I don’t know that I’ve had a supervisor as demanding and as humane as he was. He knew when to push and when to pull. He was an inspiring man. I quote Neil often, and he lives on. I miss him dearly.

Dinah sat on one side of me, and on the other side was Ben Ray. We were pretty tight in there. Neil and Dinah had bought a home out on Long Island, in Port Washington – I remember the love he shared with Dinah, and their future. I think very fondly of Dinah.

Paul Bristow and I really hit it off. We shared a birthday. Paul was funny, with a dry sense of humour. We twice took the subway up to the Bronx to watch Yankees games. That was in the halcyon days of the Yankees, when they were winning three World Series on the bounce. I remember him asking me sophomore questions about baseball, me asking equally novice questions about the Premier League. We’d be sitting in the stands, and he’d ask, “if Mariano Rivera is so good, why doesn’t he pitch all the time?” And I’d have to explain, “well, your arm can only do so much”. It was great.

Joanna Vidal and Amy Lamonsoff came to a couple of the games with us as well. Jo Vidal reminded me of her borough-of-the-Bronx native, Jennifer Lopez. She was a shining star. The way she carried herself – a beautiful person inside and out – she was just a sweetheart, and always the first one in the office.

Simon Turner was a fairly intimidating presence. A sergeant-major, with the forearms of a bricklayer. We were two streets over from Mulberry Street, the heart of Little Italy. We would go there and order calzones, with pounds and pounds of ricotta cheese inside. He’d say, “My God, your body is truly your temple, Moran.” And I’d say, “yes, and the temple is hungry”.

Neil was so busy and so well connected in the industry that he didn’t really have time sometimes for oversight – a little, you know, ‘attaboy’, or ‘let’s go a little harder’. Simon’s armed forces service came across equally motivational and business-forward when he took over as publisher. At the end of the day, it was for the good of the group.

David Rivers had a prominent desk that was like Checkpoint Charlie. You needed to have your wits about you. We all orbited around him. He was the wizard behind the curtain. His tall, urbane way was a force in the office as you entered.

In July of 2001, the Water Club at 30^th Street was host to a festive Risk Waters summer outing, where we all gathered. I remember there being a lot of pictures taken. I’d love to see a photo of us along the East River from that day, celebrating the life that was and is so fleeting.

I remember the memorial a month or so afterwards at Judson Memorial Church, on Washington Square South, with an overflow of attendees. A lot of tears were shed. My brother Michael and I were able to console Celeste Victoria’s mother that day. Those of us newer to the Risk Waters Group family were united in grief. Ben Ray’s eulogy was poignant. “We come to celebrate how these friends lived, not how they died.” Well said, my friend. That resonates 25 years down the line.

Even today, I don’t look back on any period more poignantly than I do those 15 months. That was a defining time. The youth of the 16 lost colleagues and friends is heart-wrenching. I pray for peace and serenity for the families of the deceased; I keep my seat warm in memory of those lost.