Family Tribute:After interviewing my Grandmother, Mrs. Merlyn Maloy, about September 11, 2001, I wrote this poem in memory of her son, my uncle, Gene. This is her point of view of what happened that day.911I had one last talk with my son that day,I never thought it would end that way.I found out in a tragic way - -Thank goodness my boss had the radio on that day.I knew he was still alive,But when I came home,Some of my hopes began to die.My son was on the 97th floor.But he couldn't get out through a door.God took him from me that day.I know he is in heaven watching over me.I stayed on the computer for thirty-six hours,Still no sign of hope -- everything began to shatter.My hope began to turn to fear;Then my eyes filled with tears.This was not supposed to happen in the land of the freeAnd the home of the brave.Our sense of security was taken away.As I look back on that day,I remember how people screamed and prayedWhile the Towers came down in a crumbling way.It took two foreigners in American planesTo kill many people in such an awful way.September 11th was such a tragic day,I never thought he would be taken away.The Bible says that 'Man is here, but for a few short years.'I was blessed with this son for forty-one years.911 was a call for HELP!By: Whitney Alissa-Karen Maloy, May 31, 2002When he was a senior in high school, Gene Edward Maloy had an open block in his schedule. He needed a subject to fill it. His mother, Merlyn, thought she had a good idea: typing. He looked at her, stunned, and said, 'Typing is for girls.' But nothing else fit, and so typing it was.

Years later, he thanked his mother. The course came in handy as he became enraptured by computers. 'Computers were his passion,' she said. When he visited his parents as an adult, it would be, 'Hi, Mom; hi, Dad,' and he would vanish into the room with the computer and not be heard from for hours.

Mr. Maloy, 41, who lived in Brooklyn and was an analyst for Marsh & McLennan in the company’s technology department, had a unusual bond with his mother.

'Gene and I had like a psychic relationship,' Mrs. Maloy said. 'I would be meaning to call him about something, and before I did, he would call me up and say, ’O.K., Mom, what’s up?’ He would just know.'

On the morning of Sept. 11, Mrs. Maloy felt this urge and decided she didn’t care if she was late for work. She had to speak to her son. She got him on the phone, they chatted, and she went off to work. 'I’m glad I did that,' she said. 'I had that last conversation.'