story616.xml
Title
story616.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-05-16
911DA Story: Story
My son's birthday is September 11th. That morning we were in our usual rush to get out the door and get me to the subway. My baby was turning 3 and we had planned a dinner for him followed by presents and cake. I had just started a job at a brokerage firm and worked on the 25th floor of 2 Rector. Our back offices had a coveted view of the World Trade Center.
I got to work a few minutes late, and our daily conference call had started already. It was about 8:40. I plopped down in my chair and waved ruefully at my co-workers. The guys, as they always did, had faxed our breakfast order already. I re-wrote it to include my order and set it on the fax.
<<BOOOM!>>
The most terrifically loud sound I've ever heard shook the building. In a split second I managed to face the row of windows behind me to see flaming wreckage fly by.
'Oh my god, what the F*** WAS that?' I said. 'Oh, my god, I think an airplane hit a building! I saw a logo on a piece of shiny metal'.
As everyone rushed to the windows, I began yelling that we had to get out of the building. I pulled my co-worker Danny away from the window, concerned that if it had been a gas explosion or something else our windows might shatter. Six of us ran for the elevators, beginning a terrible journey for us all.
We were shaking hard by the time we got down to street level. Already there were sirens, a car accident on the corner, and debris falling like snow everywhere. My coworkers vanished around the corner - from there we had a clear view of the WTC, aflame, only one block away. I pulled out my cellphone and called my husband at work. We are a military family living on Fort Hamilton and he was at work there, in Brooklyn. I was shaking so badly I could hardly keep the phone to my ear. He picked up and I started to cry. "Turn on the tv's" I said as I explained what I thought was happening. "Roy, I don't think it was an accident - there's no f***ing way!".
I told him I didn't know what to do, stay or if I should leave and try to get on a subway train headed for Brooklyn. He told me to hang tight, and to call him back in 10 minutes.
"Promise me you'll call me back." he said.
We hung up, and I lit a cigarette. Around our building on two sides runs an overhang, creating a porch or veranda-like structure. After buying a Gatorade (I was feeling very shocky) I went around to the protected side, where a man was stumbling to a halt, falling to the ground and pouring blood from his cut up forearms. His name is Pat, and since I don't know if he made it I'll speak of him in the present tense. He began to cry, and I went to him, sinking down to the ground next to him. I asked him if he was okay, if he needed an ambulance, and he shook his head. He told me he was a maintenance worker for the WTC, and he had been arriving at work when the first plane hit.
He dove under his truck and waited till the debris stopped raining down. While running across the street he had fallen and cut up his arms and knees and legs in the glass and metal that littered the street.
"oh god, there were bodies and body parts in the street. The street is full of blood" he said, broken up.
I gave him some of my Gatorade and talked with him for a moment. Looking up, a young woman had entered the porch and was standing alone by us.
"You," I said. "Go inside and get some towels and some water. I have an injured man here." Glad to have something to do, she went inside the building to get the items.
When she came back, we introduced ourselves. I would think of her later as an angel, my angel, and we have become great friends. Her name is Michelle, and I couldn't have gotten through the rest of that day without her. I'm so grateful to know her.
There was no water, only paper towels, so as gently as I could I wiped away some of the blood covering Pat's arms. Not being an EMT I was leery of hurting him, or of possible shards of glass stuck in his flesh, so I was very careful. He wanted to call his mother to tell her she was alright, and as he spoke I realized my cell phone was ringing. By the time I got to it it had stopped - that was my last contact with my husband for a few hours. I didn't keep my promise to call him back - I had forgotten, and now it was too late. Trying to get a line out, my cell phone died. Michelle's phone was down too. Pat stumbled off to find a landline to call his mom - we didn't see him again. I hope he got through, and made it home to his mom.
The next hour or so runs together in my mind. There is that 'accident' quality to it, where everything happens so slowly, and I have gaps in my memory. I know that Michelle and I stayed together. We went around the corner to look at the building on fire. By the time we came back around the porch there was another terrific explosion - the second building had been hit, and people could be heard discussing reports from radios they had just bought about the Pentagon. We knew now what we were dealing with. Terrorism. And the scariest part was a horrible, insular feeling of being small, unprotected, alone, and targeted by unknown assailants. We didn't know if they were bombing us, but in those moments I knew that we could very well die today. I didn't want to die, and I knew the worst fear of never seeing my husband and son again. Michelle and I stuck together.
When the rumbling started, we grabbed each other. People were screaming, and running en masse in the street. They were coming our way, and I think I said, 'We have to get out of the street!'
It was too late by then, though. There was nowhere to run and I was horror stricken that I didn't know WHAT to do.
The crowd surrounded us and Michelle and I managed to gain the porch as they swept around us.
The building collapsed, the first of them, and we were engulfed in the grey-brown dust and debris of the cloud. We couldn't see, we couldn't breathe. A woman next to me, of perhaps middle years, kept repeating,
'Cover your mouth and nose. Keep your mouth and nose covered.'
Her voice was so soothing, and so calm. I grabbed the end of my shirt and hauled it ineffectually over my face. I had so much filth in my mouth I could hardly spit it all out, but I did as the voice said, and did the best I could.
I remember Michelle saying, "Shira, I can't see you - where are you?" I cracked my eyes open and they stung - I found her hand and held it. "I want to go home and see my baby, Michelle." "You will,' she said, 'you're going to go home and see him'. I didn't know if she would be right or not.
The soft breeze blowing filth over us was lessening. Our hair was covered with it, our skin, faces, I could feel it falling down the neck of my shirt, in my pants, everywhere. If I had to imagine nuclear winter, this would be my interpretation of the scene. The debris softly pattered against bare skin - I'll never forget that feeling.
People were crying. Some had waited only moments to let the cloud pass and were running blindly in the dark. From the gloom came a man's voice, and I will remember it as long as I live. I later told my family that it reminded me of something Jesus might say, where he here in flesh.
"Join hands, and follow me - follow the sound of my voice."
We joined and we followed. He led us into a building across the street, all of us. It was clean, and the air was good. They had supplies, torn up (clean) rags, and cases of bottled water. We were given what we needed, and asked if we were alright. I was never so grateful for anything in my whole life. Michelle and I sank down in a corner and cleaned ourselves up as best we could. We laughed a little, too. In the midst of all this it was so good to have a moment of ease. We were herded into another room, an interior room, where we waited for maybe an hour. In that time, of course, the second WTC building fell. We sat listening to the radio as others poured into the building. From the windows in another area, downtown looked like a deserted war zone.
Police were checking buildings, looking for injuries, and we were told that there was one ferry leaving for Staten Island. Michelle and I looked at each other. I said, "well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Let's do it, but you'll have to lead because I'm all turned around and don't know which way the Ferry building is anymore."
On the way to the ferry building I managed to find a public phone that worked, and called my husband. His boss answered, and I relayed to him that I was going to Michelle's apartment on Staten Island for the night, and would call later when i could. I gave him Michelle's phone number and address.
We got on that ferry, and Michelle and I turned to watch the city burn, numb with shock and sadness.
I was unable to get home until about 10 a.m the next day when the Narrows bridge was re-opened. My husband came to pick me up, numb, sad, tearful.
Michelle and I didn't want to part, but I had to go to my home and my life and my baby, whose 3rd birthday I will always regret missing. I will be there for the rest, though. Alive, happy, whole. And grateful.
*with immense gratitude, and deepest love for Michelle R.*
S, R, & CJ
(and Licorice doggie, too)
Fort Hamilton, NY
May 16, 2002
g-d bless america
I got to work a few minutes late, and our daily conference call had started already. It was about 8:40. I plopped down in my chair and waved ruefully at my co-workers. The guys, as they always did, had faxed our breakfast order already. I re-wrote it to include my order and set it on the fax.
<<BOOOM!>>
The most terrifically loud sound I've ever heard shook the building. In a split second I managed to face the row of windows behind me to see flaming wreckage fly by.
'Oh my god, what the F*** WAS that?' I said. 'Oh, my god, I think an airplane hit a building! I saw a logo on a piece of shiny metal'.
As everyone rushed to the windows, I began yelling that we had to get out of the building. I pulled my co-worker Danny away from the window, concerned that if it had been a gas explosion or something else our windows might shatter. Six of us ran for the elevators, beginning a terrible journey for us all.
We were shaking hard by the time we got down to street level. Already there were sirens, a car accident on the corner, and debris falling like snow everywhere. My coworkers vanished around the corner - from there we had a clear view of the WTC, aflame, only one block away. I pulled out my cellphone and called my husband at work. We are a military family living on Fort Hamilton and he was at work there, in Brooklyn. I was shaking so badly I could hardly keep the phone to my ear. He picked up and I started to cry. "Turn on the tv's" I said as I explained what I thought was happening. "Roy, I don't think it was an accident - there's no f***ing way!".
I told him I didn't know what to do, stay or if I should leave and try to get on a subway train headed for Brooklyn. He told me to hang tight, and to call him back in 10 minutes.
"Promise me you'll call me back." he said.
We hung up, and I lit a cigarette. Around our building on two sides runs an overhang, creating a porch or veranda-like structure. After buying a Gatorade (I was feeling very shocky) I went around to the protected side, where a man was stumbling to a halt, falling to the ground and pouring blood from his cut up forearms. His name is Pat, and since I don't know if he made it I'll speak of him in the present tense. He began to cry, and I went to him, sinking down to the ground next to him. I asked him if he was okay, if he needed an ambulance, and he shook his head. He told me he was a maintenance worker for the WTC, and he had been arriving at work when the first plane hit.
He dove under his truck and waited till the debris stopped raining down. While running across the street he had fallen and cut up his arms and knees and legs in the glass and metal that littered the street.
"oh god, there were bodies and body parts in the street. The street is full of blood" he said, broken up.
I gave him some of my Gatorade and talked with him for a moment. Looking up, a young woman had entered the porch and was standing alone by us.
"You," I said. "Go inside and get some towels and some water. I have an injured man here." Glad to have something to do, she went inside the building to get the items.
When she came back, we introduced ourselves. I would think of her later as an angel, my angel, and we have become great friends. Her name is Michelle, and I couldn't have gotten through the rest of that day without her. I'm so grateful to know her.
There was no water, only paper towels, so as gently as I could I wiped away some of the blood covering Pat's arms. Not being an EMT I was leery of hurting him, or of possible shards of glass stuck in his flesh, so I was very careful. He wanted to call his mother to tell her she was alright, and as he spoke I realized my cell phone was ringing. By the time I got to it it had stopped - that was my last contact with my husband for a few hours. I didn't keep my promise to call him back - I had forgotten, and now it was too late. Trying to get a line out, my cell phone died. Michelle's phone was down too. Pat stumbled off to find a landline to call his mom - we didn't see him again. I hope he got through, and made it home to his mom.
The next hour or so runs together in my mind. There is that 'accident' quality to it, where everything happens so slowly, and I have gaps in my memory. I know that Michelle and I stayed together. We went around the corner to look at the building on fire. By the time we came back around the porch there was another terrific explosion - the second building had been hit, and people could be heard discussing reports from radios they had just bought about the Pentagon. We knew now what we were dealing with. Terrorism. And the scariest part was a horrible, insular feeling of being small, unprotected, alone, and targeted by unknown assailants. We didn't know if they were bombing us, but in those moments I knew that we could very well die today. I didn't want to die, and I knew the worst fear of never seeing my husband and son again. Michelle and I stuck together.
When the rumbling started, we grabbed each other. People were screaming, and running en masse in the street. They were coming our way, and I think I said, 'We have to get out of the street!'
It was too late by then, though. There was nowhere to run and I was horror stricken that I didn't know WHAT to do.
The crowd surrounded us and Michelle and I managed to gain the porch as they swept around us.
The building collapsed, the first of them, and we were engulfed in the grey-brown dust and debris of the cloud. We couldn't see, we couldn't breathe. A woman next to me, of perhaps middle years, kept repeating,
'Cover your mouth and nose. Keep your mouth and nose covered.'
Her voice was so soothing, and so calm. I grabbed the end of my shirt and hauled it ineffectually over my face. I had so much filth in my mouth I could hardly spit it all out, but I did as the voice said, and did the best I could.
I remember Michelle saying, "Shira, I can't see you - where are you?" I cracked my eyes open and they stung - I found her hand and held it. "I want to go home and see my baby, Michelle." "You will,' she said, 'you're going to go home and see him'. I didn't know if she would be right or not.
The soft breeze blowing filth over us was lessening. Our hair was covered with it, our skin, faces, I could feel it falling down the neck of my shirt, in my pants, everywhere. If I had to imagine nuclear winter, this would be my interpretation of the scene. The debris softly pattered against bare skin - I'll never forget that feeling.
People were crying. Some had waited only moments to let the cloud pass and were running blindly in the dark. From the gloom came a man's voice, and I will remember it as long as I live. I later told my family that it reminded me of something Jesus might say, where he here in flesh.
"Join hands, and follow me - follow the sound of my voice."
We joined and we followed. He led us into a building across the street, all of us. It was clean, and the air was good. They had supplies, torn up (clean) rags, and cases of bottled water. We were given what we needed, and asked if we were alright. I was never so grateful for anything in my whole life. Michelle and I sank down in a corner and cleaned ourselves up as best we could. We laughed a little, too. In the midst of all this it was so good to have a moment of ease. We were herded into another room, an interior room, where we waited for maybe an hour. In that time, of course, the second WTC building fell. We sat listening to the radio as others poured into the building. From the windows in another area, downtown looked like a deserted war zone.
Police were checking buildings, looking for injuries, and we were told that there was one ferry leaving for Staten Island. Michelle and I looked at each other. I said, "well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Let's do it, but you'll have to lead because I'm all turned around and don't know which way the Ferry building is anymore."
On the way to the ferry building I managed to find a public phone that worked, and called my husband. His boss answered, and I relayed to him that I was going to Michelle's apartment on Staten Island for the night, and would call later when i could. I gave him Michelle's phone number and address.
We got on that ferry, and Michelle and I turned to watch the city burn, numb with shock and sadness.
I was unable to get home until about 10 a.m the next day when the Narrows bridge was re-opened. My husband came to pick me up, numb, sad, tearful.
Michelle and I didn't want to part, but I had to go to my home and my life and my baby, whose 3rd birthday I will always regret missing. I will be there for the rest, though. Alive, happy, whole. And grateful.
*with immense gratitude, and deepest love for Michelle R.*
S, R, & CJ
(and Licorice doggie, too)
Fort Hamilton, NY
May 16, 2002
g-d bless america
Collection
Citation
“story616.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 7, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/13418.