story8925.xml
Title
story8925.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2003-01-06
911DA Story: Story
By now I know everyone has heard scores of stories of what happened last Tuesday. I will be reliving moments of shock and terror for weeks to come, and wanted to write down, to share my recollections to help come to grips with what happened, and to bear what witness I could to the atrocity. I have not yet had time to check the times as I've recollected them, but the events are as accurate as I remember. My heart goes out to all the victims and their families.
8:45 - Normal morning - I have a 9:00 meeting scheduled with the CFO of a small software firm. He's called the meeting, but as he is visiting from the West Coast, we have agreed the meeting will be at 60 Wall downtown, our company's "new" headquarters, that have recently been sold to a competitor. I've finished my morning coffee and breakfast, having gotten in early. I hear a slight rumble, and think construction must be going on in the building somewhere, in preparation for the new tenants. No one comments on the rumble. It is not construction, but the first strike into the northern tower of the WTC.
8:50 - A co-worker walking to his desk states there must be a fire somewhere. Glancing outside for the first time since the noise, I see thousands and thousands of letter size pieces of paper, making it look like a ticker tape parade. Everyone then slowly disengages from work to look for the source of the fire. We are on the 21st floor, so from our angle, it appears the fire and papers are coming from 140 Broadway - the former headquarters of DLJ, then Marine Midland, now HSBC. The building appears undamaged. Several co-workers decide to go up to the 40th floor for a better view.
8:55 - A secretary tells us a plane hit one of the WTC towers. A small one, I assume, some small cessna. No, she tells me, a 737 jumbojet. Total disbelief. I call the trading desk for verification. Yes, I am told, a passenger jet has hit the WTC. I realize my brother works in the WTC. I call my sister-in-law to find out what floor, what building he is in. I am told he's on the 45th floor, 1 WTC, the one with the communications antenna. I tell her to remain calm, to call me with any news.
9:00 - I take the elevator to the ground floor, to let the security guard know I have a 9:00 meeting, to let the visitor up to the 21st floor. At this point, another explosion, sounding closer, some shouts from people outside the building. I leave 60 Wall by the back entrance on Pine Street, which runs parallel to Wall St. Heading up Pine towards Broadway, I pass scores of people, some walking, some running, some crying. Papers are beginning to accumulate on the streets and sidewalks. The sounds of sirens are growing, coming from everywhere. Getting to the corner of Pine and Broadway, I can see fires in both buildings, and overhear the bystanders talking about the sight of the second plane hitting.
9:10 - Back up to the 21st floor of 60 Wall, after brushing off some soot and ash from my shirt. I call up my sister in law to tell her that Gip should be fine, the hit was very high up on # 1 WTC, he should be able to get out of the building. Still no word from him. A janitor walks through the floor, telling everyone to leave immediately, walk down to the ground floor. The stairways are pretty much empty, as the building is only about 15% filled.
9:15 - Getting to the 3rd floor, I stop descending to visit the trading floor, to make a call to see if there's any news. None. My sister and parents are both in her apartment, tell me I have a place to stay if needed. I then get down to the basement, run into a co-worker, and tell him I'm going to leave to look for my brother. He argues that it is a total waste of time, I won't find him, that I'm safer where I am. I agree, but tell him I'm going back up to the trading floor to make another call.
9:25 - Getting to the ground floor, I decide to make a detour to go to a local chapel, Our Lady of Victory, to say a prayer. I run into Mary, a cousin of my father's. She is weeping, very shaken. She works on lower Broadway, and did not make it to work because of a doctor's appointment. She knows Gip works at 1 WTC, and we decide that help will be needed to where the evacuees are being shepherded.
9:40 - We walk towards Broadway to ask rescue workers where the site is. Seaport, we're told, walk north on Broadway to Fulton, then down Fulton. We are told the Pentagon was hit, and Pittsburgh was hit. We can't make sense out of Pittsburgh... how big is this? We start walking north. People are still watching the burning, mesmerized. Some scream at the sight of people jumping from the towers.
9:45 - Two blocks away, at Maiden Lane, we are told to walk away from Broadway, to walk down Maiden Lane eastbound to the Seaport. We get halfway down to the next intersection, and I spy a building that provides a shortcut to John Street. John Street runs parallel to Maiden Lane, and the building has entrances on both streets, with glass doors on both sides. I tell Mary we can cut through. The building is small, probably built before World War I. I estimate it has 10 to 20 small businesses as tenants. Mary starts to open the door, and an enormous loud rumbling, a cacophony of screams is heard behind us. The ground is shaking. I turn to look back, and see a cloud of smoke rushing toward us, with people sprinting down the street, absolute fear on their faces. We yell at some passing to get into the building, then run in ourselves. We walk, dazed, towards the other exit, look back through the glass doors at a screaming crowd sprinting past the entrance, then see a black cloud overcome them, block out all light and shut off all noise from the street. Like a soundproof curtain swept across the doors. The glass wall of doors looks like they are now painted charcoal grey on the outside. We look north, still a normal scene with cars, but no people. I scream to Mary to leave by this exit, take three steps, and the same black cloud envelopes and seals off that exit. There are seven people in the lobby. A door opens, and the super is screaming at everyone to get downstairs. We head down into the basement of the building, which is a collection of storerooms, a washroom with basin and toilet, furnaces, boilers, pipes, cables, and boxes, all running north south. Someone has a boombox, tells us the tower fell. We dampen paper towels, hold them over our mouths to protect us from the smoke which is beginning to filter down. We wonder if we will ever get out, or if we are buried under rubble.
9:55 - I go back up to the lobby, as the door is open. People are in a bank branch that is adjacent to the building, with a glass door entrance to the building lobby. The door is locked, and the people are trying to break it down, as they are being overcome by smoke. The super yells for them to back away, then uses a metal stool to smash the door. My adrenaline is now so high that I jump at the sound, thinking illogically that this small building is now under attack. I return to the basement, to get away from the smoke that is now coming from the bank branch. A new batch of 10 people enter the basement, asking for water. They are covered in ash, looking like moving statues, with red eyes, coughing, some with clothes that have rips in them.
10:00 - A woman in uniform tells us there is more space in the floor below us with cleaner air. Mary and I head down the stairs, end up in another corridor with rooms off to the side. The corridor is lined with filing cabinets, with records in them from the early '90s. We assess the area. There is a paint closet, big sign against smoking. A supply closet full of fluorescent lights. A machine shop, with scrap metal, power tools, a lathe, and plumbing supplies. Mary and I are the only ones in this area. We don't know what has become of the others. On top of the filing cabinets, we find a plastic statue of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, with a red cloak and golden crown, lying on its side. I set it right side up, say a quiet prayer for help. Others come in the room looking for masks against the smoke, which seems to be getting worse. I go back to the paint closet to look for masks. No luck. We look for phones - again, no luck.
10:25 - I look past the stairway in the other direction, find a door, hear voices on the other side. Opening it is a wonderful sight. Four men, clean, in a small air-conditioned room watching TV. I yell to Mary to join us. We find Poland Spring water on the ground in bottles. A phone is there, some success, some failure in getting through. I have no luck. The TV turns out to be closed circuit, with cameras in both the lobby and the street. Mary and I grab bottles of water, drink it down. The air conditioner makes the room comfortably cool at 72 degrees. We watch the camera for clues as to what has happened.
10:35 - We see people now leaving the building, and can see them walking normally. Mary and I agree it's time to get out. I grab what water I can carry - eight loose bottles. We come up to the ground floor, see the street, see shapes of cars. We walk out into a scene of an eerie quiet, with 2 inches of ash covering everything. Smoke and ash are still in the air, but with our wet towels we can, at least, breathe. We start to head east to the river, trying to get away from the source of smoke. I glance back to see, through a fog of smoke, a giant section of the skin of the WTC leaning up against a building on Broadway that housed The World of Golf retail store. It reaches up to the bottom of the third floor. The streets are totally deserted at first, although we can hear some indistinct yelling. There is no sign of the scores of people who were trying to outrun the wall of smoke, although we see numerous shoes, backpacks, briefcases lying in the street. As we walk down Maiden Lane, we pass the Federal Reserve Building. We instinctively do not look around on the ground, do not try to assimilate too much information - we only focus on walking toward what looks like clear sky. Some people pass us by, covered head to toe in ash. I give them water. I give water to the policemen on each corner until I'm out. We have no cell service, and wonder what else in America has been hit.
10:45 - We are now in front of Pace University Hospital, where the air is clearer. Hospital staff are out front, handing out masks. We each get masks on, with plasticine shields for our eyes. We head west, towards City Hall, under direction from police. We get over the concrete barricade on the approach to the Brooklyn Bridge. Police tell us to journey across the bridge to Brooklyn.
We both agree that we need to get north to midtown. Right there, in front of City Hall, another horrendously loud rumble builds, screams, crowd breaking into a run. I look back at the wall of smoke as the second building collapses and realize it is now getting bigger and coming towards us, like some evil monster from a childhood dream you can't escape. I grab Mary's purse and bag, and we both start to sprint north up Park Row. What had been an orderly flow now becomes a flight of fear, although within two blocks we realize the smoke won't reach us. Mary keeps urging me to leave her, to run to safety. I need her as much as she needs me, however. At this point, we stop to catch our breath, but I want to continue walking, as we are now in Federal Plaza, next to the US Court of International Trade, US Courthouse, and the Federal Building. We continue our trek north. Still no cell service at all. We instinctively duck every time we hear what are fighter jets above us.
12:00 - We reach Grand Central, are told trains are working on a limited schedule.
12:10 - We reach 270 Park Ave, midtown HQ for my company. We go upstairs, I find out from my sister that my brother is alive, he got out before the second plane even hit. I say a silent prayer of thanks, and pass the news on to Mary.
1:00 - I get on a jammed Metro North train, hear tales, stories, rumors from fellow travelers.
2:15 - Arrival at my station, and I walk home. Rest of the day is spent watching the endless re-runs, hearing of the Pentagon, getting word on others. My wife and I find out that a good friend of ours, a member of our wedding, was on the 85th floor of #2 when the second plane hit. No word yet for him. A sleepless night, up at 6:00 AM.
Wednesday - a day of prayer, of some hope, an overwhelming sense of loss, anger, and grief. My brother Tim, who drove down from Boston on the news, insists we play golf, which provides a welcome respite from all the horrific news. We play with his brother-in-law at a nearby country club. The adrenaline burn from the previous day has given me an incredibly sore body, like I've run a marathon. Playing golf was almost as surreal as the previous day. Miles tells tales of his exodus, of the dark-skinned person who somehow got onto the floor of the NYSE with a knapsack. A floor trader coldcocked him, and Security took him away. The event started a mini-panic. Later on Wednesday, Missie and I attend an interfaith service at the local synagogue, which is where I finally let go. I spend the hour weeping, crying, sobbing for the thousands and thousands of innocents who were simply going to work. Totally unable to comprehend the horrific event, yet I know it's real.
Thursday - Return to work, Spent the morning writing this e-mail. Noon, we are being evacuated because of a bomb scare. We leave, then return, now rumors are flying faster and faster. I think I will leave for home, don't know when I'll be back. My prayers to all.
8:45 - Normal morning - I have a 9:00 meeting scheduled with the CFO of a small software firm. He's called the meeting, but as he is visiting from the West Coast, we have agreed the meeting will be at 60 Wall downtown, our company's "new" headquarters, that have recently been sold to a competitor. I've finished my morning coffee and breakfast, having gotten in early. I hear a slight rumble, and think construction must be going on in the building somewhere, in preparation for the new tenants. No one comments on the rumble. It is not construction, but the first strike into the northern tower of the WTC.
8:50 - A co-worker walking to his desk states there must be a fire somewhere. Glancing outside for the first time since the noise, I see thousands and thousands of letter size pieces of paper, making it look like a ticker tape parade. Everyone then slowly disengages from work to look for the source of the fire. We are on the 21st floor, so from our angle, it appears the fire and papers are coming from 140 Broadway - the former headquarters of DLJ, then Marine Midland, now HSBC. The building appears undamaged. Several co-workers decide to go up to the 40th floor for a better view.
8:55 - A secretary tells us a plane hit one of the WTC towers. A small one, I assume, some small cessna. No, she tells me, a 737 jumbojet. Total disbelief. I call the trading desk for verification. Yes, I am told, a passenger jet has hit the WTC. I realize my brother works in the WTC. I call my sister-in-law to find out what floor, what building he is in. I am told he's on the 45th floor, 1 WTC, the one with the communications antenna. I tell her to remain calm, to call me with any news.
9:00 - I take the elevator to the ground floor, to let the security guard know I have a 9:00 meeting, to let the visitor up to the 21st floor. At this point, another explosion, sounding closer, some shouts from people outside the building. I leave 60 Wall by the back entrance on Pine Street, which runs parallel to Wall St. Heading up Pine towards Broadway, I pass scores of people, some walking, some running, some crying. Papers are beginning to accumulate on the streets and sidewalks. The sounds of sirens are growing, coming from everywhere. Getting to the corner of Pine and Broadway, I can see fires in both buildings, and overhear the bystanders talking about the sight of the second plane hitting.
9:10 - Back up to the 21st floor of 60 Wall, after brushing off some soot and ash from my shirt. I call up my sister in law to tell her that Gip should be fine, the hit was very high up on # 1 WTC, he should be able to get out of the building. Still no word from him. A janitor walks through the floor, telling everyone to leave immediately, walk down to the ground floor. The stairways are pretty much empty, as the building is only about 15% filled.
9:15 - Getting to the 3rd floor, I stop descending to visit the trading floor, to make a call to see if there's any news. None. My sister and parents are both in her apartment, tell me I have a place to stay if needed. I then get down to the basement, run into a co-worker, and tell him I'm going to leave to look for my brother. He argues that it is a total waste of time, I won't find him, that I'm safer where I am. I agree, but tell him I'm going back up to the trading floor to make another call.
9:25 - Getting to the ground floor, I decide to make a detour to go to a local chapel, Our Lady of Victory, to say a prayer. I run into Mary, a cousin of my father's. She is weeping, very shaken. She works on lower Broadway, and did not make it to work because of a doctor's appointment. She knows Gip works at 1 WTC, and we decide that help will be needed to where the evacuees are being shepherded.
9:40 - We walk towards Broadway to ask rescue workers where the site is. Seaport, we're told, walk north on Broadway to Fulton, then down Fulton. We are told the Pentagon was hit, and Pittsburgh was hit. We can't make sense out of Pittsburgh... how big is this? We start walking north. People are still watching the burning, mesmerized. Some scream at the sight of people jumping from the towers.
9:45 - Two blocks away, at Maiden Lane, we are told to walk away from Broadway, to walk down Maiden Lane eastbound to the Seaport. We get halfway down to the next intersection, and I spy a building that provides a shortcut to John Street. John Street runs parallel to Maiden Lane, and the building has entrances on both streets, with glass doors on both sides. I tell Mary we can cut through. The building is small, probably built before World War I. I estimate it has 10 to 20 small businesses as tenants. Mary starts to open the door, and an enormous loud rumbling, a cacophony of screams is heard behind us. The ground is shaking. I turn to look back, and see a cloud of smoke rushing toward us, with people sprinting down the street, absolute fear on their faces. We yell at some passing to get into the building, then run in ourselves. We walk, dazed, towards the other exit, look back through the glass doors at a screaming crowd sprinting past the entrance, then see a black cloud overcome them, block out all light and shut off all noise from the street. Like a soundproof curtain swept across the doors. The glass wall of doors looks like they are now painted charcoal grey on the outside. We look north, still a normal scene with cars, but no people. I scream to Mary to leave by this exit, take three steps, and the same black cloud envelopes and seals off that exit. There are seven people in the lobby. A door opens, and the super is screaming at everyone to get downstairs. We head down into the basement of the building, which is a collection of storerooms, a washroom with basin and toilet, furnaces, boilers, pipes, cables, and boxes, all running north south. Someone has a boombox, tells us the tower fell. We dampen paper towels, hold them over our mouths to protect us from the smoke which is beginning to filter down. We wonder if we will ever get out, or if we are buried under rubble.
9:55 - I go back up to the lobby, as the door is open. People are in a bank branch that is adjacent to the building, with a glass door entrance to the building lobby. The door is locked, and the people are trying to break it down, as they are being overcome by smoke. The super yells for them to back away, then uses a metal stool to smash the door. My adrenaline is now so high that I jump at the sound, thinking illogically that this small building is now under attack. I return to the basement, to get away from the smoke that is now coming from the bank branch. A new batch of 10 people enter the basement, asking for water. They are covered in ash, looking like moving statues, with red eyes, coughing, some with clothes that have rips in them.
10:00 - A woman in uniform tells us there is more space in the floor below us with cleaner air. Mary and I head down the stairs, end up in another corridor with rooms off to the side. The corridor is lined with filing cabinets, with records in them from the early '90s. We assess the area. There is a paint closet, big sign against smoking. A supply closet full of fluorescent lights. A machine shop, with scrap metal, power tools, a lathe, and plumbing supplies. Mary and I are the only ones in this area. We don't know what has become of the others. On top of the filing cabinets, we find a plastic statue of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, with a red cloak and golden crown, lying on its side. I set it right side up, say a quiet prayer for help. Others come in the room looking for masks against the smoke, which seems to be getting worse. I go back to the paint closet to look for masks. No luck. We look for phones - again, no luck.
10:25 - I look past the stairway in the other direction, find a door, hear voices on the other side. Opening it is a wonderful sight. Four men, clean, in a small air-conditioned room watching TV. I yell to Mary to join us. We find Poland Spring water on the ground in bottles. A phone is there, some success, some failure in getting through. I have no luck. The TV turns out to be closed circuit, with cameras in both the lobby and the street. Mary and I grab bottles of water, drink it down. The air conditioner makes the room comfortably cool at 72 degrees. We watch the camera for clues as to what has happened.
10:35 - We see people now leaving the building, and can see them walking normally. Mary and I agree it's time to get out. I grab what water I can carry - eight loose bottles. We come up to the ground floor, see the street, see shapes of cars. We walk out into a scene of an eerie quiet, with 2 inches of ash covering everything. Smoke and ash are still in the air, but with our wet towels we can, at least, breathe. We start to head east to the river, trying to get away from the source of smoke. I glance back to see, through a fog of smoke, a giant section of the skin of the WTC leaning up against a building on Broadway that housed The World of Golf retail store. It reaches up to the bottom of the third floor. The streets are totally deserted at first, although we can hear some indistinct yelling. There is no sign of the scores of people who were trying to outrun the wall of smoke, although we see numerous shoes, backpacks, briefcases lying in the street. As we walk down Maiden Lane, we pass the Federal Reserve Building. We instinctively do not look around on the ground, do not try to assimilate too much information - we only focus on walking toward what looks like clear sky. Some people pass us by, covered head to toe in ash. I give them water. I give water to the policemen on each corner until I'm out. We have no cell service, and wonder what else in America has been hit.
10:45 - We are now in front of Pace University Hospital, where the air is clearer. Hospital staff are out front, handing out masks. We each get masks on, with plasticine shields for our eyes. We head west, towards City Hall, under direction from police. We get over the concrete barricade on the approach to the Brooklyn Bridge. Police tell us to journey across the bridge to Brooklyn.
We both agree that we need to get north to midtown. Right there, in front of City Hall, another horrendously loud rumble builds, screams, crowd breaking into a run. I look back at the wall of smoke as the second building collapses and realize it is now getting bigger and coming towards us, like some evil monster from a childhood dream you can't escape. I grab Mary's purse and bag, and we both start to sprint north up Park Row. What had been an orderly flow now becomes a flight of fear, although within two blocks we realize the smoke won't reach us. Mary keeps urging me to leave her, to run to safety. I need her as much as she needs me, however. At this point, we stop to catch our breath, but I want to continue walking, as we are now in Federal Plaza, next to the US Court of International Trade, US Courthouse, and the Federal Building. We continue our trek north. Still no cell service at all. We instinctively duck every time we hear what are fighter jets above us.
12:00 - We reach Grand Central, are told trains are working on a limited schedule.
12:10 - We reach 270 Park Ave, midtown HQ for my company. We go upstairs, I find out from my sister that my brother is alive, he got out before the second plane even hit. I say a silent prayer of thanks, and pass the news on to Mary.
1:00 - I get on a jammed Metro North train, hear tales, stories, rumors from fellow travelers.
2:15 - Arrival at my station, and I walk home. Rest of the day is spent watching the endless re-runs, hearing of the Pentagon, getting word on others. My wife and I find out that a good friend of ours, a member of our wedding, was on the 85th floor of #2 when the second plane hit. No word yet for him. A sleepless night, up at 6:00 AM.
Wednesday - a day of prayer, of some hope, an overwhelming sense of loss, anger, and grief. My brother Tim, who drove down from Boston on the news, insists we play golf, which provides a welcome respite from all the horrific news. We play with his brother-in-law at a nearby country club. The adrenaline burn from the previous day has given me an incredibly sore body, like I've run a marathon. Playing golf was almost as surreal as the previous day. Miles tells tales of his exodus, of the dark-skinned person who somehow got onto the floor of the NYSE with a knapsack. A floor trader coldcocked him, and Security took him away. The event started a mini-panic. Later on Wednesday, Missie and I attend an interfaith service at the local synagogue, which is where I finally let go. I spend the hour weeping, crying, sobbing for the thousands and thousands of innocents who were simply going to work. Totally unable to comprehend the horrific event, yet I know it's real.
Thursday - Return to work, Spent the morning writing this e-mail. Noon, we are being evacuated because of a bomb scare. We leave, then return, now rumors are flying faster and faster. I think I will leave for home, don't know when I'll be back. My prayers to all.
Collection
Citation
“story8925.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed December 22, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/18040.