nmah5291.xml
Title
nmah5291.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-11-21
NMAH Story: Story
I'm okay. But it is hell.
Kitsy wrote:
>
> Peter...I'm at work..no tv and can't get any web news. what's going
> on...only heard world trade center got nailed by a plane.
> need some news...Kitsy
He'll get there okay.
It's unbelievable what's going on in the streets here.
Unbelievable. Jet fighters in the sky. streans of refugees
in the streets.
PK
Kitsy wrote:
>
> I put doug on a plane to sfo at 730am this morning. k
Dear all:
Thanks to all who got through on the phone or e-mailed. Very
kind and touching of you and I consider you family. Gina is
in Springs watching this on tv, and I am in Manhattan living
the reality. We are okay.
I thought my observations from ground zero in lower
Manhattan -- a wonderful place I love so much -- might
interest you. The exhilarating crucible of cultures and
artistic ferment in these neighborhoods have held my
interest for 20 years. Something terrible happened to us
today.
Our neighborhood is shut down. I have to show an id to get
to my place on Prince Street. National Guard troops are in
the streets.
One of my friends on 13th street was awakened by a plane
flying so low over her bedroom, she jumped out of bed. That
was the first plane.
The most stunning image burned into my brain was standing on
our fire escape (Manhattan speak for patio) and seeing:
Thousands, upon thousands, of people in business suits
carrying briefcases marching north on Lafayette and
Broadway. This army of office people was covered with white
ash. They walked, and walked, covered with white ash. No one
spoke. Total silence. I stared, the only sound was thousands
of footsteps. Total silence.
Jet fighters swooping over the city. Everyone stares at
them, amazed.
Marty and Brad on Leonard Street watched people leaping to
their death from the World Trade Center. Marty is freaked
out. I'm glad I didn't see the bodies falling. I don't want
that in my memory bank.
I ran into Bruce and Isa outside the Tribeca Film Center,
just up from the WTC. They told me they also watched people
committing suicide from the Towers -- and then the buildings
collapsed infront of us. There was panic on Greenwich Street
as cops screamed at us to get away because of a gas leak. We
fled and I took them into my place.
Looking over my shoulder, I kept staring to the south. No
Twin Towers. I can't tell you how strange this is. You see
those buildings every day. They're gone, as if teeth were
ripped out of your jaw.
I went out to get lunch. There was panic buying at our local
store. Everybody buying bottled water. Our water was being
cut off. I filled the bathtub with water.
I bicycled down through West Broadway: crowds of people
stared at the billowing clouds and huddled in huge groups
around cars that had radios blaring news reports. No one
spoke. Except for the radio, there was total silence.
I saw some yuppie children crying. Canal Street was empty
except for occasional emergency vehicles with screaming
sirens.
I guess you have to be a New Yorker to understand this --
but the most devastating statistic that really brings
everything home to us is the news that almost 300 NY Fire
Department guys are dead. That hurts. I'm going to cut a fat
check to the FDNY families. If you want to help out, help
the FDNY and their families. I'm a cynic, but these guys
were true heroes.
At St. Vincent's Hospital, a hundred doctors in green scrub
suits waited for trauma patients. But only one ambulance
pulled up. I took this as a bad sign: there were no more
injured -- only the dead were left. Streets are jammed with
trailer trucks unloading pallets of medicine, hospital beds,
stacks of bedpans. Governor Pataki happened to be there. He
walked up, shook hands, talked. A woman ran up to the
Governor and hugged him and she started sobbing. He held her
in his arms for a long time. There were no tv cameras to
record this scene. I'll vote for him for what he did.
A guy with a saxophone sat on a stoop and played lonely jazz
notes.
Hand printed posters pasted all over the city urged blood
donations, but so many people showed up, you had to wait 5
hours to give blood.
Streets are completely deserted, people walking their dogs
in the middle of the street. At the police perimeters, there
were crowds staring at the burning rubble some blocks
downtown. This is New York where everybody talks. Nobody
talked. Total silence. You could hear a pin drop.
All the yuppie restaurants and bars are closed. Only the
real, old fashioned, neighborhood bars are open. The
bartenders didn't charge for drinks as everyone stared at
the television.
Another bike ride down to what used to be the World Trade
Center. Smoke still billowing. Night is falling. The rescue
operation is massive and impressive. Amazing organization
and co-ordination:
Houston Street jammed with dump trucks, blocks filled with
flatbed trucks carrying scaffolding, Salvation Army trucks
with of bottled water, two miles of cranes and bulldozers on
West End Avenue, two blocks of mysterious FBI white crime
scene vans on Carmine Street, a massive section with
generator trucks, another section with arc lights, a Con Ed
staging area, another street filled with a line of
ambulances a mile long. All this equipment included units
from Upstate New York, New Jersey, Connecticut,
Pennsylvania, even Ohio.
Then, I turn the corner and see two blocks of filled with
police vans with cages: German shepherds pacing. Cadaver
dogs.
Thousands of bodies are just ten blocks south from here.
But never before have I been so proud of being a New Yorker.
PK
All:
Thanks for the replies. Everybody is shaky and weepy and in
a daze. Some of you wanted another dispatch. Some of this
may sound bizarre, but it's all true.
The sun cast a yellow glow through the smoke today.
Yesterday the wind was blowing directly into Brooklyn, but
now the foul smell of burning plastic was in the air. I
closed the windows and turned on the air conditioner.
The police have now closed everything south of 14th Street.
No buses, no subway service, no stores open, no offices
open. You have to show id with an address to get into the
zone. It's odd when you realize you're living in a crime
scene.
Outside, the streets are free of vehicles and tourists so
the locals talk in clumps in the middle of Prince street.
The Mekong opened its doors and locals wandered in. Brian
let everyone help themselves at the bar and we watched tv
reports.
The hook and ladder fire station right around the corner had
8 firefighters killed. Everyone in the neighborhood is going
over to talk to the men and leave flowers and notes and
food. Many of us are going to give them money for the kids.
I bike down to West End Avenue. A two mile line of dump
trucks, cranes, bulldozers from all around the country move
toward the WTC. Massive dump trucks going the other way,
coming out of the zone, hint at the destruction: a
completely twisted, crushed ambulance; huge pieces of
crushed generators.
A big crowd lines the avenue. They loudly applaud and cheer
every passing rescue worker. Many hold up handlettered
signs: "Thank You".
This being New York, James Gandolfini peddles up next to me.
"Hey, it's Tony Soprano! Hi, Tony Soprano!" the soldiers and
cops call out. He smiles and waves and peddles on.
Above 14th street, Manhattan almost looks normal. Stores are
open. Taxis are out again, the subways are running. I found
a rare copy of the Post. No one can find a Times.
Over on First Avenue, a small group is gathered at the
entrance to New York Hospital. Two men sit at a table
answering questions. People are giving names and the guys at
the table check lists of identified dead and wounded. "You
got two John Does that just came in?" asks a guy wearing a
gas mask. "No. All the John Does are up at Bellevue,"
reports the man at the table. Next in line, a young woman
gives a name, and the list is checked. Behind them is a wall
plastered with dozens and dozens of color or black
& white xeroxed notices. Each has a homey snapshot or two of
a person: a tall guy with his arm around a girl, a young
woman holding a baby, a man sitting at a desk. Some are hand
lettered, some were done on computer:
"Missing. Female, 5'5", 120 pounds, mole on right shoulder.
Worked in World Trade Center #7. Last heard from before the
collapse. Anyone with information, please call...."
One of the notices has a picture of an older man, smiling:
"Missing. Harry Abramowitz. Worked on the 102nd floor. Last
heard from at 9:30 am. He said the office was being
evacuated, but he was staying behind to help a co-worker
who is a quadraplegic. Anyone with information, please
call...."
As I write they are waiting for Liberty Plaza and the
Millenium Hotel to fall. They are both 50 storey buildings.
And Rudy just ordered 6,000 body bags from the federal
government.
PK
Kitsy wrote:
>
> Peter...I'm at work..no tv and can't get any web news. what's going
> on...only heard world trade center got nailed by a plane.
> need some news...Kitsy
He'll get there okay.
It's unbelievable what's going on in the streets here.
Unbelievable. Jet fighters in the sky. streans of refugees
in the streets.
PK
Kitsy wrote:
>
> I put doug on a plane to sfo at 730am this morning. k
Dear all:
Thanks to all who got through on the phone or e-mailed. Very
kind and touching of you and I consider you family. Gina is
in Springs watching this on tv, and I am in Manhattan living
the reality. We are okay.
I thought my observations from ground zero in lower
Manhattan -- a wonderful place I love so much -- might
interest you. The exhilarating crucible of cultures and
artistic ferment in these neighborhoods have held my
interest for 20 years. Something terrible happened to us
today.
Our neighborhood is shut down. I have to show an id to get
to my place on Prince Street. National Guard troops are in
the streets.
One of my friends on 13th street was awakened by a plane
flying so low over her bedroom, she jumped out of bed. That
was the first plane.
The most stunning image burned into my brain was standing on
our fire escape (Manhattan speak for patio) and seeing:
Thousands, upon thousands, of people in business suits
carrying briefcases marching north on Lafayette and
Broadway. This army of office people was covered with white
ash. They walked, and walked, covered with white ash. No one
spoke. Total silence. I stared, the only sound was thousands
of footsteps. Total silence.
Jet fighters swooping over the city. Everyone stares at
them, amazed.
Marty and Brad on Leonard Street watched people leaping to
their death from the World Trade Center. Marty is freaked
out. I'm glad I didn't see the bodies falling. I don't want
that in my memory bank.
I ran into Bruce and Isa outside the Tribeca Film Center,
just up from the WTC. They told me they also watched people
committing suicide from the Towers -- and then the buildings
collapsed infront of us. There was panic on Greenwich Street
as cops screamed at us to get away because of a gas leak. We
fled and I took them into my place.
Looking over my shoulder, I kept staring to the south. No
Twin Towers. I can't tell you how strange this is. You see
those buildings every day. They're gone, as if teeth were
ripped out of your jaw.
I went out to get lunch. There was panic buying at our local
store. Everybody buying bottled water. Our water was being
cut off. I filled the bathtub with water.
I bicycled down through West Broadway: crowds of people
stared at the billowing clouds and huddled in huge groups
around cars that had radios blaring news reports. No one
spoke. Except for the radio, there was total silence.
I saw some yuppie children crying. Canal Street was empty
except for occasional emergency vehicles with screaming
sirens.
I guess you have to be a New Yorker to understand this --
but the most devastating statistic that really brings
everything home to us is the news that almost 300 NY Fire
Department guys are dead. That hurts. I'm going to cut a fat
check to the FDNY families. If you want to help out, help
the FDNY and their families. I'm a cynic, but these guys
were true heroes.
At St. Vincent's Hospital, a hundred doctors in green scrub
suits waited for trauma patients. But only one ambulance
pulled up. I took this as a bad sign: there were no more
injured -- only the dead were left. Streets are jammed with
trailer trucks unloading pallets of medicine, hospital beds,
stacks of bedpans. Governor Pataki happened to be there. He
walked up, shook hands, talked. A woman ran up to the
Governor and hugged him and she started sobbing. He held her
in his arms for a long time. There were no tv cameras to
record this scene. I'll vote for him for what he did.
A guy with a saxophone sat on a stoop and played lonely jazz
notes.
Hand printed posters pasted all over the city urged blood
donations, but so many people showed up, you had to wait 5
hours to give blood.
Streets are completely deserted, people walking their dogs
in the middle of the street. At the police perimeters, there
were crowds staring at the burning rubble some blocks
downtown. This is New York where everybody talks. Nobody
talked. Total silence. You could hear a pin drop.
All the yuppie restaurants and bars are closed. Only the
real, old fashioned, neighborhood bars are open. The
bartenders didn't charge for drinks as everyone stared at
the television.
Another bike ride down to what used to be the World Trade
Center. Smoke still billowing. Night is falling. The rescue
operation is massive and impressive. Amazing organization
and co-ordination:
Houston Street jammed with dump trucks, blocks filled with
flatbed trucks carrying scaffolding, Salvation Army trucks
with of bottled water, two miles of cranes and bulldozers on
West End Avenue, two blocks of mysterious FBI white crime
scene vans on Carmine Street, a massive section with
generator trucks, another section with arc lights, a Con Ed
staging area, another street filled with a line of
ambulances a mile long. All this equipment included units
from Upstate New York, New Jersey, Connecticut,
Pennsylvania, even Ohio.
Then, I turn the corner and see two blocks of filled with
police vans with cages: German shepherds pacing. Cadaver
dogs.
Thousands of bodies are just ten blocks south from here.
But never before have I been so proud of being a New Yorker.
PK
All:
Thanks for the replies. Everybody is shaky and weepy and in
a daze. Some of you wanted another dispatch. Some of this
may sound bizarre, but it's all true.
The sun cast a yellow glow through the smoke today.
Yesterday the wind was blowing directly into Brooklyn, but
now the foul smell of burning plastic was in the air. I
closed the windows and turned on the air conditioner.
The police have now closed everything south of 14th Street.
No buses, no subway service, no stores open, no offices
open. You have to show id with an address to get into the
zone. It's odd when you realize you're living in a crime
scene.
Outside, the streets are free of vehicles and tourists so
the locals talk in clumps in the middle of Prince street.
The Mekong opened its doors and locals wandered in. Brian
let everyone help themselves at the bar and we watched tv
reports.
The hook and ladder fire station right around the corner had
8 firefighters killed. Everyone in the neighborhood is going
over to talk to the men and leave flowers and notes and
food. Many of us are going to give them money for the kids.
I bike down to West End Avenue. A two mile line of dump
trucks, cranes, bulldozers from all around the country move
toward the WTC. Massive dump trucks going the other way,
coming out of the zone, hint at the destruction: a
completely twisted, crushed ambulance; huge pieces of
crushed generators.
A big crowd lines the avenue. They loudly applaud and cheer
every passing rescue worker. Many hold up handlettered
signs: "Thank You".
This being New York, James Gandolfini peddles up next to me.
"Hey, it's Tony Soprano! Hi, Tony Soprano!" the soldiers and
cops call out. He smiles and waves and peddles on.
Above 14th street, Manhattan almost looks normal. Stores are
open. Taxis are out again, the subways are running. I found
a rare copy of the Post. No one can find a Times.
Over on First Avenue, a small group is gathered at the
entrance to New York Hospital. Two men sit at a table
answering questions. People are giving names and the guys at
the table check lists of identified dead and wounded. "You
got two John Does that just came in?" asks a guy wearing a
gas mask. "No. All the John Does are up at Bellevue,"
reports the man at the table. Next in line, a young woman
gives a name, and the list is checked. Behind them is a wall
plastered with dozens and dozens of color or black
& white xeroxed notices. Each has a homey snapshot or two of
a person: a tall guy with his arm around a girl, a young
woman holding a baby, a man sitting at a desk. Some are hand
lettered, some were done on computer:
"Missing. Female, 5'5", 120 pounds, mole on right shoulder.
Worked in World Trade Center #7. Last heard from before the
collapse. Anyone with information, please call...."
One of the notices has a picture of an older man, smiling:
"Missing. Harry Abramowitz. Worked on the 102nd floor. Last
heard from at 9:30 am. He said the office was being
evacuated, but he was staying behind to help a co-worker
who is a quadraplegic. Anyone with information, please
call...."
As I write they are waiting for Liberty Plaza and the
Millenium Hotel to fall. They are both 50 storey buildings.
And Rudy just ordered 6,000 body bags from the federal
government.
PK
NMAH Story: Life Changed
NMAH Story: Remembered
NMAH Story: Flag
Citation
“nmah5291.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed November 22, 2024, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/45304.