story1245.xml
Title
story1245.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-08-19
911DA Story: Story
8:46am, Tuesday, September 11, 2001
I was getting ready to meet my co-workers in the lobby of the Soho Grand Hotel, when I heard the roar of a jet above West Broadway. Then, a horrible crash. I rushed to my window to see people pointing down and the street, screaming, "Oh my God!" Horror in their eyes.
I thought that a Cessna or other small plane had crashed into the street. I ran out of my room. Once in the hall, another guest was rushing out of his room. "Did you hear that!?!" We ran into an elevator, wondering what had happened. The other people riding with us were oblivious.
"I think a plane crashed in the street."
Once in the lobby, the two of us ran into the street. I couldn't believe my eyes. There was a giant hole in the World Trade Center. Like some sick cartoon, the hole was in the shape of a plane.
I was about 12 blocks away from the WTC when the world changed.
Another producer from my ad agency was also in the street. He was in the lobby when the first plane hit. The doorman came running into the lobby: "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" He headed outside to see what had happened. We were soon joined by the other six people from the San Francisco office.
The doorman later recounted to us what he saw. He saw the first plane soar over his head on West Broadway and wondered why it was flying so low. It was headed straight to the World Trade Center. He thought, "I know that's not headed for the building." Seconds later, he ran screaming into the lobby of the Soho Grand Hotel.
In a colossal moment of stupidity, I wondered aloud if we should flag a cab to get to our scheduled editing session. My producer thought I was nuts.
He knew right away that it was terrorists. I thought it might have been an errant plane, out of control. Fifteen minutes later we watched the second plane hit. From the side we were standing on, we did not see the impact; we only saw the windows blast out. That's when I knew it was terrorist attack... we thought it was a bomb (having not seen the plane impact). Then we knew for certain.
My limited knowledge of New York prevented me from knowing it was an attack after the first plane. Had I known the WTC's proximity to water, I would have conjectured that the pilot of a disabled plane would ditch into the harbor.
A woman next to me perfectly described the enormity of the events, "this is King Kong!"
My copywriter Pat, producer Rob and I huddled around a limo in front of the hotel with it's radio on. We learned of the Pentagon attacks. Fire engines screamed by. News reports had up to eight planes hijacked and unaccounted for. Armageddon.
Then at 10am, the first building fell.
Rob, an ex-New Yorker, started yelling, "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" This was surreal. The way it imploded on itself had me convinced that it was a bomb within the building. I looked at my watch and remarked to Rob and Pat that the next building would collapse at 10:30.
I think that was the eeriest half-hour of the entire experience. One building where there had once been two. These were supposed to be the Twin Towers... yet one of them had fallen. That 30 minutes where only one tower stood was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.
About twenty minutes later a large crowd came running towards us from the direction of the WTC. We also began to run, thinking we were going to be stampeded. Suddenly, the crowd stopped.
Then the second tower fell, and I was the one screaming, "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" 10:30... right on schedule. I was convinced a bomb took the building down.
As the radio reports kept coming in, earlier reports of more hijackings proved false. Of course, we now know that they were merely diverted when the FAA grounded all flights.
As all the cell phones seemed to be down, I went up to the room to assure my wife that I was okay. She wondered what was going on, "I was in the bathroom when your brother called. He wanted to know if you were okay... what's going on?"
"World War III."
I called another friend to describe to him the day's events. "You know that footage of the Hindenburg exploding? This is that... I witnessed the Hindenburg."
After we all made our calls, we went to a cafe down the street and had breakfast; it was clear no work was going to get done that day. In the madness of the day, people were serving us food. Expense report be damned, I tipped the server twenty bucks.
In the days following, we continued to work. It was the best way to exorcise the images of horror and terror we witnessed. Besides, what the Hell else were we going to do.
Since the neighborhood our hotel was in became restricted to residents only, we had to ask the hotel concierge for a copy of our registration forms. We would need them to get back into the area. Unfortunately, the wind had shifted overnight and Soho smelled like an electrical fire. We trekked up about 20 blocks to 14th Street to catch a cab, wondering if we were inhaling asbestos particles.
On our way back, later that evening, we went looking for surgical masks. They were sold out everywhere, so we picked up Ace bandages.We marched back to our hotel with bandages wrapped around our faces. What I wouldn't have given for a camera. Three guys walking down the middle of a normally busy New York street, smoke everywhere, with bandages wrapped around our faces.
The other half of our contingent were scared of inhaling the dust from the towers. They hauled their luggage twenty blocks north to a midtown hotel.
Throughtout the next few days, we received a flurry of calls from the West Coast. "What's going on with the spots?"
Fuck you.
"What's going on with the spots!?! Well, the vendor had a bomb threat and had to evacuate their building and when they were cleared to return to building, half the staff didn't return because they were scared for their mother-fucking lives! So you'll just have to wait until the police and fire department finish checking the neighborhood with their bomb-sniffing dogs before we can add the logo to the end of the fucking commercial!!!"
We managed to finish three commercials by Thursday night.
Then we had to find a way home.
Flights were finally cleared to go by the FAA, but then a goddamned terrorist tried to board a flight at JFK and were fucked again.
We were having appetizers in the hotel lobby, all restaurants in Soho were closed. While we sat there waiting for our food, the possibility that it might be days before we made it home hit me. The stress must've been evident on my face. Pat said, "Hey Ron... we're gonna make it home."
Our travel department got us a van to Philadelphia on Friday afternoon. From Philly, we were to fly to Cincinatti, then home, onto San Francisco.
Our last meal in New York came Friday afternoon. Soho was finally opened to traffic again. Actor Billy Zane and Gap model Molly Sims ate pasta within spitting distance.
At 5pm, the van arrived to get us out of town. As we got out of the Lincoln Tunnel, we looked back at Manhattan; downtown still smoldering. CNN reported that the plumes of smoke were so large that they were visible from the International Space Station.
Our travel guys put us up in the Ritz-Carlton in Philly. Maybe they felt sorry for us. At least we were out of New York. I slept well for the first time in three days.
The flight to Cincinatti was uneventful. They randomly selected me to have my bags hand searched. I didn't mind. Once in Cinci, we discovered our flight to San Francisco was delayed. They had pilots, but no flight crew.
After about two hours, they cancelled the flight.
We went standby on an 8:55pm flight, Saturday night. We made the list and I was seated in the first row of coach. In the first class section, there were four middle eastern passengers sitting across one row. I became a racist.
I watched that row through the curtain for the entire five hours.
The thoughts that went through my head: if these guys try anything, I'm going to jump them. At one point, one of them got up to retrieve something from the overhead compartment. I sat up straight and watched intently. They may stab me, I may die, but they are not going to take down another plane without a fight. I figured that even if I was stabbed, the other passengers could overtake any attackers. Then the plane would land and I could get medical attention. Or I could die.
Not to suggest that I could be a hero... any heroics would be purely selfish. No one has the power to decide how I'm going to die except me. Of course, my paranoia was unfounded. I admited this bit of racism to a few friends and no one could blame me for this indiscretion.
I finally made it home Saturday night after two days of vans and plane hopping, canceled flights and hand-inspected bags. I got home around midnight.
When I got came through the door, I dropped my bags on the floor and held my wife for a long time.
The following morning, I went to lunch with my wife. People were laughing. I hadn't seen anyone laugh in almost a week. No one in New York is laughing. I could begin to see how veterans feel when they return from a war. People seemed strange and foreign to me.
One of my coworkers called to make sure I also made it home (he was on a different flight). He lives in a quiet rural area. He had a similar experience to me. He had to shop for food this morning after being away so long. "Things looked familiar, but somehow felt foreign," he told me. He said he was watering his plants on his patio later this morning when he began to cry.
I first cried on that first Thursday night, trying to sleep in my New York hotel room. Lightning flashing outside my window. I thought of the workers, hoping against hope to find survivors. I thought of my wife, who was a country away. I hadn't seen her in three weeks. That's when I began to cry.
I think anyone in New York that day will understand this feeling. My heart goes out to everyone who suffered a loss.
After we were back, we realized that only four days before the attack, we were shooting a commercial about two blocks from the World Trade Center. A quick look at an aerial photo suggests that the building were shooting in must be covered in debris and dust from the collapses.
Ron Lim
http://www.ronlim.com/worldarchive/9.11.02.html
I was getting ready to meet my co-workers in the lobby of the Soho Grand Hotel, when I heard the roar of a jet above West Broadway. Then, a horrible crash. I rushed to my window to see people pointing down and the street, screaming, "Oh my God!" Horror in their eyes.
I thought that a Cessna or other small plane had crashed into the street. I ran out of my room. Once in the hall, another guest was rushing out of his room. "Did you hear that!?!" We ran into an elevator, wondering what had happened. The other people riding with us were oblivious.
"I think a plane crashed in the street."
Once in the lobby, the two of us ran into the street. I couldn't believe my eyes. There was a giant hole in the World Trade Center. Like some sick cartoon, the hole was in the shape of a plane.
I was about 12 blocks away from the WTC when the world changed.
Another producer from my ad agency was also in the street. He was in the lobby when the first plane hit. The doorman came running into the lobby: "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" He headed outside to see what had happened. We were soon joined by the other six people from the San Francisco office.
The doorman later recounted to us what he saw. He saw the first plane soar over his head on West Broadway and wondered why it was flying so low. It was headed straight to the World Trade Center. He thought, "I know that's not headed for the building." Seconds later, he ran screaming into the lobby of the Soho Grand Hotel.
In a colossal moment of stupidity, I wondered aloud if we should flag a cab to get to our scheduled editing session. My producer thought I was nuts.
He knew right away that it was terrorists. I thought it might have been an errant plane, out of control. Fifteen minutes later we watched the second plane hit. From the side we were standing on, we did not see the impact; we only saw the windows blast out. That's when I knew it was terrorist attack... we thought it was a bomb (having not seen the plane impact). Then we knew for certain.
My limited knowledge of New York prevented me from knowing it was an attack after the first plane. Had I known the WTC's proximity to water, I would have conjectured that the pilot of a disabled plane would ditch into the harbor.
A woman next to me perfectly described the enormity of the events, "this is King Kong!"
My copywriter Pat, producer Rob and I huddled around a limo in front of the hotel with it's radio on. We learned of the Pentagon attacks. Fire engines screamed by. News reports had up to eight planes hijacked and unaccounted for. Armageddon.
Then at 10am, the first building fell.
Rob, an ex-New Yorker, started yelling, "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" This was surreal. The way it imploded on itself had me convinced that it was a bomb within the building. I looked at my watch and remarked to Rob and Pat that the next building would collapse at 10:30.
I think that was the eeriest half-hour of the entire experience. One building where there had once been two. These were supposed to be the Twin Towers... yet one of them had fallen. That 30 minutes where only one tower stood was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.
About twenty minutes later a large crowd came running towards us from the direction of the WTC. We also began to run, thinking we were going to be stampeded. Suddenly, the crowd stopped.
Then the second tower fell, and I was the one screaming, "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" 10:30... right on schedule. I was convinced a bomb took the building down.
As the radio reports kept coming in, earlier reports of more hijackings proved false. Of course, we now know that they were merely diverted when the FAA grounded all flights.
As all the cell phones seemed to be down, I went up to the room to assure my wife that I was okay. She wondered what was going on, "I was in the bathroom when your brother called. He wanted to know if you were okay... what's going on?"
"World War III."
I called another friend to describe to him the day's events. "You know that footage of the Hindenburg exploding? This is that... I witnessed the Hindenburg."
After we all made our calls, we went to a cafe down the street and had breakfast; it was clear no work was going to get done that day. In the madness of the day, people were serving us food. Expense report be damned, I tipped the server twenty bucks.
In the days following, we continued to work. It was the best way to exorcise the images of horror and terror we witnessed. Besides, what the Hell else were we going to do.
Since the neighborhood our hotel was in became restricted to residents only, we had to ask the hotel concierge for a copy of our registration forms. We would need them to get back into the area. Unfortunately, the wind had shifted overnight and Soho smelled like an electrical fire. We trekked up about 20 blocks to 14th Street to catch a cab, wondering if we were inhaling asbestos particles.
On our way back, later that evening, we went looking for surgical masks. They were sold out everywhere, so we picked up Ace bandages.We marched back to our hotel with bandages wrapped around our faces. What I wouldn't have given for a camera. Three guys walking down the middle of a normally busy New York street, smoke everywhere, with bandages wrapped around our faces.
The other half of our contingent were scared of inhaling the dust from the towers. They hauled their luggage twenty blocks north to a midtown hotel.
Throughtout the next few days, we received a flurry of calls from the West Coast. "What's going on with the spots?"
Fuck you.
"What's going on with the spots!?! Well, the vendor had a bomb threat and had to evacuate their building and when they were cleared to return to building, half the staff didn't return because they were scared for their mother-fucking lives! So you'll just have to wait until the police and fire department finish checking the neighborhood with their bomb-sniffing dogs before we can add the logo to the end of the fucking commercial!!!"
We managed to finish three commercials by Thursday night.
Then we had to find a way home.
Flights were finally cleared to go by the FAA, but then a goddamned terrorist tried to board a flight at JFK and were fucked again.
We were having appetizers in the hotel lobby, all restaurants in Soho were closed. While we sat there waiting for our food, the possibility that it might be days before we made it home hit me. The stress must've been evident on my face. Pat said, "Hey Ron... we're gonna make it home."
Our travel department got us a van to Philadelphia on Friday afternoon. From Philly, we were to fly to Cincinatti, then home, onto San Francisco.
Our last meal in New York came Friday afternoon. Soho was finally opened to traffic again. Actor Billy Zane and Gap model Molly Sims ate pasta within spitting distance.
At 5pm, the van arrived to get us out of town. As we got out of the Lincoln Tunnel, we looked back at Manhattan; downtown still smoldering. CNN reported that the plumes of smoke were so large that they were visible from the International Space Station.
Our travel guys put us up in the Ritz-Carlton in Philly. Maybe they felt sorry for us. At least we were out of New York. I slept well for the first time in three days.
The flight to Cincinatti was uneventful. They randomly selected me to have my bags hand searched. I didn't mind. Once in Cinci, we discovered our flight to San Francisco was delayed. They had pilots, but no flight crew.
After about two hours, they cancelled the flight.
We went standby on an 8:55pm flight, Saturday night. We made the list and I was seated in the first row of coach. In the first class section, there were four middle eastern passengers sitting across one row. I became a racist.
I watched that row through the curtain for the entire five hours.
The thoughts that went through my head: if these guys try anything, I'm going to jump them. At one point, one of them got up to retrieve something from the overhead compartment. I sat up straight and watched intently. They may stab me, I may die, but they are not going to take down another plane without a fight. I figured that even if I was stabbed, the other passengers could overtake any attackers. Then the plane would land and I could get medical attention. Or I could die.
Not to suggest that I could be a hero... any heroics would be purely selfish. No one has the power to decide how I'm going to die except me. Of course, my paranoia was unfounded. I admited this bit of racism to a few friends and no one could blame me for this indiscretion.
I finally made it home Saturday night after two days of vans and plane hopping, canceled flights and hand-inspected bags. I got home around midnight.
When I got came through the door, I dropped my bags on the floor and held my wife for a long time.
The following morning, I went to lunch with my wife. People were laughing. I hadn't seen anyone laugh in almost a week. No one in New York is laughing. I could begin to see how veterans feel when they return from a war. People seemed strange and foreign to me.
One of my coworkers called to make sure I also made it home (he was on a different flight). He lives in a quiet rural area. He had a similar experience to me. He had to shop for food this morning after being away so long. "Things looked familiar, but somehow felt foreign," he told me. He said he was watering his plants on his patio later this morning when he began to cry.
I first cried on that first Thursday night, trying to sleep in my New York hotel room. Lightning flashing outside my window. I thought of the workers, hoping against hope to find survivors. I thought of my wife, who was a country away. I hadn't seen her in three weeks. That's when I began to cry.
I think anyone in New York that day will understand this feeling. My heart goes out to everyone who suffered a loss.
After we were back, we realized that only four days before the attack, we were shooting a commercial about two blocks from the World Trade Center. A quick look at an aerial photo suggests that the building were shooting in must be covered in debris and dust from the collapses.
Ron Lim
http://www.ronlim.com/worldarchive/9.11.02.html
Collection
Citation
“story1245.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 15, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/13002.