story1435.xml

story1435.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-08-23

My most vivid memory of Sept. 11 was the noise I heard when the first plane hit The Tower. On Hudson Street in Greenwich Village (just under a mile away), it sounded as if a huge steel pipe had fallen from some scafolding close by, yet far away.
I learned of what had happened. On Hudson Street, the trees were in full bloom and so obstructed my view. People speculated that it was a small, private plane that had gone off course. As a flight attendant, my first cynical reaction was that it was terrorism. Some older people were recalling the plane that had hit The Empire State Building so many decades ago. I knew differently. It was a perfect day outside.
The second plane hit. I ran home to organize getting my daughters out of school; the older one from a school near Lincoln Center. (I left my 9 year old at her Hudson Street school because I believed there she was oblivious to the events-I found out later her classroom had a picture perfect view of the Trade Centers). My husband was uptown at the dentist, waiting to have oral surgery. He was aware of what was going on. They had the radio on in the office...but he stated to me "I've been waiting an hour... can't I just finish this (dental) appointment first?"
I had a new baby- a one month old boy. I recall walking between home on Bank and West Streets to watch CNN and use the telephone (while it still worked- the phones soon went dead) and down to the corner to look at the Trade Centers for the 'live view'. New York stood still... people stood in the streets, mouths agape. Cars stopped in the middle of the road, doors open, news radios blasting. It was like a movie.
I recall pushing the baby carriage north up Greenwich Street, away from the view of The Towers. All of a sudden, there was a collective gasp and everyone ran forward towards the collapsing building (a mile away). I looked back, saw The Towers collapsing, and said "Oh". That was it. I kept walking.
That night, a beautiful, clear night, we sat with our neighbors in the flowering median of The West side Highway (West Street) and watched the emergency vehicles rush up and down.
The next day, I felt we were living in Kosovo... tanks and police and armored cars and trucks full of military rode down our quite streets. Rows and rows of construction workers and electricians and steel workers marched military style down Hudson Street from the last downtown subway stop on 14th Street towards what only the day before had been The Trade Center. They too, were heroes. You had to see them! I guessed most that day were volunteers. Heroes.
Strange police officers from far away places in 'Smokey Bear' hats blocked 14th Street and checked your I.D. before allowing you downtown to make sure you were a resident. Our local police and fire houses were draped in black and purple. Our local hospital's outer walls were lined with flyers of the missing and dead.
In July, I had a melt down. I guess it took me that long to realize I was not watching a movie on Sept. 11... for it all to sink in.
I never 'saw' The Towers until they were gone, (though I now realize I saw them every day from my bedroom window). The Towers were just always there... and now I miss them terribly.