story900.xml
Title
story900.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-07-17
911DA Story: Story
I work for a radio station in New York City, overnights. On September 11, I had finished my shift and left NY an hour before the first plane hit; I was considering
staying late but could not because my husband was in Arlington VA on business, and I had to make sure I got our kids to school.
I got them to school, and my mother called me just as I was lying down to go to bed, telling me to turn on the TV. I watched in horror, and then I saw the news about the Pentagon and thought of my husband.
As he watched the plumes of smoke rise into the sky from the Pentagon from his vantage point in Arlington, he tried to call me and could not--his cell phone wouldn't work. He used a companion's phone and got through just as he heard a rumor about "a plane hitting the World Trade Center."
By the time he and I got to speak, the first tower had fallen. He and I were disconnected, and he decided to drive home immediately. He got home just before nightfall.
I decided to round up my children after speaking with my husband on the phone, to get them out of school early--not knowing what was happening nor what was to come, I wanted them with me. The most heartbreaking moment was at the middle school when I saw two children crying inconsolably because their parents had dropped them off at school and then headed off to their jobs--at the World Trade Center.
Their cries still haunt me.
One of my daughter's classmates at the grade school lost his father that morning. In the weeks after the attack, I noticed that many homes went up for sale--presumably because of a death in the family, or being directly affected by the tragedy. On that day I lost friends, neighbors and former classmates from high school.
I could not get in to work the evening of September 11. All passage to NY from NJ was suspended. I was called in the next day during a moment when the George Washington Bridge was opened, but the call wasn't necessary--as soon as I knew I could make it in, I did; I hadn't slept, and felt compelled to get to work to help out any way that I could. I didn't sleep at all for nearly 3 days. We all ran on autopilot at work, it seems.
Once in Manhattan on September 12, it was nearly a ghost town--the streets were nearly empty. The only thing that accompanied me most of my way downtown was the shriek of sirens and the stench of burning plastic, which became more choking as I got closer to Ground Zero.
I spent hours listening to callers call in to the station and relay tales of their loss, their fear, and the heroism of their fellow man. Men weeping openly, answering machine recordings left by people trapped in the World Trade Center. Our station has both employee and visitor alike sleeping under it's roof that day--a show host took in three stray women from Montreal who could not find their way home, with the borders closed. They slept in the office that night. During my shift, I broadcast a simulcast of our sister station, a news station; all regular programming and commercials were suspended for a week. I work for a talk station; instead of the normal happy banter, we sat shiva with America that week. We all grieved together. The show hosts showed such grace under pressure, such ability to calm people, to lead. I have come to love and respect the people that I work with. On September 11, they, too, became my heroes.
Since then, I continue to feel a sense of loss, to miss the Towers: every night I drive on the double helix leading to the Lincoln Tunnel. Even now I look to my left on my way in, looking for the World Trade Center, remembering how beautiful it looked at night. There's a hole there, that I long to see filled. The Empire State Building, once again the tallest building in the NY skyline, stands silent guard over Ground Zero; a symbol of America dressed in it's lights, a beacon of hope. Whenever I see it, I know in my heart that whatever it was that the terrorists were hoping to accomplish, they failed to do: We're still here. We're still strong. We're still free. We're still American.
staying late but could not because my husband was in Arlington VA on business, and I had to make sure I got our kids to school.
I got them to school, and my mother called me just as I was lying down to go to bed, telling me to turn on the TV. I watched in horror, and then I saw the news about the Pentagon and thought of my husband.
As he watched the plumes of smoke rise into the sky from the Pentagon from his vantage point in Arlington, he tried to call me and could not--his cell phone wouldn't work. He used a companion's phone and got through just as he heard a rumor about "a plane hitting the World Trade Center."
By the time he and I got to speak, the first tower had fallen. He and I were disconnected, and he decided to drive home immediately. He got home just before nightfall.
I decided to round up my children after speaking with my husband on the phone, to get them out of school early--not knowing what was happening nor what was to come, I wanted them with me. The most heartbreaking moment was at the middle school when I saw two children crying inconsolably because their parents had dropped them off at school and then headed off to their jobs--at the World Trade Center.
Their cries still haunt me.
One of my daughter's classmates at the grade school lost his father that morning. In the weeks after the attack, I noticed that many homes went up for sale--presumably because of a death in the family, or being directly affected by the tragedy. On that day I lost friends, neighbors and former classmates from high school.
I could not get in to work the evening of September 11. All passage to NY from NJ was suspended. I was called in the next day during a moment when the George Washington Bridge was opened, but the call wasn't necessary--as soon as I knew I could make it in, I did; I hadn't slept, and felt compelled to get to work to help out any way that I could. I didn't sleep at all for nearly 3 days. We all ran on autopilot at work, it seems.
Once in Manhattan on September 12, it was nearly a ghost town--the streets were nearly empty. The only thing that accompanied me most of my way downtown was the shriek of sirens and the stench of burning plastic, which became more choking as I got closer to Ground Zero.
I spent hours listening to callers call in to the station and relay tales of their loss, their fear, and the heroism of their fellow man. Men weeping openly, answering machine recordings left by people trapped in the World Trade Center. Our station has both employee and visitor alike sleeping under it's roof that day--a show host took in three stray women from Montreal who could not find their way home, with the borders closed. They slept in the office that night. During my shift, I broadcast a simulcast of our sister station, a news station; all regular programming and commercials were suspended for a week. I work for a talk station; instead of the normal happy banter, we sat shiva with America that week. We all grieved together. The show hosts showed such grace under pressure, such ability to calm people, to lead. I have come to love and respect the people that I work with. On September 11, they, too, became my heroes.
Since then, I continue to feel a sense of loss, to miss the Towers: every night I drive on the double helix leading to the Lincoln Tunnel. Even now I look to my left on my way in, looking for the World Trade Center, remembering how beautiful it looked at night. There's a hole there, that I long to see filled. The Empire State Building, once again the tallest building in the NY skyline, stands silent guard over Ground Zero; a symbol of America dressed in it's lights, a beacon of hope. Whenever I see it, I know in my heart that whatever it was that the terrorists were hoping to accomplish, they failed to do: We're still here. We're still strong. We're still free. We're still American.
Collection
Citation
“story900.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed April 7, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/13685.