Colin Bonnett was a gentleman — a Harley-Davidson-riding, bodybuilder sort of gentleman. Born in Barbados, he had been raised with Caribbean good manners that said that a door was always to be opened for a lady and that her chair should be pulled out when she sat.He also had deep empathy for animals, and had recently rescued a stray kitten that had been wandering around his family’s home in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.
But he also had an adventurous streak that put him on horseback with his 10-year- old son, Kody, on most weekends, or on his motorcycle. He pushed himself hard with a physical fitness regimen that included weight lifting, jogging, countless situps and no junk food. Ever.
Mr. Bonnett’s natural graces helped get him his job at Marsh & McLennan, where he was a telecommunications programmer. In the early 1990’s he had been working as an assistant to a Manhattan veterinarian and was about to lose his job because the doctor was closing his practice. One of the customers was a Marsh executive who invited Mr. Bonnett, 39, to fill out an application. He was transferred to the World Trade Center by the company only a few months ago.
Copyright (c) 2001 by The New York Times Co. Reprinted by permission.
