David ‘Swede’ Tengelin

8 years ago today, David ‘Swede’ Tengelin was never given the chance to go home that night. He was never given the opportunity to tell his family goodbye, nor was he given the opportunity to live a long prosperous life, fulfilling the dreams he had once dreamt of.

A mother is without a son.
A brother is without a brother.
A father is without a son.
A grandparent is without a grandchild.
A sister is without a brother.
A friend is without a friend.
A roommate is without a roommate.

David ‘Swede’ Tegelin
March 18, 1976 – September 11, 2001
25 years old

With a hometown of Goteborg, Sweden; David finished high school and in 1995 his wish of coming to America some day came true; he was just 19 years old. He arrived in Flagstaff, AZ where he attended The Northern Arizona University where he graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree of Science in Business Management in December 1998, only 3.5 years after moving to America. After graduation, David received a temporary green card and packed his bags, got on a Greyhound and started his journey to New York; no job to start when he arrived, no place to live, all alone by himself with no family. David arrived in New York City in January 1999 where he stayed for the first 6 months, in a hostel which was closed from 11am to 5pm; he was doing this completely on his own. He spent most of his waking hours at the library or applying for jobs, none of which he had the luxury of getting. However, in April 1999 things change and David was offered a job as a clerk at a law firm which was poorly paid, leaving him little to no money to live on every day; yet he kept going. In September 1999 David was offered a job at RGL Gallagher, on the 52nd floor of the North Tower. Eventually RGL was bought by Marsh and McLennon Cos. and David was moved to the 100th floor of the North Tower.

“It’s when I walk up to the window in our new offices on the 100th floor of One World Trade Center, that I realise how incredibly lucky I am..” ~David, 1999

David went home to Sweden with his boss for two weeks during the end of August 2001; his boss went home after 1 week and David stayed to visit with his family for the 2nd week. David’s family brought him to the airport the morning of September 9th, 2001 where they hugged and said their goodbyes; and David got on a plane back to New York City.

His family didn’t know that’d be the last time they’d ever see him, talk to him, hug him and tell him they loved him.

A letter written by David’s brother Patric, when he found out about the attacks…

Patric Tengelin

In loving memory of David Tengelin
(March 18, 1976 – Sept. 11, 2001)

I first had a hunch that something was wrong when stocks across Europe sold off sharply some forty minutes before the opening bell on Wall Street. Reports started pouring in about a plane having collided with the World Trade Center, and my thoughts turned immediately to David, who worked on the 100th floor in one of the towers. As I went to switch on the TV, I kept thinking that it was probably a small propeller plane, and that it, like a sparrow that flies into a window, got squashed and fell helplessly to the ground. I knew that there would be casualties, but I hoped for no more than the unfortunate passengers who were seated in the airplane.

When I saw the first pictures from New York I was absolutely horrified. Black smoke was billowing out of the top twenty floors in what seemed to be with increasing intensity. I just stood there in disbelief, unable to do anything. It was quickly brought home to me that it must have been a much larger aircraft than what I had initially pictured it to be. And then, out of nowhere, comes another commercial airliner and slams into the other tower. I froze and my jaw dropped. I could not believe what I had just witnessed. It was now beyond all doubt that this was an act of terror and I damned the terrorists.

After having watched the clip a couple more times I began pacing back and forth, trying to remember in which of the towers my brother had his office. I clung to the hope that he worked in the second building that was hit. That would have given him fifteen minutes in which to react to the first airplane that hit the other building, run down the stairs and put himself in safety. It was agonizing watching both buildings on fire and not knowing whether David was trapped in the inferno.

I am David’s big brother and as such it is my duty to protect him. I would have done anything to save him, and not think twice about coming to his rescue. Now I could only watch the disaster unfold before my eyes on live television. As the first tower tumbled to the ground, I called my brother’s cell phone. The line was busy! That meant that he may be alive and that gave me a glimmer of hope. I called again. Still busy! He was probably on the phone to let everyone know that he was all right. My heart was racing and I was now more hopeful than disillusioned. I went back to watch the TV just in time to see the second tower fold and crumble. It was surreal. The next time I called, I got his voice mail. Maybe he had been asked to switch off his cell phone if he were in the hospital …

David had wanted to go to America for as long as I can remember. His persistence and ambition took him to New York. Despite the daunting odds, he never gave up. A couple of weeks before tragedy struck, David and his boss flew to Sweden on business. David stayed until September 9, and we were grateful for the precious time we spent together.

Nicknamed “Swede”, David came to the U.S. in 1995 to study business at Northern Arizona University. After graduation, he hopped on a Greyhound to New York, with nothing more than dreams of success in the big city. He told me he had never been more scared in his entire life. Below is an excerpt from his journal:

January 4, 1999

“When the bus left Newark on its last leg of the journey, which had taken me across a whole continent in three days, I was beginning to feel nervous. I had not slept many hours during the trip and the last meal I had was in Effingham, Illinois, a whole day earlier. As soon as I set foot in Port Authority I was approached by a homeless person, whom I shoved aside and pretended to be perfectly comfortable in my new surroundings. I called the hostel and after a heated exchange with the person on the other end I had an address to give to the cab driver. I have not taken a cab since, but on that night it was probably a very wise decision. We passed through the theatre district just as the plays and musicals were letting their audiences onto the sidewalks, and where I didn’t see people I saw flashing signs and billboards.”

“The cab slowed down outside a one-story yellow brick building with a blue door. This was 427 West 12th Street to be sure, but the windows were blacked out as if though they were expecting an air raid and there were no signs of life. As a man who takes precaution I wanted to ask the cab to wait while I checked it out, but I let him go and rung the doorbell. Moments later, I had signed in and was given the tour. As always, I was pleasantly surprised by the hostel and that was a good thing, because I ended up spending five months there. There were three small rooms with three bunk beds in each room and a larger room with many more beds for people who stayed shorter periods of time. The communal areas were in the basement and that is where weary travellers would gather in the evenings in the dark winter months. The place provided a cozy shelter and I enjoyed the company of many of the travellers.”

My life has changed in a profound way since September 11. I am no longer dedicating my life to financial markets, but to the people I love, especially my mother and my sister. I am currently studying economics at Greenwich University in London, England. Whenever I need motivating, I recall the last words my brother spoke to me, “Good luck in London, I know you’ll make it.” My brother and I always supported each other in every way possible. Much the same way my sister and I do now, and that I know David and Petra have always done. My mother has always been there for us and done a fantastic job in bringing us up. However, it is only now I realize how much her children mean to her as I see the pain and anguish in her face as she mourns the death of her son.

My brother has been my hero and the greatest source of inspiration ever since he left for America six years ago. He lived a rich life in a minimalist manner. He never complained although he had many worries. Like all of his colleagues, he had big dreams. Like David, most of them lost their lives to terrorism. Some people say that one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter. However, freedom will never be achieved through means of terror. My brother no longer harbors any worries but his dream still lives on. His dream was to live in a peaceful world without intolerance and wars. My dream is that of my brother’s, but my worries are that we may see a repeat of the atrocities committed on September 11, 2001.

My passion and love for people from other cultures and different religions have not dissipated since September 11. There is fundamentally nothing evil with mankind. However, when political systems fight each other for superiority, innocent people are caught in the line of fire. In a sense, the hijackers of the jetliners were victims of their beliefs, targeted by a manipulative leader, and held hostage by their religious convictions. It is only when we bridge the gap that separates people who have been brought up in different parts of the world, with different values, that understanding and compassion can ultimately pave the way toward peace.

Terrorism must be rooted out. In order to defeat the adversary, our enemy has to be identified. Despite our differences, all people must have an equal say in world affairs. Democracy will only prevail after its opponents have engaged in dialogue. When everyone is incorporated into the global community, we will share common goals and joint responsibilities. That is how human dignity will be upheld and open society safeguarded. We all must be pro-active in preventing the next terrorist attack. I will not let up in the struggle to promote an open, democratic society.

David, I will never forget but always honor you. I will look after mom and Petra like you have always done in the past. If I ever have a son, I will name him David Jr after you.

All my love,
Your brother,
Patric Tengelin

***********************************

More tributes to David, here.

The following are David Tengelin’s own words:

Everyone carries at least one novel inside of him or herself, so goes a saying. At the age of 25, I have already gathered enough material for several novels, but if I were to pick just one to be published it would be my move to New York after graduating college. It has all the elements you expect in a great novel.

Throughout college I knew that I wanted to go to either New York or San Francisco after graduation. I had visited the latter regularly and liked its European character (the proximity of things) and mild year-round climate. I did not visit New York until March of 1997, and it was love at first sight. I can vividly remember the day Jared, one of my roommates, and I drove our black Chevy Cavalier over a hill in Jersey to see Manhattan. Awestruck we descended the hill and merged with ten lanes of traffic to squeeze through the Lincoln Tunnel. Spat out at the other end of the tunnel I had shrunk or maybe it was everything around me that was bigger.

January 4, 1999

When the bus left Newark on its last leg of the journey, which had taken me across a whole continent in three days, I was beginning to feel nervous. I had not slept many hours during the trip and the last meal I had was in Effingham, Illinois, a whole day earlier. As soon as I set foot in Port Authority I was approached by a homeless person, whom I shoved aside and pretended to be perfectly comfortable in my new surroundings. I called the hostel and after a heated exchange with the person on the other end I had an address to give to the cab driver. I have not taken a cab since, but on that night it was probably a very wise decision. We passed through the theatre district just as the plays and musicals were letting their audiences onto the sidewalks, and where I didn’t see people I saw flashing signs and billboards.

The cab slowed down outside a one-story yellow brick building with a blue door. This was 427 West 12th Street to be sure, but the windows were blacked out as if though they were expecting an air raid and there were no signs of life. As a man who takes precaution I wanted to ask the cab to wait while I checked it out, but I let him go and rung the doorbell. Moments later, I had signed in and was given the tour. As always, I was pleasantly surprised by the hostel and that was a good thing, because I ended up spending five months there. There were three small rooms with three bunk beds in each room and a larger room with many more beds for people who stayed shorter periods of time. The communal areas were in the basement and that is where weary travellers would gather in the evenings in the dark winter months. The place provided a cozy shelter and I enjoyed the company of many of the travellers.

When I first arrived in New York I didn’t have my temporary work visa, which I was entitled to after finishing college in the United States. Since I didn’t have a work visa I also didn’t have a social security number, and without the two you cannot apply for a job. I also did not have a mailing address or phone number of my own.

July 6, 1999

I grab some coffee and a bagel, and then head out the door and down the stairs to the ground floor. I make a right on 21st and uptown on 2nd Ave. I join the flow of people on the sidewalks hurrying to their cubicles. “Walk” means cross. A flashing “Don’t walk” means cross, but fast. And when it stops flashing, the bold put their life on the line. The walk to work has all the elements of a car race. I pass her and she trails me. Dogs’ leashes create a roadblock and I get held back. The daring crossing earlier is rendered useless. On the corner a “Coffee & Bagel” stand, but who can afford a pit stop on the final stretch.

March 18, 2000

Last Thursday when I came back to the World Trade Center after checking my mailbox down on Broadway I saw Kim Le Pref, one of the owners of Bakers Bounty. She is the one that let me sell bread a couple of times. She was standing in front of her van selling hamentashen, rugulash, black and white cookies and apple turnovers. I felt like going up to her and say:

- I don’t want your job anymore. I’m an accountant making thirty grand a year. I live in a building with doormen and not in a hostel. I have to make trips to LA and take cruises to Mexico.

But just seeing her in the square in front of the Twin Towers was enough for me to realise how incredibly far I had come since last March. She was nice enough to hire me and I just couldn’t figure out why they wouldn’t have me back. I know there were customers who asked me if they could freeze the fuccuci (soft pizza) and I would shrug my shoulders, because I didn’t know. I should have nodded instead just to get the sale, but there’s the honesty getting in my way again.

March 10, 2001

It’s when I walk up to the window in our new offices on the 100th floor of One World Trade Center, that I realise how incredibly lucky I am. I see Manhattan laid out at my feet almost like a roadmap, and every landmark is distinguishable. The fifty-floor skyscrapers crouch humbly; at our height we’re alone with the jets.

************************************

Just after locating the things I have copy and pasted into this post, and found regarding David; it appears as though he was an extremely loved young man who had dreams upon dreams of what his life was to be, and what he wanted to accomplish. David appears to be a very well rounded, happy guy always with a smile on his face; his pictures show it all, don’t you think?

David, may you rest in peace and know that by the looks and things written of what I have seen online, you were a very bright and loving young man.

It’s heartbreaking to know all 2,996 lost on 9/11/01 all have family that are going to bed tonight, aching for their loved ones. To all of you affected by September 11, 2001; God Bless You and your family.

God Speed.