story1877.xml

story1877.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-09-08

I went to work late on Tuesday September 11, 2001 because I stopped to vote in the Primary and go to the bank. I remember standing on the steps of the bank in Bayside, thinking what a gorgeous day it was, and being surprised to see smoke rising from the Twin Towers. I didn?t know what was going on, but I knew I?d better get to NYU Downtown Hospital ? the old Beekman ? since they would be in the center of things. I?d been their Director of HR from 1993-2000 (and still worked for the same health system) and knew I could help if they called a disaster. I took the next LIRR and, like everyone else, started calling around on my cell to find out what was going on, let my boss (uptown on the Mount Sinai campus) know where I?d be, and let someone at NYUDH know I was on my way. I stared out the window as we moved closer to the city and suddenly saw something streak from the second Tower (I didn?t know what happened until almost midnight that night).

I realize now that I arrived downtown shortly before the WTC collapse itself and got stuck in the subway tunnel between Chamber & Cortland/WTC. The subway cars slowly filled with smoke, people started getting sick; I figured there must be a fire and didn?t think too much of it. We stayed where we were for a bit, then they backed us into the Fulton Street. MTA workers led us out single file with flashlights through a single set of subway doors and up to the corner of William and Fulton. When we got up to the street, all you could see was a sea of people running and yelling through smoke, but you couldn?t make out what was going on. It almost looked like a movie set. I couldn?t even tell where we were and I?d been on that corner, in that subway station, twice a day, for eight years! The police handed me a surgical mask and told me to run with the others. I showed them my hospital ID and they said there was no hospital that way (on William Street? Where would it go?) and sent me toward the Seaport. As soon as I realized where I was, I ran to the Gold Street/ER entrance to NYUDH. The scenes you saw on TV couldn?t begin to describe what it was like.

I don?t know whom I saw first, but I remember getting a hug from someone, being cleaned off (I didn?t know I was dirty) and put to work. Over the course of the day/week, I saw lots of old employees who showed up, like me, to help out at ?the little hospital that could?. We did wherever was necessary, wherever it was needed, as hundreds of injured (and people too afraid to go anywhere else) ran inside the Hospital. At first that meant helping with triage -- calming patients and visitors; handing out hundreds of surgical masks and bottles of water; cleaning peoples faces and eyes; giving scrubs, socks and t-shirts to survivors; reuniting family members. Later it meant escorting police detectives as they interviewed witnesses; running errands for the control center; assisting security; dealing with the press; keeping track of admissions and discharges; helping people find ways to get home, etc. Ash and soot coated the entire inside of the Hospital and needed to be continuously cleaned. You could be standing next to a person and not know who it is, or even be able to identify their color! There was no air conditioning and we drank massive amounts of water to help with dehydration, breathing and the heat. Communication with the outside world was almost nil once the phones, cell phones too, went out ? no way to call families, get supplies, or even know what was happening outside our front door. No electricity and only minor generator power. The cafeteria, which normally served breakfast and lunch to the staff, was suddenly providing meals all day long, for staff, visitors, rescuers, anyone who needed a warm meal and someplace to rest. And there were dozens of doctors and nurses, some from a nearby convention, waiting for patients who never came. It wasn?t until the end of the second day that we realized there were no more survivors, but we kept waiting.

That first night (9/11) a group of us left the Hospital together, not sure of what we would face. It was like walking into an apocolapse. We were the only ones moving along the street until we got to Chinatown, where small groups of people had gathered and were staring up at the sky silently. We honestly couldn?t figure out why, since you couldn?t even see the skyline through the smoke -- we still didn?t know what had actually happened. It took us another hour to find a subway that was running and get up to midtown where the streets were totally deserted ? no people, no cars, no nothing. I had never seen anything so surreal. A friend and I decided to take first train that came, which turned out to be mine. When we got to my house, her husband met us and told us that the WTC had collapsed, the Pentagon had been hit, and a plane crashed in PA. How was that even possible? I was right there ? literally in the shadow of the WTC ? wouldn?t I have known?

I walked into my apartment like a zombie on automatic pilot, tore off my clothes and dropped them down the garbage shoot. Then I took a shower and must have washed my hair and body 8 or 9 times. For a while I just sat in that shower and cried. I was so tired and numb and couldn?t even think. I still hadn?t seen the TV or heard the radio reports, or processed where I?d been, what I?d heard and what I?d seen (that would take another few days or weeks or months). I was terrified to go to sleep, afraid of what my mind would see and think about.

That first day set the pattern for the rest of the week. We took turns serving meals so that we could relieve the exhausted kitchen staff. We brought food to the senior citizen complex across from the Hospital and checked on the residents when the Red Cross couldn?t get through. We set up supply runs and staff runs. Whatever was needed, whatever we could do to keep our hands busy and our minds blank, we did.

The commute was nothing like it had been in the past. We tried to travel in small groups, and always brought a change of clothes, water and a mask, because we didn?t know what awaited us. We had to find a new route every day as the city opened and closed subway stations; walking block after block toward ?Ground Zero? as the air got darker and more rank; going through police and military checkpoints; trying to hitch rides with police and emergency crews to get into or out of ?the zone?; seeing troops of National Guard walking where Wall Street ?suits? should be; walking on usually bustling streets and seeing everything closed and silent. You could communicate with coworkers, volunteers and rescuers without saying a word, but were greeted with cheers and hugs (and water) from the strangers who lined the outside perimeter of the zone. Emerging midtown after work several hours later, the sounds and sights of were jarring after being downtown all day. The sunlight/moonlight and clear skies seemed disrespectful, but the thunderstorms that came a few days later just added insult to injury.

Like most people, certain images will be forever seared into my memory, some horrific, some heroic. I saw things at NYUDH that I wouldn?t have expected to see in a war zone. I also felt a solidarity with my coworkers and a pride in NYUDH that is unbelievable (and unfortunately unrecognized by the Mayor and the press). I can?t seem to shower enough or wash my hair enough to get the smell and feel of that blast off of my skin. Sometimes the thought of the ashes of cremated people on me makes my skin crawl. I?m exhausted, but afraid to close my eyes; I?m profoundly sad, but I?m also relieved that my little corner of the world remained intact. I?m torn between being filled with faith and having none; for the first time I dread the coming High Holy Days. I?m relieved that I missed most the coverage, but I?ve taped some of it and saved the newspapers. I know I should call some friends to see how they are, but I?m terrified to find out.

I didn't realize how much of my own comfort level lie in ritual. When I go to see my parents in East Quogue on the weekends I have a habit of "checking to make sure that the bay is still there" by driving down to the corner each and every time I go to or from the house. I never realized that I did the same thing at home in Bayside -- I checked the WTC every day from both the LIRR platform and when I get in and out of the subway ? until I couldn?t do it anymore. One morning after the disaster, a bunch of us were trying to find our way to the Hospital from one of the subway stations. We looked up to find South on our compass ? the WTC ? but there was nothing in the skyline.

I used to complain about how much I?d hated working on the 101st Floor of 2WTC during my days on Wall Street -- now I only remember how much I loved the view, the shopping, the concerts and events on the plaza? and I think ?there but for the grace of god go I??. I still love this city, maybe even more than I did before. I have no sense of personal vulnerability (I?m not afraid to go into the city, use the subways, walk in public buildings), but I feel as if the core of my world has been shaken. Tomorrow I?m off to see my parents. I?ve been grown up and on my own forever, and suddenly I need a hug from Mom and Dad. And, I want to check to make sure the bay is still there? I stocked up on chocolate just in case.