story10681.xml
Title
story10681.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2004-07-05
911DA Story: Story
I am up early every day - typically before 6:00 am. September 11, 2001 was typical. A pot of rich, dark roasted coffee is underway as I shuffle out to pick up the newspaper along with Taylor, our 8 year-old tri-color collie. After briefly scanning the paper and watching 10 or 15 minutes of local morning news on TV, I retreat to my home office. Normally, Good Morning America would be on in the background, but this day was immersed in a writing project.
At about 8:55, our business partner, Dave, called and urged me to turn on ABC immediately because a plane had either hit or an explosion had taken place at the World Trade Center. He was motivated by our friendship, my interest in news and the fact that two of my three daughters live in New York City, one in the East Village and one in Brooklyn.
Both of us focused on live TV coverage from Manhattan, one of the Twin Towers billowing smoke as if from a 1,000 foot chimney, we continued talking ... speculating if any plane could accidentally plow into a building on what looked to be one of those perfect September days in the City. With eyes trained on the television, the corner of my eye somehow caught the shadowy image of the second plane coming from the right and gasped, "Oh my God, Dave - what is THAT," at the very moment of impact. Now in full panic, I told him I'd call him back, hung up the phone and immediately dialed my youngest daughter's cell, to no avail. Frantically, I dialed the second daughter's cell and home number, again only to hear an immediate busy signal.
Seconds, later - no more than a minute after the South Tower was struck, I called my wife - then in a meeting at her real estate office. She and her co-workers had not been aware of even the first incident - but turned on the television while I was on the phone with her. I pleaded with her to drop everything and come home - suggesting that I believed us to be under attack.
The next 90 minutes is a complete blur - eyes trained on the television in total disbelief as reports of attacks in Washington, plane crashes in Pennsylvania and appeared on the screen. Curiously, the entire 90 minutes - and every report, seemed to be in slow motion and to this day, I still recall that feeling - as in some childhood nightmare as I ran from some unknown evil force, my legs so heavy every step felt like I was dragging an anchor. Announcers calmly discussing unfolding events in their best attempt to remain professional. Behind them, buildings clearly collapse as they slowly turn and report, "It's difficult to see what's happened to that tower behind that plume of smoke." "Geeeezus," I repeatedly exclaimed ... as shocked that those buildings would disintegrate before our very eyes in a matter of seconds.
The moment of the first collapse, was the beginning of non-stop calls to home and cell phones for both daughters - completely panicked that somehow they had chosen to be in one of the Towers that morning. Then an incoming call from my sister in Maryland, sobbing uncontrollably as she reports that her son was meeting a client that morning at the WTC and that she couldn't raise him on the cell.
The next five hours seemed to last five days - excruciatingly painful as call after call failed to reach either of our daughters - until finally, at 3:30pm, the youngest, Courtney, got through to report that she was safe, but her shaken voice could not hide the fear and worry she had about the safety of her FDNY boyfriend. Then the older, Pamela, called from atop the roof of her Brooklyn apartment, reeling in shock and screaming "What have they done to us, what have they done to my city?" She had worked the late shift until 5:30am that morning, taken a cab home and slept through the entire morning - awakening to the noise of people on the street below and her sister's frantic phone calls.
The long days and nights continued until Friday, September 14th, our official National Day of Prayer and Remembrance. It was days later that we learned of our daughters' decision to join with friends on the roof of the younger's East Village apartment in a candle light vigil - the very same rooftop on which they had spent so many hours sharing life and love - the WTC towering above them like sparkling monoliths. Pamela had ventured out to purchase an American flag - but after two hours of searching, none were left. In desperation, she purchased three large tablecloths, one red, one white, one blue. Together, our daughters and their friends sat atop that now lonely roof and sewed together a beautiful American flag - one stitched of love and grief ... one made of the very fabric of this country - good and decent people who stand against evil-doers and stand for liberty and justice.
We still remember the sorrow and shock of the events of September 11th. Our tears and heartfelt prayers to this day go out to the victims and their families. But the pride we hold for our two young flag makers will always remain a beacon of hope to us and all who hear their story. We must all be flag makers - together knitting the fabric that makes this nation strong enough to defend her borders and help set free all who seek to the shade and safety of this tree of liberty.
At about 8:55, our business partner, Dave, called and urged me to turn on ABC immediately because a plane had either hit or an explosion had taken place at the World Trade Center. He was motivated by our friendship, my interest in news and the fact that two of my three daughters live in New York City, one in the East Village and one in Brooklyn.
Both of us focused on live TV coverage from Manhattan, one of the Twin Towers billowing smoke as if from a 1,000 foot chimney, we continued talking ... speculating if any plane could accidentally plow into a building on what looked to be one of those perfect September days in the City. With eyes trained on the television, the corner of my eye somehow caught the shadowy image of the second plane coming from the right and gasped, "Oh my God, Dave - what is THAT," at the very moment of impact. Now in full panic, I told him I'd call him back, hung up the phone and immediately dialed my youngest daughter's cell, to no avail. Frantically, I dialed the second daughter's cell and home number, again only to hear an immediate busy signal.
Seconds, later - no more than a minute after the South Tower was struck, I called my wife - then in a meeting at her real estate office. She and her co-workers had not been aware of even the first incident - but turned on the television while I was on the phone with her. I pleaded with her to drop everything and come home - suggesting that I believed us to be under attack.
The next 90 minutes is a complete blur - eyes trained on the television in total disbelief as reports of attacks in Washington, plane crashes in Pennsylvania and appeared on the screen. Curiously, the entire 90 minutes - and every report, seemed to be in slow motion and to this day, I still recall that feeling - as in some childhood nightmare as I ran from some unknown evil force, my legs so heavy every step felt like I was dragging an anchor. Announcers calmly discussing unfolding events in their best attempt to remain professional. Behind them, buildings clearly collapse as they slowly turn and report, "It's difficult to see what's happened to that tower behind that plume of smoke." "Geeeezus," I repeatedly exclaimed ... as shocked that those buildings would disintegrate before our very eyes in a matter of seconds.
The moment of the first collapse, was the beginning of non-stop calls to home and cell phones for both daughters - completely panicked that somehow they had chosen to be in one of the Towers that morning. Then an incoming call from my sister in Maryland, sobbing uncontrollably as she reports that her son was meeting a client that morning at the WTC and that she couldn't raise him on the cell.
The next five hours seemed to last five days - excruciatingly painful as call after call failed to reach either of our daughters - until finally, at 3:30pm, the youngest, Courtney, got through to report that she was safe, but her shaken voice could not hide the fear and worry she had about the safety of her FDNY boyfriend. Then the older, Pamela, called from atop the roof of her Brooklyn apartment, reeling in shock and screaming "What have they done to us, what have they done to my city?" She had worked the late shift until 5:30am that morning, taken a cab home and slept through the entire morning - awakening to the noise of people on the street below and her sister's frantic phone calls.
The long days and nights continued until Friday, September 14th, our official National Day of Prayer and Remembrance. It was days later that we learned of our daughters' decision to join with friends on the roof of the younger's East Village apartment in a candle light vigil - the very same rooftop on which they had spent so many hours sharing life and love - the WTC towering above them like sparkling monoliths. Pamela had ventured out to purchase an American flag - but after two hours of searching, none were left. In desperation, she purchased three large tablecloths, one red, one white, one blue. Together, our daughters and their friends sat atop that now lonely roof and sewed together a beautiful American flag - one stitched of love and grief ... one made of the very fabric of this country - good and decent people who stand against evil-doers and stand for liberty and justice.
We still remember the sorrow and shock of the events of September 11th. Our tears and heartfelt prayers to this day go out to the victims and their families. But the pride we hold for our two young flag makers will always remain a beacon of hope to us and all who hear their story. We must all be flag makers - together knitting the fabric that makes this nation strong enough to defend her borders and help set free all who seek to the shade and safety of this tree of liberty.
Collection
Citation
“story10681.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 10, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/4198.