by Patrice Fletcher, producer, Chicago bureau

Daniele Bora had just completed his first day as an intern with NEED Magazine in Minneapolis, when the 35W bridge collapsed on Wednesday.

In fact, the 26-year-old journalism student from London had been in town less than 24 hours to begin his month long internship. After work, he'd gone to buy a second-hand bicycle, and had just settled down for a beer at the Kitty Club, a local watering hole in the University of Minnesota neighborhood where he lives. He heard the news from others in the bar.

"The journalist in me woke up," he said, despite having no idea where the bridge was or what had actually happened to it.

He soon found out. Bora grabbed his photographic gear, got directions and raced to the site."It was pretty impressive," he said, of the giant, concrete slabs sloping down into the river. But where, he wondered, were the 60 vehicles that had been on the bridge? And then he understood -- they were submerged in the water.

By midnight, Daniele had posted his video to You Tube. By noon, he said, 22,000 viewers had watched the footage, making it the most-watched footage on You Tube that day.  (WATCH VIDEO HERE)

"I was completely overwhelmed."

His boss, Stephanie Kinnunen, NEED Magazine's editor, was overwhelmed for another reason. The magazine is a two-minute drive from the bridge. Her employees had just left for the day and she was having trouble reaching them.

"We go over that bridge every day," said the co-founder of the magazine about humanitarian organizations. "I couldn't get a line out, the phone lines were jammed...The boyfriend of my other intern crossed the bridge to pick her up here, and when they returned to the bridge, it was gone."

One employee could not be reached. Kinnunen spent a "long, sleepless night."

This story has a happy ending. The missing employee turned up unharmed around 11 am the next morning. And Daniele Bora's video has found an even wider audience. The footage has been shown by NBC News, msnbc.com, and CNN. 

Beginner's luck? No, he says, "more like being in the right place at the right moment."

For more eyewitness photos, visit FirstPerson.MSNBC.com

Brian anchors the broadcast tonight, but correspondent  Ron Mott previews some of the stories we're working on for tonight's broadcast. Click here to watch.

(Brian Williams closing note on Thursday, August 2 broadcast)

The sprawling Twin Cities metropolitan area has a lot of work to do. The human component will be the toughest: they are still learning about their own staggering loss.

The physical loss can be re-built, and there's a very good chance of a fast repair... the Republican National Convention is coming to the Twin Cities just a year from now. 

Aside from any of that, it will be MOST interesting to see if the  topic of infrastructure -- the safety of our roads and bridges and public structures finds its way into the public debate in this next election.

It's not a sexy topic.  But it is all about our personal safety.  We've seen here for ourselves today – it's all about life and death.

Editor's note: Every weekday for 110 straight days we will feature a different living recipient of the Medal of Honor. These are the men who have received their nation's highest military honor. Brian is a board member of the Congressional Medal of Honor Foundation. The words and photos are courtesy of Artisan Books, publishers of "Medal of Honor: Portraits of Valor Beyond the Call of Duty by Peter Collier with photographs by Nick Del Calzo. Yesterday's post was not posted due to the breaking news coverage of the Minn. bridge collapse.

 

JACK H. JACOBS

Captain, U.S. Army, U.S. Army Element, U.S. Military Assistance Command

 

 

If Jack Jacobs wanted a challenge, he certainly had one in 1966. He had a bachelor's degree from Rutgers University, a wife and a daughter, and no money. He had been through ROTC, and his plan was to enter active duty to earn a regular paycheck, then attend law school when his three-year Army commitment was finished. He volunteered immediately for airborne duty—paratroopers earned extra pay for the hazardous duty.

 

A year later, Lieutenant Jacobs was in Vietnam as an adviser to a Vietnamese infantry battalion in the Mekong Delta. He had wanted to deploy with his unit, the 82nd Airborne Division, and when he asked the Army why he had been chosen for the frustrating job of adviser, he was told it was simply because he had a college degree.

 

On March 9, 1968, Jacobs was with the lead companies of his South Vietnamese battalion as they searched for the Vietcong. Suddenly, a large enemy force, hidden in bunkers only fifty yards away, opened fire with mortars, rifles, and machine guns. With no place to hide, many South Vietnamese soldiers were killed

or wounded in the first few seconds.

           

A mortar round that landed just a few feet away sent shrapnel tearing through the top of Jacobs's head. Most of the bones in his face were broken, and he could see out of only one eye. He tried calling in air strikes, but the intense enemy ground fire drove off the U.S. fighters. Shortly afterward, the lead company commander was badly wounded, and the South Vietnamese troops began to panic. Jacobs assessed the situation and realized that if someone didn't act quickly, everyone would be killed. The words of Hillel, the great Jewish philosopher, jumped into his mind: "If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?"

           

He assumed control of the unit, ordering a withdrawal from the exposed position to a defensive perimeter. He dragged a wounded American sergeant, riddled with chest and stomach wounds, to safety, then returned to the fire-swept battlefield to rescue others. Each time he returned, he had to drive off the Vietcong, and single-handedly killed three and wounded many others. Despite being weak from blood loss, he went back time and again, bringing to safety thirteen fellow soldiers before he tried to take a brief rest—and discovered he couldn't get up again.

           

During the helicopter ride to the field hospital, he lost consciousness several times. Days later at another hospital, doctors pieced his skull and face together. Though he would undergo more than a dozen surgical operations, he never regained his senses of taste and smell.

           

Back in the United States, Jacobs was assigned to Fort Benning, where he became the commander of an Officer Candidate company. About a year after the action, he received an order to report to Washington, and on October 9, 1969, at a ceremony at the White House, President Richard Nixon awarded him the Medal of Honor.

           

After completing graduate school at Rutgers University, where he earned an M.A. in international relations, Jacobs asked to return to Vietnam. The Army granted his request on the condition that he remain out of harm's way. When he returned to Vietnam in July 1972, though, he immediately got himself assigned to the Vietnamese Airborne Division in the thick of fighting in Quang Tri. He walked away unscathed when the helicopter taking him to his unit was shot down, but he was subsequently wounded again.

           

Ultimately, he retired as a colonel after twenty years on active duty—quite a bit longer than the three years he had originally planned.

Editor's note: Washington Producer John Rutherford, who usually chronicles burials at Arlington National Cemetery, writes this week about how a bomb blast in Iraq shattered the lives of a close-knit family in Upstate New York.

by John Rutherford, producer, NBC News Washington

Shannon Bilbrey knew immediately that her older brother Charlie had been killed in Iraq.

"I remember walking into the living room in time to hear my little brother scream and my mother start crying," 18-year-old Shannon told News 10 Now. "I didn't have to hear. I knew what was wrong."

Army Spc. Charles E. Bilbrey Jr., 21, of Owego, N.Y., had been killed earlier that day by a roadside bomb in Saqlawiyah, northwest of Fallujah. Sgt. William R. Howdeshell and Spc. Jaime Rodriguez Jr. also died in the July 27 blast. The three soldiers were cavalry scouts with the 3rd Infantry Division.

Growing up in Owego, Charlie Bilbrey was a Boy Scout and a member of his church youth group. He played high school football and lacrosse and was class treasurer.

"He was so positive," his high school principal, Ronald Pierce, told the Binghamton Press & Sun-Bulletin. "Just a great, great young man."

(AP photo)

Bilbrey graduated from high school in 2005 and joined the Army, hoping to become an Army Ranger. He deployed to Iraq in January.

"His last visit home, it was every time he saw my parents or my sister or my brother or my dad, he'd hug them and say, 'I love you,'" his other sister, Brianna, 19, told News 10 Now.

Besides his sisters, Bilbrey leaves behind his parents, Charles Sr. and Barbara Bilbrey, and his brother, Patrick, 9.

"It's when we see his casket, that's when it's going to sink in on me, and it's going to be for everyone else, too," Shannon told News 10 Now. "We'll know that he's gone, and here is his body. He's not moving, he's not talking, he's just there."

Bilbrey will be buried Saturday at St. Patrick's Cemetery in Owego.

There is less information available on the other two soldiers. Sgt. Howdeshell, 37, was born in Springfield, Ill., and served in the Navy before joining the Army in 2005. His widow, Kimberly, 34, and son, Robert, 8, live in St. Petersburg, Fla. Kimberly said Robert has had trouble coping with his father's death.

"He's been crying,"  Kimberly told the Springfield Journal-Register. "He's been talking to his daddy. He keeps coming up to all of us and hugging us and telling us, 'It's OK. We can talk to Daddy.'"

Spc. Rodriguez, 19, was from Oxnard, Calif. He graduated from Carpinteria High School and joined the Army two years ago. He shipped out to Iraq in January.

Washington Producer John Rutherford is a decorated Vietnam veteran. He posts a weekly blog on burials of service members at Arlington National Cemetery

by Brian Williams, Anchor and Managing Editor

I started my eulogy for my friend Eric Wishnie last night knowing there was the chance I wouldn't make it through my prepared remarks. My concern wasn't composure as much as it was the breaking news story that I knew was beginning to unfold where I'm now standing: in Minneapolis.

As soon as the service was over, I was pulled aside by producers (who, like me, attended as friends and fellow mourners) and we quickly left our friends and went back to 30 Rock to do a Special Report on the network, then home to throw some things in a bag before flying overnight with Matt Lauer and Natalie Morales and producers and technicians.

From sadness to sadness. Tonight we'll originate the broadcast overlooking this disaster. And wait until you see and hear my interview with the first fire department officer on the scene. If you don't already know the people in this part of the world, you will by the time you've heard this great public servant.

We hope you can join us from Minneapolis tonight.

As mentioned, Brian anchors tonight from Minneapolis, but today's vlog comes from NBC's Ron Mott, who is already on the scene of the bridge collapse.

Click here to watch.

Brian will anchor from Minneapolis tonight and we'll dedicate most of the broadcast to the bridge collapse. We expect an on-the-scene vlog shortly from NBC's Ron Mott.

For the very latest news throughout the day, click here or tune in to MSNBC-TV. We'd also like to see any photos or videos you have from the scene. Click here to submit those to us.

Allison Lee, NBC Nightly News Desk Assistant

Lovetee Zeah has never met Emily Albrecht, but she still considers her a good friend. Lovetee, a 14-year-old Liberian refugee, shows me a letter from Emily, her American pen pal -- lovingly decorated with colorful stars, hearts, smiley-faces and flowers. She carefully reads it to me in broken English.

Photo by Allison Lee

Liberian refugee Lovetee Zeah holds a letter from her American pen pal, Emily Albrecht of Connecticut. Albrecht and her classmates raised $4,000 for their pen pal's much needed school supplies.

I met Lovetee at Buduburam Liberian Refugee Camp in Ghana where she takes part in a pen pal friendship established between children in the camp and students at a school in Connecticut. During my first trip to the camp, I was asking students to read their letters aloud and tell me what they thought about their pen pal. But as I got to know them, they slowly revealed what it was like to be a Liberian refugee in Ghana.
Buduburam appears to be what I would expect from a refugee camp: garbage and flies blanket dirt paths that weave in and out of the community. Unlike Accra, the nearby capital city, no one grabs me by the arm and tries to convince me to give my money away. But some residents in Buduburam barely have enough money to eat one meal a day and can't even bathe with fresh water. Even though conditions in the camp are harsh, most refugees are not ready to go back to Liberia.
"If you tell a Liberian to go back home, they feel you are sending them back to hell," says Karrus Hayes, the founder of the camp's Carolyn A. Miller Elementary School and a refugee himself. The civil war made Liberia unlivable, as its residents fled the country to survive. There are 40,000 refugees who call Buduburam their home … but this one made it his mission.

Photo by Allison Lee

While the Carolyn A. Miller Elementary School is the only free education offered in Buduburam, supplies are still limited. It is very common for students to have to share pencils and pens.

When Karrus Hayes arrived at the camp in 1999, he discovered that there were a lot of children who did not have the means to attend school. "It really touched me, but I didn't have control over it," he explains. "I'm a refugee too. I don't have any means of helping. But I knew that I would do something because I had an idea." His idea was to create the only free school within the refugee camp. Many parents can hardly afford to feed their children, let alone pay for their school tuition, supplies, and uniforms.
The first time I saw the school, it felt like a haven within the tired, gloomy refugee atmosphere. I walked past the front gates of the bright orange building and immediately saw uniformed school children laughing, playing and singing. The moment I pushed the record button on my video camera, 50 Liberian school children rushed into its view. It was exciting, because many of them had never seen a camera before.
But as I kept returning to film, I realized that these children were not as "normal" as they appeared to be. Some of them were orphaned by the civil war, and came to the camp with family friends. Some are completely immune to Malaria medications, because they've had the disease so many times. They are hungry and thirsty. They cook, bathe, and wash clothes in garbage-infested water they retrieve by the main road. 

Photo by Allison Lee

This road near the school is typical of the conditions in the camp. Many of the students I interviewed express frustration with the state of the camp and hope to return to Liberia one day.

One of the only things these children have to look forward to is receiving letters from their American pen pals. "I'm so excited that [my pen pal] is in America," says student Rufus Boduo. "I pray to God that we are friends."
"Because of the pen pal issue, everyone wants to come to school here," Karrus says. "They also want to have a pen pal … the letters have been very interesting to this community."
Their American pen pals do much more than write letters. The students in Newtown, Connecticut's Reed Intermediate School raised $4,000 to help buy supplies and equipment. Karen King, a sixth grade teacher at Reed, is coming to the camp to personally deliver the supplies and warmth from her class. "The fact that I'm going there this summer and the fact this has taken off with my class gets me excited and brings a spark to the classroom that you can't fake," says Karen.

"If [the students] can understand what happened in Liberia, what caused these refugees to be in Ghana, and the circumstances they are living under, then they will understand what's happening over many parts of the world," she says. "For me, there's only one way to teach. I have to teach with my heart … and I know the students will remember this."

Find out how you can help

Children at the Liberian refugee camp love to take photos with digital cameras. This photo of me was taken by a refugee child in Buduburam, Ghana.

Brian anchors the broadcast tonight, but correspondent John Yang previews some of the stories we're working on for tonight's broadcast. Click here to watch.

Every weekday for 110 straight days we will feature a different living recipient of the

Medal of Honor. These are the men who have received their nation's highest military honor. Brian is a board member of the Congressional Medal of Honor Foundation. The words and photos are courtesy of Artisan Books, publishers of Medal of Honor: Portraits of Valor Beyond the Call of Duty by Peter Collier with photographs by Nick Del Calzo.

JOE M. JACKSON
Lieutenant Colonel, U.S. Air Force 311th Air Commando Squadron

Joe Jackson enlisted in the Army Air Corps in 1941 because he wanted to be an airplane mechanic. He was made a flight engineer aboard a B-25; during a training flight, when one of the engines caught fire, it was Jackson who told the pilot what to do. Later, figuring that if he was going to have to give such advice, he might as well be a pilot himself, he went to flight school, became a fighter pilot, and spent the remainder of World War II as a gunnery instructor.
 He flew 107 missions in Korea as an F-84 fighter-bomber pilot. After the war, he was one of a select group of pilots chosen to fly the U-2 "spy plane." He was forty-five years old when he volunteered to go to Vietnam, where he flew the C-123, a light transport, as part of the 311th Air Commando Squadron.
 On May 12, 1968, Lieutenant Colonel Jackson was recalled from a routine resupply mission. On the ground, he was informed that a U.S. Special Forces camp had been overrun by approximately five thousand North Vietnamese troops. Three men from the Combat Control Team who were members of an elite Air Force special operations team that had just finished overseeing the evacuation of U.S. and South Vietnamese military and their dependents were now trapped on the ground there. Another C-123 had tried to land and extract them, but it had been driven off by enemy fire. Jackson volunteered for what his radio contact at Da Nang was already calling a nightmare mission.
 While orbiting over Kham Duc, Jackson saw tracers from the North Vietnamese guns along the airstrip. The camp was engulfed in flames, and ammunition dumps were exploding, littering the runway with debris. Eight American aircraft had been destroyed; a burned helicopter remained on the landing strip. As a result, the usable length of the runway was only 2,200 feet.
Jackson made his approach like a fighter pilot rather than someone flying a transport: He came down at more than five thousand feet a minute, smacked down on the pockmarked runway, jammed on the brakes, and slid to a stop. Under heavy fire, the three Combat Control men ran out of the ditch where they had been hiding. Jackson's crew grabbed them and hauled them aboard. As the C-123 began to taxi for a quick takeoff, the enemy fired a 122 mm rocket at its nose; luckily, it broke up before hitting the plane and failed to explode. Jackson gunned the engines and took off on the shortened runway, passing through a vicious crossfire as he managed to get airborne.
 President Lyndon Johnson awarded the Medal of Honor to Jackson on January 16, 1969. At the ceremony, the President had presented the Medal of Honor to a Marine from the same city in Georgia where Jackson had grown up. The President whispered to him, "There must be something in the water down there."