 |
 |
Contribute to the historical record of September 11
|
|
 |
|
|
<< Return to previous page
Contributed by:
James Kazalis
Contributor's location on 9/11: Rutherford, NJ
Contributed on:
13 September 2003
|
How did you witness history on September 11th?
James & Kathleen(a 9/11 story)
The atmosphere was the clearest I could recollect in my personal history. No
small or distant detail could go unnoticed that day.
I arrived at Hoboken train terminal and without hesitation chose the ferry
instead of the PATH train to cross the Hudson River. While crossing the river
my eyes drew towards the early morning sun reflecting off the immigration center
on Ellis Island. I thought of my grandparents arriving there 100 years earlier
from Lithuania. This early morning thought was broken as my ferry entered the
looming shadow of the North tower of the World Trade Center.
Once the ferry docked at the World Financial Center, I walked briskly with the
other commuters towards the Winter Garden. No other labor force could have
walked with such early morning vigor and determination as a Wall Street
commuter. It was this hurried pace that was a warm-up for the tempo of just
another workday in lower Manhattan. I went inside the Winter Garden. I walked
past the tall elegant palm trees. These trees channeled me to the concentric
marble staircase leading upward to the pedestrian bridge. This bridge would
carry me over West Street to the World Trade Center.
Having crossed the bridge, I went outside again. I was now on the World Trade
Center property. I passed within a few feet of the North side of the North
tower and entered Austin Tobin Plaza. On my left was the raised black
marble fountain with Koenig's sphere as it's centerpiece and to my right was
the outdoor elevated metallic stage where music concerts were held during the
summer. I noticed the how precise the alignment was of all the white folding
chairs in front of the stage. They appeared ready for the next audience.
I entered the South tower. I was at work early that day. I started my
computer and began attacking the pile of paperwork on my desk. At about 3/4 of
an hour into the workday, I heard a muffled explosion. I stood up and peered
over the top of my cubicle partition, saw nothing, sat down and went back to
work. About one minute later I heard the hysterical cries of a secretary.
This time when I looked outside, I saw white paper, almost identical to what was
in my own hand at that time, encircling the outside of my building at the 67th
floor level. All I knew was that an office above me opened up to the outside. I
hit Ctrl+Alt+Del on my computer to lock it. I put on my jacket, grabbed my
briefcase and went to the nearest stairwell.
The stairwell had many people descending from the upper floors. However it was
not choked nor was there panic. It was a steady stream of many people walking
down in pairs. When I reached the 44th floor sky lobby, I noticed many people
milling around and wondering. The wall-mounted flat screen television above the
entrance to the cafeteria was displaying a business news station. I could see
the electronic ticker tape moving from right to left on the bottom of the TV
monitor. A rumor in the lobby was circulating that a single engine plane or a
helicopter had hit the North tower. Events were downplayed frequently that day.
An announcement came across the public address system. "An airplane had hit One
World Trade but the integrity of Two World Trade was okay". This message was
repeated once more. I heard two young men say they were going return to work as
they headed towards their elevator. As I took a few steps towards someone I
recognized, some great force struck my building. It felt like the floor was
being violently pushed under my feet. While falling to the floor, the steady
repeating rhythm of time suddenly stopped. I instantly developed tunnel vision
and my depth perception did not extend beyond twenty feet. My eyes focused on a
nearby out-of-service elevator. The impact had created a shock wave through the
entire building that forced dust at a high velocity from all four sides of the
elevator doors to the inside of the lobby. I was now prone on the floor.
Pandemonium erupted and filled the sky lobby. I picked myself up. I noticed that
my monthly rail pass popped out of my briefcase and was lying on the floor. Even
though it was only a few feet away, I would have to go against the grain of the
moving crowd, as they were all heading toward the exit. But I needed the rail
pass to get home. I never understood why anyone did not collide or brush into
me. I retrieved it uneventfully. I turned around and began to proceed down the
stairwell again.
Kathleen worked directly across the World Trade Center in Jersey City. Her
building was located behind the Colgate clock. A co-worker told Kathleen that
one of the twin towers was on fire. All went outside to the parking garage
to observe. As she looked across the Hudson River she saw a commercial Jetliner
enter her panorama from her right. It seemed to come from just in front of the
Statue of Liberty. She could not understand why this airplane was maneuvering so
low at such a high rate of speed. She did not associate this plane and the World
Trade Center fire as being connected. At the moment the plane struck the South
tower James's name was embedded in her primal scream. She had hoped he escaped
unharmed but if he did not she hoped he died instantly. Kathleen was assisted
back to her desk, where for two and a half hours she waited with her left hand
clamped to the telephone receiver waiting for his call.
I descended a story or two from the sky lobby then all downward movement
halted. Stopping and waiting were never in any prior drills and for that reason
tension began to build. People whom worked on the lower floors beneath
the sky lobby now began the evacuation process and entered the stairwell all at
once. One young man a few rows behind me started to push the woman in front
of him. I and a few others turned around and gave him an unfavorable glance.
That was all that was needed. Within a minute or two, which seemed a lot longer,
the procession down renewed. There were two more delays encountered. After the
second delay it got increasingly warm. The amount of people, combined with no
air conditioning in the stairwells made this happen. Once I descended to
around the twentieth floor, the pace began to pick up and the procession seemed
to spread out but never disappear. The lower floors now appeared vacant. I could
now descend at a quicker pace. Finally the last exit door opened and I had
reached the mezzanine level.
The mezzanine was one floor above the lobby level but was at the same level as
the outside Plaza. I was being directed by a security guard to descend to
the lobby level via the escalator. The escalator power was turned off. There was
a delay here because of the amount of people at this level were from multiple
stairwells. While I was waiting for my turn, I looked outside in the Plaza. This
was the same area I had walked through moments earlier on my way to work. I
could not recognize anything. Everything was charred, smoldering or on fire.
Debris was everywhere. At that exact moment I saw an outside support beam about
20 to 30 feet long, hit the ground. Each end of the polished steel beam
alternately hit the ground until it stopped. Both ends of that steel support
were on fire. My rational mind had a very difficult time understanding what I
was seeing and what made this happen. God had spared me from identifying the
details of the charred items in the Plaza. Later I learned that I was looking at
human remains. As I descended the escalator to the lobby area, I saw a team of
about six firemen. A port authority maintenance worker was trying unsuccessfully
to fully open a revolving door to aid them in entering the South tower. The
firemen were carrying equipment and apparatus to combat the fire. The tallest of
the firemen and the leader yelled loudly and intensely. He could not tolerate
this delay. He had to get himself and his men inside. The revolving door then
opened and all six men went in. I exited though one of the other doors. I was
out of the South tower and in the concourse.
The first thing I noticed was all the retail stores were closed. I have never
seen that on a weekday. Then a female port authority police officer shouted and
directed me to move towards her quickly and to exit at Five World Trade. When I
looked to my left I saw all one dozen descending escalators to the PATH with
their power off and vacant. I went past J. Crew, by Ecce Panis bakery and
finally I was waiting in line next to Tourneau jewelers at the base of the
ascending escalator in Five World Trade Center.
At the exact moment I exited Five World Trade Center, plainclothes policemen
were just outside the door shouting instructions. "Keep walking quickly, do not
turn around and do not look up", was repeatedly barked. Proceeding east, on
my left were a few EMT people tending to prone victims. To my right I saw
what looked like a professional photographer capturing images above. I crossed
Church Street and proceeded on the sidewalk up Fulton Street along with
others. Still looking forward I could see crowds of people on Broadway looking
high up over my head with horrified and anguished expressions on their faces.
As I got closer to them, I could now hear their gasps and cries. I decided it
was time for me to look. I stopped, sidestepped left, turned around and braced
myself with my right hand grasped around the ancient iron fence surrounding
Saint Paul's church. I inhaled deeply. Both towers were on fire. The tower I
worked in had more flames. I saw huge holes in both buildings about 3/4 of the
way up. I had recently read a book on the construction of The World Trade Center
and I knew the outside walls structurally supported it. I did not feel
comfortable where I was. My thoughts now turned to Kathleen. I had to find a
telephone.
I started walking north up Broadway. People were in the street, on the
sidewalk, everywhere. All eyes focused high above and in the opposite
direction I was walking. The first public phones near City Hall Park had
lengthy human lines. The people on the phones were not brief. They wanted to
tell as many people as possible that they were safe. Some callers started making
second and even third phone calls. Those waiting in line objected loudly. I
continued walking north. Coffee shops, restaurants and fast food establishments
all were closed or in the process of closing. When I got near Canal Street I
heard a loud noise that was a combination of a roar and rumble. That noise was
instantly overrode with the cries and screams of people in the street near me.
The South Tower had come down. I did not turn around. I had not felt this kind
of deliberate devastation since I was in South Vietnam 34 years earlier. I
wondered who lived. I wondered who died.
I knew that Kathleen did not know I was still alive. My paced picked up. My
strategy was that I should still head north but not on Broadway. My chances of
finding a public phone should improve. My destination was the Port Authority Bus
Station. I had just approached Union Square Park when I heard the same cries as
before. The North Tower was gone. I turned around to look at the giant cloud of
dust and saw the void where two tall modern structures to human civilization,
peace and trade once stood.
I was on Fifth Avenue. I was still looking for a public phone but the lines
of people were even longer. I reached 34th Street. Suddenly a chill went
through my body. I recognized the base of the building I was standing next to.
I looked up. I was at the bottom of the Empire State Building. How careless I
was to place myself next to the now tallest building in New York City and a
possible target. I picked up my pace even more. Adrenaline was at record levels
in my body.
Finally I reached the bus station and found it closed. I thought of the
familiar banks and banks of telephones inside going unused. In what seemed like
my continued effort not to stay in one place, I decided to head west on 42nd
Street to the Hudson River. I passed a parked police car that just arrived from
lower Manhattan. It was covered in ash and dust. All of the windows in the car
were gone. Just a few blocks from the river I saw somebody step out of a
restaurant. I was shocked that a restaurant was still open. I went inside and
found a public phone on the wall and nobody using it. I thought it must be
broken. I picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. I felt so relieved to
have that power and potential of communicating with the outside world.
Kathleen's work phone number was normally located in the easy recall section of
my brain. But the events of that morning altered my normal thought process. I
could not consciously remember her phone number. After a few frustrating
seconds, I just went ahead and dialed. I hoped somehow my finger knew her
number. The telephone barely started to ring when Kathleen picked up the
receiver. It was the most emotional exchange ever in our combined lives. We both
started to speak over each other's words. She was emotionally thrilled to hear
my voice. I said "it's me, I'm ok, and I love you". The words really had no
meaning, but the life emitting them did. The phone call did not last more than a
minute or two. The time was 11:20 AM. I told her I would get home but did not
know how or when. Once I hung up the receiver, I took a deep unencumbered
breath.
I was not far from the midtown ferry docks. Once I got to the docking area,
I found huge lines. It was difficult to determine where the lines began, where
they ended and or even how wide they were. There was little supervision with
the exception of a few NY Waterway employees trying to maintain some order.
Considering the size of the crowds, which looked like it was in the tens
of thousands, it was amazing the calmness that existed. There was an African-
American uniformed employee whom had a beaming smile on her face. I could not
remember the exact reassuring words she chose but it did not matter. Whatever
those specific words were, it made everyone within the sound of her voice feel a
whole lot better. It was the first ordinary, overt, positive gesture made by one
human being to another since the tragedy began.
West Street had no traffic on it with the exception of an occasional emergency
vehicle. When a vehicle did drive by there were no sirens or horns. There was no
one else on the road. They all headed south to the giant smoke and dust cloud in
lower Manhattan. Then I noticed something really unusual. A young couple was
roller-blading south on West Street. They seemed to either ignore or did not see
the Dunkirk size lines less than ten feet from them. They also did not notice
the smoke rising from ground zero. They just continued to skate like nothing was
out of place. I could not discern whether they were very athletically
disciplined or just the most oblivious idiots on earth that day.
While there was some chatter in line, it was for such a huge crowd quiet.
Because no one definitely knew what had happened, no one felt compelled to talk.
America was stunned. I turned on my radio that was is in my briefcase to a local
AM station. I heard of a plane hitting the Pentagon and another going down in
Western Pennsylvania. The word terrorists was used a lot. Someone in line whom
knew something about piloting aircraft said it must have been teams of multiple
hijackers and not individuals acting alone. After a few minutes I realized that
the radio newscasters were doing nothing more than speculating and rehashing. I
turned off my radio and no one in line objected. I realized how empty and quiet
the sky was. There were no sounds of propellers, jet engines or helicopters. If
thoughts contained any sound at all, that day they could be heard.
Additional ferries were being pressed into service and the line instead of
getting longer began to shorten and move in a serpentine fashion towards the
docks. I was not concerned about the particular destination of the ferry. As
long as it crossed the Hudson River and put me a step closer to home. After
about thirty minutes I finally boarded a ferry that would bring me back to
Hoboken Station.
The ferry pushed across the calm Hudson. I welcomed the noise of the ferry's
engines. I looked at lower Manhattan and saw the smoke drifting upward. Perhaps
the smoke would carry the unfortunate souls of those lost that day to a better
world. My thoughts then concentrated on a specific group of people. How
helpless, angry and silent all people serving in uniform must have felt. Their
job was designed to protect ordinary citizens but instead found themselves as
nothing more than remote television viewers observing this horrific attack.
When the ferry finally docked I noticed a significant number of official
personnel waiting. As I stepped off the ferry they repeatedly asked if
anyone worked in the World Trade Center. I was directed to my right just
outside the terminal. I thought perhaps they wanted an eyewitness accounting of
the tragedy, but instead I found myself waiting in a line to be decontaminated.
In front of me was a man in a pure white decontamination suit, respirator and
holding a fire hose over his shoulder. I made a mild attempt of protest
indicating I had no dust or any contaminants on me. Many people evacuating the
World Trade Center had prescience of mind to leave the downtown area. After all,
once out of the building, we knew we would not return to work that day. But I
was wise enough to know that protesting made little difference. I was going to
get hosed. I lifted my arms up from my side until they were parallel to the
ground. My briefcase was in my left hand. As the hose dispensed a fine spray I
slowly turned in a 360 degree arc. It took no more than a few seconds. They
handed me a white towel and directed me to a triage area where medical personnel
examined me. They asked me several times if I was okay. Finally they released me
and I left with the white towel around my neck as a souvenir.
I walked into the train station looking for the boarding schedule. The
station was packed with people wanting to get home. I saw that in about 45
minutes a train would depart to my home destination. I boarded the train,
found a seat and waited. In about ten minutes both the conductor and engineer
came into my passenger car. They began to argue about whether the train should
leave on schedule or to wait and fill the train with passengers and then leave.
Based on their conflicting viewpoints it appeared that nothing was going to
happen.
In a few minutes I heard what either was a bullhorn or a faint public
address announcement. I could not hear exactly what was broadcast. Within a few
seconds and while looking out the train window, I saw about 40 to 60 commuters
streaming out of the terminal in a dead run. I never saw so many people in such
a condensed formation, sprinting at such a remarkably fast pace. They had left
the terminal because of a rumor that someone had discovered a bomb. People in
my passenger car began to exit the train and terminal. I was unsure of what was
happening. Considering all I had already experienced, I made a decision to
remain composed.
Just outside the terminal the sprinting commuters finally stopped and
assembled. This group seemingly could not or would not separate. It was a
peculiar site. The same New Jersey Transit official with the bullhorn that
started the stampede, tried to tell this frightened group that it was a false
alarm. They did not believe him. They did not move, separate or re-enter the
terminal for some time.
Trying to rid myself from this transportation nightmare, I now looked for
a different train to get home. On the schedule board I saw a train due to leave
in fifteen minutes that would take me to the town adjacent to my hometown.
I boarded it and the train left the station.
As my train traversed the meadowlands the feathery plumes of tall reeds moved
past my window. Any other day going home and this procession of nature could
invoke a light thought or two. That day they just moved endlessly past my
window. The first train stop was mine. I got off the train, found a phone and
called Kathleen whom was now home.
I needed to make a deliberate gesture to put my life back on the same emotional
track as I started the day with. There was a pastry shop next to the train
station. I was seated on an outdoor bench eating a lemon ice when Kathleen's car
arrived. We greeted one another affectionately, calmly and went home together.
THE END
|
James Kazalis, Smithsonian Story #6262, The September 11 Digital Archive,
13 September 2003, <http://911digitalarchive.org/smithsonian/details/6262>.
3726 words, 21087 characters
|
|
<< Return to previous page
|
