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2003-09-09

My September 11 recollections;

I was in the USA and New York for the first time. I am an Australian who works for a funds manangement company in Sydney.

At 8.51 a.m. on September 11, 2001, I was sitting in a room on the ground floor of the World Trade Centre Marriott Hotel. I was attending the National Association of Business Economists Conference.

When the first plane hit, all I felt was a dull thud, then a moment later the sound of a seemingly distant explosion. I thought it was earthquake as the lights and tables shook. Within moments, people headed for the doors, running for their lives.

I didn?t recall it at that moment, but it wasn?t the first time the complex had been the object of a terrorist attack. Within a minute or two, there were only three of us left in the room. We wandered out to see what had happened.

As I entered the hotel lobby, dishevelled and frightened people streamed into the foyer, seeking shelter. They were in shock, and some had obviously been injured by falling debris and burning jet fuel from the the first plane.

I didn't really know what was going on but was due to fly out to San Fransico that afternoon. I went to a lift to go to my room on the sixth floor and retrieve my luggage. But the alarms were sounding, and I was refused entry and politely asked to leave the hotel.

Around 9.00 a.m., I exited through a bar facing Liberty Street. As I went, I was greeted by a shower of burning paper swirling in the wind. Everything in sight was strewn with rubble, debris and burning cars.

I walked into Liberty Street and across West Street , between the two World Financial Centre buildings about 200 metres away, and looked back to where smoke belched from the North Tower. Beneath the smoke were the deep orange flames. I simply did not know what was going on or what had happened. Traffic had stopped and the air was filled with the sound of sirens.

As I stood alone looking up I beacme aware of a low flying jet. It kept coming closer and banked towards the towers. The roar of the jet was deafening.

Flames, smoke and glass erupted. Bodies and debris were blown out of the building and rained down on the street.

From that moment, I did not look back. It was time to get away. My mind raced: Were more planes coming? Where would safety be found?

I?d taken the Staten Island ferry from Battery Point, about 700 metres south, on the previous Saturday, so I fast-walked to the wharf. It seemed the best alternative at the time. There I joined thousands of others attempting to escape the choas and whatever else might be about to follow.

Just as the ferry boarding gates opened, behind me came a thunderous noise. People screamed. I thought the city was being attacked yet again, and this time I thought I might die. It was the South Tower collapsing. As people took their places on the ferry, smoke, ash and dust billowed toward us, enveloping us. People donned life jackets.

As a Christian I thought I would be welcomed if knocked on the door of a church in Staten Island and asked for help. But amazingly, a complete stranger standing near me on the ferry asked me and three other strangers to join her family at their home until things were sorted out. Her name was Leslie Castelucci. The Casteluccis and their neighbours gave me clothing and took me in as if I were a member of their family. I still weep as I remember her act of kindness.