story10324.xml
Title
story10324.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2004-01-14
911DA Story: Story
TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
Reflecting back on this day I?m provided with a greater acumen on just how precious life is. Clueless to the tragic events that would unfold before my eyes later that morning I began my routine of a typical workday. Showered and dressed by 7:00 am. With ten minutes left before leaving for the train station I entered my four year old daughter?s room, a kiss on her cheek, a stroke of her hair and the daily whispered iterations of ?I love you, Have a great day, I?ll see you when I get home?. Back down the hall and into our bedroom I lifted the pillow off my wife Lisa?s head to give her a kiss and said goodbye. A last look at Kyle (four months old) I leaned over his bassinet and kissed him on his forehead. 7:10, time to go.
It was one of those picture perfect days, a cool September morning, the sky a vivid blue without a cloud in sight. In less than an hour and a half this idyllic backdrop would play host to the horrific carnage that was to be. My commute was uneventful, the exchange of conversations and friendly banter with the usual fellow commuters. A cup of coffee and a quick read of the Star Ledger we were now in Hoboken. On the ferry my commuting buddy Jim and I sat in our usual spot on the top deck as we neared our destination in total ignorance that the prominence of the city?s skyline would forever change in less than 15 minutes.
Disembarking at the World Financial Center I said goodbye to Jim and decided that with such beautiful weather the killing of ten or so minutes on a park bench was warranted. I backtracked a few steps and parked myself on a bench overlooking the marina.
SIXTY SECONDS TO GO
With the Trade Towers to my left and the Marina straight ahead I was taking in the usual sights, joggers, fellow commuters, a mother pushing her baby in a stroller. The calm and tranquility was suddenly pierced with the thunderous sound of a plane. My first impulse as I looked to the sky was that I would see an F-16 streaking by. Looking overhead in the wrong sector of space a tremendous boom resonated ? ? Holy shit he broke the sound barrier?. As I tried to process what was happening an eerie silence pervaded. There was no sound of a plane. There was no F-16 streaking by. The mother pushing her child in the stroller was now frantically running towards me repeatedly asking what was happening as she ran by. As I panned to my left it was clear that the upper floors of Tower One had suffered heavy damage. Time was now playing out in slow motion. Smoke was billowing from the north and west sides, flames growing in intensity were becoming more and more visible from within the upper floors. It was strange how in spite the ugliness that was visible from the north and west sides there was a certain element of calm and beauty from the south side as thousands of pieces of paper peacefully cascaded towards earth.
I stood with the scores of others along the esplanade, all of us slack jawed as we helplessly stood by and watched. The plume of smoke continued to grow as the fire gained more and more strength. The crowd was growing in size as ferries continued to deliver more and more commuters. Women stepping onto the island of Manhattan were crying as some of the fellow passengers related that a commercial airliner had struck the north face of Tower One. As others tried to solve the perplexing riddle as to how a commercial airliner could fly into the World Trade Center I was beginning to realize that those above the area of impact would not be going home. It just wasn?t feasible; damage to the floors that swallowed the aircraft was simply too great.
MORE TO COME
As we stood in horror and disbelief the second wave of terror was underway. The sound of the second hijacked plane was beginning to permeate the air. As it grew loud enough to attract our attention, I as well as many others gasped in shear fright. Looking south another commercial airliner was heading straight for us. It was quickly apparent from its extreme low altitude that this was the second wave of a terrorist suicide mission. I held my ground not in defiance but rather in fright. With the United aircraft approaching us dead on there was no escape route. But we were to be spared as the aircraft pulled a hard right just before the marina. Now it was inherently clear not only to me but also to the countless other that stood with me ? run north. I recall looking over to others as we ran as if to ask, ?Is this really happening? ? ? Hey buddy rouse me from my sleep I?ve had enough of this nightmare?. Tower two was the target. The resulting explosion and fireball was somehow more magnificent then that of Tower One. Turning to look back at the Trade Center I was now able to see the gapping hole in the north side of Tower One. If I?m able to remember the chain of events properly, it was at this point that we began to witness people jumping to their deaths. In total I watched six people that either leapt or fell from the upper floors.
They flipped and flopped like rag dolls though the air, and with each one it seemed to take much to much time to reach the ground.
SENSORY OVERLOAD
I was in a surrealistic state of existence. The Twin Towers were on fire. People were dying. The weather was perfect and I was standing in the midst of well-manicured lawns and well thought out perennial gardens. There were people openly weeping. There were people walking by in conversation as if oblivious to the tragedy underway. There were reports filtering through the crowd that the Pentagon was hit. There were reports that there was several more planes were in the air and unaccounted for. It seemed as if I was the only one without a cell phone trying to call home. Ferries were jammed with people heading back to New Jersey and I was afraid to get on one for fear that more attacks were under way. Adding to the confusion and panic a New York City Police helicopter was now descending upon the area in which we stood. Tree branches were snapping and I was looking for safe cover. The exodus from lower Manhattan was now underway and I was now beginning to focus on making contact with Lisa. In search of a pay phone I began to walk east towards the north side of the Embassy Suites Hotel complex. It was now approximately 10:00 am and I had just exited the park and stepped onto the street when Tower Two began to collapse. Within seconds it was obvious it was time to run yet again as a massively growing cloud of dust was quickly enveloping everything in its path. Running North and then across the West Side Highway I entered into Tribeca. My sense of urgency to get in touch with Lisa was first priority as I knew her anguish must have magnified due to the fact that Tower Two was where my office was. Pay Phones were not an option as each stood with long lines of people. I ran into two different parking garages where both attendants willingly allowed me use of their phones, unfortunately local calls were only accessible. Further north I crossed Canal Street and noticed a small sign for a Graphics Company on the second floor of an old warehouse. I flew up the stairs and confronted an older woman, the only one present within the company. I explained that I needed to call my wife and offered her money for the use of her phone. Understanding my plight she quickly made her phone available.
CALL WAITING?
As I fumbled to dial home I remembered that I had just cancelled call waiting, however Lisa had been diligent in keeping the line open as she awaited my call. It was as if she was finally able to exhale. She bade me to stay clear of the downtown area and in the frantic moments of our phone call she repeatedly thanked me for being safe and sound. My next cause of action was to make my way home and as I approached the West Side Highway from Canal Street I watched as Tower One fell upon itself. The upper floors pancaked onto the lower floors in sort of a reverse sinking. It seemed to fall slowly with its huge antenna remaining vertical as it rode the building down. In the final moments a sliver of buildings northwest corner, some twenty stories tall defiantly stood before crumbling to the ground. The unthinkable has happened. After a failed attempt some eight years ago the terrorists have succeeded in bringing down the World Trade Center. My initial thoughts were for the fire fighters whom I envisioned ascending upon the upper floors to fight the fires as others descended the floors to safety. In all 341 firemen were lost. I must have stood in that spot for some twenty minutes or so. I just kept looking at where the Towers were. I was in the midst of a sea of people and yet I felt so profoundly alone. For the remainder of day I panned the crowds for co-workers but never found any. As I walked uptown towards the Village on the West Side Highway a constant flow of emergency vehicles with sirens wailing traveled past towards the wreckage. It seemed that for each vehicle racing towards the downtown area there was an ambulance racing uptown. At one point as I approached the West Village I noticed a lone fireman walking away from the action. He was covered in dust and it seemed as if he just couldn?t cope with the losses of so many and was hanging it up for he day. At several different locales people were gathered around parked cars in which the owners played the late breaking news reports aloud. With the subways, Path trains and ferries from lower Manhattan suspended I began my walk to midtown to try and catch a ferry to Weehawken. At several points along the way I stopped and looked back in disbelief of what had occurred. To look at lower Manhattan without the Twin Towers was painful. I was beginning to realize just how much I loved those buildings and with them gone I was feeling guilty of how I thought to myself after the first strike that I would never step foot into them again.
The line for the Ferry to Weehawken was extraordinary. It looped from 33rd Street to 42nd and back several times. I just wanted to get home. It was around 1:30 in the afternoon and quite obvious that I would not be getting home anytime soon. I was beginning to feel like a war refugee as I waited the hours in line. Lower Manhattan continued to billow huge amounts of smoke. F-16s continually streaked the skies overhead as FBI agents dressed in fatigues and armed with machine guns stood watch. I was finally able to get on a ferry to Weehawken and stood on the upper deck and viewed lower Manhattan as we crossed the river. It felt strange to be one of the fortunate ones as I thought of less fortunate that perished this day. I was finally able to arrive home at about 5:00pm and was met by my wife on the front lawn. We stood there and embraced as if we had been separated for a decade. Inside I was met by my children, friends and my father who seemed older and frailer from all the worrying he had done. My neighbor Susan had taken it upon herself to generously prepare a dinner for my family and I. As we sat on her deck that night I could not help but to feel guilty that I was sitting with my family and friends celebrating my safe return. I kept thinking of all the families that were probably gathering to mourn their loss of a loved one.
I'll never forget September 11th, 2001 nor will I ever be able to comprehend how anyone can willfully snuff out the lives of innocent people in the name of God. My prayers and thoughts go out to all those who have lost loved ones.
AND LIFE GOES ON
Reflecting back on this day I?m provided with a greater acumen on just how precious life is. Clueless to the tragic events that would unfold before my eyes later that morning I began my routine of a typical workday. Showered and dressed by 7:00 am. With ten minutes left before leaving for the train station I entered my four year old daughter?s room, a kiss on her cheek, a stroke of her hair and the daily whispered iterations of ?I love you, Have a great day, I?ll see you when I get home?. Back down the hall and into our bedroom I lifted the pillow off my wife Lisa?s head to give her a kiss and said goodbye. A last look at Kyle (four months old) I leaned over his bassinet and kissed him on his forehead. 7:10, time to go.
It was one of those picture perfect days, a cool September morning, the sky a vivid blue without a cloud in sight. In less than an hour and a half this idyllic backdrop would play host to the horrific carnage that was to be. My commute was uneventful, the exchange of conversations and friendly banter with the usual fellow commuters. A cup of coffee and a quick read of the Star Ledger we were now in Hoboken. On the ferry my commuting buddy Jim and I sat in our usual spot on the top deck as we neared our destination in total ignorance that the prominence of the city?s skyline would forever change in less than 15 minutes.
Disembarking at the World Financial Center I said goodbye to Jim and decided that with such beautiful weather the killing of ten or so minutes on a park bench was warranted. I backtracked a few steps and parked myself on a bench overlooking the marina.
SIXTY SECONDS TO GO
With the Trade Towers to my left and the Marina straight ahead I was taking in the usual sights, joggers, fellow commuters, a mother pushing her baby in a stroller. The calm and tranquility was suddenly pierced with the thunderous sound of a plane. My first impulse as I looked to the sky was that I would see an F-16 streaking by. Looking overhead in the wrong sector of space a tremendous boom resonated ? ? Holy shit he broke the sound barrier?. As I tried to process what was happening an eerie silence pervaded. There was no sound of a plane. There was no F-16 streaking by. The mother pushing her child in the stroller was now frantically running towards me repeatedly asking what was happening as she ran by. As I panned to my left it was clear that the upper floors of Tower One had suffered heavy damage. Time was now playing out in slow motion. Smoke was billowing from the north and west sides, flames growing in intensity were becoming more and more visible from within the upper floors. It was strange how in spite the ugliness that was visible from the north and west sides there was a certain element of calm and beauty from the south side as thousands of pieces of paper peacefully cascaded towards earth.
I stood with the scores of others along the esplanade, all of us slack jawed as we helplessly stood by and watched. The plume of smoke continued to grow as the fire gained more and more strength. The crowd was growing in size as ferries continued to deliver more and more commuters. Women stepping onto the island of Manhattan were crying as some of the fellow passengers related that a commercial airliner had struck the north face of Tower One. As others tried to solve the perplexing riddle as to how a commercial airliner could fly into the World Trade Center I was beginning to realize that those above the area of impact would not be going home. It just wasn?t feasible; damage to the floors that swallowed the aircraft was simply too great.
MORE TO COME
As we stood in horror and disbelief the second wave of terror was underway. The sound of the second hijacked plane was beginning to permeate the air. As it grew loud enough to attract our attention, I as well as many others gasped in shear fright. Looking south another commercial airliner was heading straight for us. It was quickly apparent from its extreme low altitude that this was the second wave of a terrorist suicide mission. I held my ground not in defiance but rather in fright. With the United aircraft approaching us dead on there was no escape route. But we were to be spared as the aircraft pulled a hard right just before the marina. Now it was inherently clear not only to me but also to the countless other that stood with me ? run north. I recall looking over to others as we ran as if to ask, ?Is this really happening? ? ? Hey buddy rouse me from my sleep I?ve had enough of this nightmare?. Tower two was the target. The resulting explosion and fireball was somehow more magnificent then that of Tower One. Turning to look back at the Trade Center I was now able to see the gapping hole in the north side of Tower One. If I?m able to remember the chain of events properly, it was at this point that we began to witness people jumping to their deaths. In total I watched six people that either leapt or fell from the upper floors.
They flipped and flopped like rag dolls though the air, and with each one it seemed to take much to much time to reach the ground.
SENSORY OVERLOAD
I was in a surrealistic state of existence. The Twin Towers were on fire. People were dying. The weather was perfect and I was standing in the midst of well-manicured lawns and well thought out perennial gardens. There were people openly weeping. There were people walking by in conversation as if oblivious to the tragedy underway. There were reports filtering through the crowd that the Pentagon was hit. There were reports that there was several more planes were in the air and unaccounted for. It seemed as if I was the only one without a cell phone trying to call home. Ferries were jammed with people heading back to New Jersey and I was afraid to get on one for fear that more attacks were under way. Adding to the confusion and panic a New York City Police helicopter was now descending upon the area in which we stood. Tree branches were snapping and I was looking for safe cover. The exodus from lower Manhattan was now underway and I was now beginning to focus on making contact with Lisa. In search of a pay phone I began to walk east towards the north side of the Embassy Suites Hotel complex. It was now approximately 10:00 am and I had just exited the park and stepped onto the street when Tower Two began to collapse. Within seconds it was obvious it was time to run yet again as a massively growing cloud of dust was quickly enveloping everything in its path. Running North and then across the West Side Highway I entered into Tribeca. My sense of urgency to get in touch with Lisa was first priority as I knew her anguish must have magnified due to the fact that Tower Two was where my office was. Pay Phones were not an option as each stood with long lines of people. I ran into two different parking garages where both attendants willingly allowed me use of their phones, unfortunately local calls were only accessible. Further north I crossed Canal Street and noticed a small sign for a Graphics Company on the second floor of an old warehouse. I flew up the stairs and confronted an older woman, the only one present within the company. I explained that I needed to call my wife and offered her money for the use of her phone. Understanding my plight she quickly made her phone available.
CALL WAITING?
As I fumbled to dial home I remembered that I had just cancelled call waiting, however Lisa had been diligent in keeping the line open as she awaited my call. It was as if she was finally able to exhale. She bade me to stay clear of the downtown area and in the frantic moments of our phone call she repeatedly thanked me for being safe and sound. My next cause of action was to make my way home and as I approached the West Side Highway from Canal Street I watched as Tower One fell upon itself. The upper floors pancaked onto the lower floors in sort of a reverse sinking. It seemed to fall slowly with its huge antenna remaining vertical as it rode the building down. In the final moments a sliver of buildings northwest corner, some twenty stories tall defiantly stood before crumbling to the ground. The unthinkable has happened. After a failed attempt some eight years ago the terrorists have succeeded in bringing down the World Trade Center. My initial thoughts were for the fire fighters whom I envisioned ascending upon the upper floors to fight the fires as others descended the floors to safety. In all 341 firemen were lost. I must have stood in that spot for some twenty minutes or so. I just kept looking at where the Towers were. I was in the midst of a sea of people and yet I felt so profoundly alone. For the remainder of day I panned the crowds for co-workers but never found any. As I walked uptown towards the Village on the West Side Highway a constant flow of emergency vehicles with sirens wailing traveled past towards the wreckage. It seemed that for each vehicle racing towards the downtown area there was an ambulance racing uptown. At one point as I approached the West Village I noticed a lone fireman walking away from the action. He was covered in dust and it seemed as if he just couldn?t cope with the losses of so many and was hanging it up for he day. At several different locales people were gathered around parked cars in which the owners played the late breaking news reports aloud. With the subways, Path trains and ferries from lower Manhattan suspended I began my walk to midtown to try and catch a ferry to Weehawken. At several points along the way I stopped and looked back in disbelief of what had occurred. To look at lower Manhattan without the Twin Towers was painful. I was beginning to realize just how much I loved those buildings and with them gone I was feeling guilty of how I thought to myself after the first strike that I would never step foot into them again.
The line for the Ferry to Weehawken was extraordinary. It looped from 33rd Street to 42nd and back several times. I just wanted to get home. It was around 1:30 in the afternoon and quite obvious that I would not be getting home anytime soon. I was beginning to feel like a war refugee as I waited the hours in line. Lower Manhattan continued to billow huge amounts of smoke. F-16s continually streaked the skies overhead as FBI agents dressed in fatigues and armed with machine guns stood watch. I was finally able to get on a ferry to Weehawken and stood on the upper deck and viewed lower Manhattan as we crossed the river. It felt strange to be one of the fortunate ones as I thought of less fortunate that perished this day. I was finally able to arrive home at about 5:00pm and was met by my wife on the front lawn. We stood there and embraced as if we had been separated for a decade. Inside I was met by my children, friends and my father who seemed older and frailer from all the worrying he had done. My neighbor Susan had taken it upon herself to generously prepare a dinner for my family and I. As we sat on her deck that night I could not help but to feel guilty that I was sitting with my family and friends celebrating my safe return. I kept thinking of all the families that were probably gathering to mourn their loss of a loved one.
I'll never forget September 11th, 2001 nor will I ever be able to comprehend how anyone can willfully snuff out the lives of innocent people in the name of God. My prayers and thoughts go out to all those who have lost loved ones.
AND LIFE GOES ON
Collection
Citation
“story10324.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 8, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/15134.