story288.xml
Title
story288.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-03-20
911DA Story: Story
My younger brother, David Retik, was seated in the first row of first-class on American Airlines Flight 11 as it plunged into the north tower of the World Trade Center at 8:45am on September 11. A partner in a venture capital firm in Boston, David left behind two children, ages 4 and 2, and his wife gave birth in November 2001 to their third.
I arrived at my office at 8:55am on September 11. I work on the 29th floor of 85 Broad Street, located 8 blocks from the WTC. Immediately I noticed that something was wrong. A crowd was gathered in a nearby conference room. I joined them and noticed smoke billowing from one of the WTC towers. Shortly after learning that a plane had "accidentally" struck the WTC, I saw out of my office window a second plane strike the other tower.
We evacuated our building and I bolted toward the New Jersey ferry amidst a rainstorm of singed office memos from the towers. On the way, I heard someone mention that one of the planes had originated in Boston. A bad fact, I thought, as I have family in Boston, but nothing to worry about. I boarded the ferry as we were overcome by a thick white dust that reeked of burned metal (a smell excruciatingly familiar to many New Yorkers by now). We learned that the smoke was coming from the collapse of the south tower. My heart sank. How could one of the towers collapse?
As our ferry cleared the white smoke, rounded the Statue of Liberty, and headed for New Jersey, I saw one tower standing, burning, and thought to myself, "I hope everyone got out."
When we landed, I finally got through to my wife, Michelle, to tell her I was ok. It was a really bad connection (cell service was abysmal that day), but I could tell she was crying. She said that David had been traveling to Los Angeles. We were then disconnected. This didn't make sense to me. But on the way home in the car, I learned on the news that one of the planes that crashed into the WTC had originated in Boston and was bound for Los Angeles. Still, I figured, there were multiple Boston-LA flights and it was unlikely that David was on this one.
I learned the truth, of course, when I arrived home.
Two weeks earlier, David and I and our families had been vacationing together with our parents on Martha's Vineyard. He called me shortly thereafter and told me how much he enjoyed our time together and impressed upon me the importance of continuing to get the families together because, in his actual words, "life is too short." This was the final time we spoke.
I am forever grateful for this last conversation with my brother. While painfully prophetic, it has helped me make some sense out of this horrible tragedy and given me a much-needed shot of self-reflection. Clearly, it could just as easily have been me that was killed.
I arrived at my office at 8:55am on September 11. I work on the 29th floor of 85 Broad Street, located 8 blocks from the WTC. Immediately I noticed that something was wrong. A crowd was gathered in a nearby conference room. I joined them and noticed smoke billowing from one of the WTC towers. Shortly after learning that a plane had "accidentally" struck the WTC, I saw out of my office window a second plane strike the other tower.
We evacuated our building and I bolted toward the New Jersey ferry amidst a rainstorm of singed office memos from the towers. On the way, I heard someone mention that one of the planes had originated in Boston. A bad fact, I thought, as I have family in Boston, but nothing to worry about. I boarded the ferry as we were overcome by a thick white dust that reeked of burned metal (a smell excruciatingly familiar to many New Yorkers by now). We learned that the smoke was coming from the collapse of the south tower. My heart sank. How could one of the towers collapse?
As our ferry cleared the white smoke, rounded the Statue of Liberty, and headed for New Jersey, I saw one tower standing, burning, and thought to myself, "I hope everyone got out."
When we landed, I finally got through to my wife, Michelle, to tell her I was ok. It was a really bad connection (cell service was abysmal that day), but I could tell she was crying. She said that David had been traveling to Los Angeles. We were then disconnected. This didn't make sense to me. But on the way home in the car, I learned on the news that one of the planes that crashed into the WTC had originated in Boston and was bound for Los Angeles. Still, I figured, there were multiple Boston-LA flights and it was unlikely that David was on this one.
I learned the truth, of course, when I arrived home.
Two weeks earlier, David and I and our families had been vacationing together with our parents on Martha's Vineyard. He called me shortly thereafter and told me how much he enjoyed our time together and impressed upon me the importance of continuing to get the families together because, in his actual words, "life is too short." This was the final time we spoke.
I am forever grateful for this last conversation with my brother. While painfully prophetic, it has helped me make some sense out of this horrible tragedy and given me a much-needed shot of self-reflection. Clearly, it could just as easily have been me that was killed.
Collection
Citation
“story288.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed April 6, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/5739.