story20680.xml

story20680.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2006-09-11

I awoke relatively early on the morning of September 11th, 2001; being that I was working as a nightclub security manager at the time to supplement my inconsistent film production career, I normally finished work at 5:30 in the morning, and most times hung around for drinks and bullshit to wind down with a contingent of remaining staff, friends of staff, and the club owners, and more often than not, a celebrity or two who I will allow to remain anonymous. But, I was off the night before. It was around 7:45AM and I didn't turn on the television. Instead, I signed on to my AOL account to check my e-mail. I was living with a friend at the time at the Symphony Tower on 62nd Street between Broadway and Columbus directly across from Lincoln Center. I surfed the web for a little less than an hour when my cell phone rang. It was my brother Mike calling from Connecticut. There was always a mixture of anxiety and pleasure for me when Mike called. Pleasure to hear from my brother who didn't call that often, anxiety because our Dad was getting on into his late Seventies and he was the best man I've ever known. This time, the anxiety was startlingly apparent in my brothers voice. He said without greeting: "John...do you know what's going on down there?" I said I didn't. I told him that I woke up early because I hadn't worked the night previous and was on the Internet checking mail and downloading music from a rip-off site. That's when he told what had occurred moments before, and nobody in the media knew what the hell was happening and why yet. I told him to stay on the phone with me while I went into the living room and turned on the television. I switched it on and immediately was struck with the insane sound and images that will forever haunt me and millions of others for the remainder of our lives. As I watched, the second plane slammed into the tower and exploded into orange and black oblivion. I know I yelled at that moment. I think it was something like "holy shit!...Oh my fucking God!!!" Initially my brother and I didn't speculate as to why the first plane had hit the tower; now the word "terrorists" was what one or both of us spoke without doubt. I also can't quite remember which of us decided to break off the call, but I know I told Mike I had to wake up my roommate, Wendy. I told him I'd call him back in awhile when I knew more about what was happening. It wasn't lost on me that cell phone service in the Northeast may be severely disrupted due to the massive damage to the towers, not to mention television and radio transmissions as well. Regardless, I told him I'd call back. It happened quickly and disturbingly quietly; the rise of adrenaline and horror simultaneously within me. I began hammering on Wendy's bedroom door, which was right off of the living room. I was yelling because she slept like a mummy in a tomb. I was yelling: "Wendy!!...Emergency!!!" After a couple of minutes of that, she came flying out of her room ripped out of sleep and into a panic. I pointed to the television and said to her: "Terrorists just flew two commercial airliners into the World Trade Center". Following a brief moment of disbelief and suspended animation, she began to shake and cry. We watched in silent despair for what seemed like forever. I didn't need to wait for Wolf Blitzer to tell me we were a country under attack. I didn't need to hear it from the President, either. I knew we were at war, and nothing was ever going to be the same ever again. I knew like I knew that the sun had risen in the East that morning that in those few, horrible moments, the world as we know it had changed forever. I also knew I had to do something. I could no sooner hold my hand against the surface of a searing frying pan than stay in that apartment and watch all this on the fucking television. God help all the brave and self-less civil servants, but I sensed that the only way we were all going to get through this was if ordinary people - the citizens - responded to fill the short-fall of elements required to support this unprecedented and uncomprehended catastrophe. As I began to dress for the long walk downtown, my cell phone again began to ring. I saw from the caller I.D. that it was my best and oldest friend, Stacy O'Dell on the line. I answered it. He began telling me what I already knew, so I stopped him. I wanted to tell him what I was preparing to do. That's when he asked if I would do something for him. His wife, and my friend as well, Allison O'Dell worked for a major International law firm near Grand Central Terminal. Stacy was far uptown at his apartment on 116th street, and there was no way he could get to Allison in a timely fashion as the subways and buses had already been shut down. He wanted me to try and find out if everything was okay around Grand Central, and maybe even find Allison as I made my way downtown. I told him I'd do what ever I could, but I didn't think I'd be able to locate anyone in particular among the inevitable chaos that I was sure to find there. I told him I'd try and call him if it was still possible after I reached 42nd Street and Madison Avenue. The cell phone network was quickly becoming overloaded already. I rushed him off of the phone. I couldn't wait any longer. I had to get out of the apartment and witness the day with my own eyes. I had to try and find a way to help. To do something; anything before I lost my mind. Wendy was a mess. She was still shaking and sobbing when I told her I was going down there. She hugged me and told me to be careful. I told her I would try to call later if it was still possible. I slipped my boots on - I knew I'd need boots somehow - and went out the door and to the elevator. Twenty-Two stories later I walked out into a city in a state of pandemonium and disbelief. People on cell phones were running everywhere. Traffic in Columbus Circle was at a standstill. Here the true surreality begins. I managed to make my way quite quickly to the Grand Central area. Maybe it seemed quick because of everything my mind was trying to process at once. This place looked like the city I'd lived in for 14 years, but it was a different version from another dimension. I canvassed the locale around Allison's office building. I asked a few questions: "Are the Metro-North trains still running?" They were at that time. "Any new news?" Nothing new but a lot of confusion. Thousands were streaming away on foot. Most heading North, either to their homes, or just naturally away from the now shockingly apparent broiling, smoking WTC towers, vividly visible looking South on Fifth Avenue. I tried to reach Stacy with my cell phone. I got an automated message informing me that I would not be able to make a call at this time. No surprise there. I can't remember if I actually felt the ground shake, which it must certainly have, or was just blown over by the shock-wave of human communication as the word spread like a tsunami that the first tower had just collapsed. I didn't see it happen. I looked down there. Great billowing clouds of choking gray dust, eerily reminiscent of the pyroclastic flow belched from erupting volcanoes, bloomed upward and outward, skirting the black plumes drifting high towards the Southeast. Shrouding what remained of the downtown skyline. People were screaming. People were crying. People were livid with anger. People were running. I was in a kind of haze. I looked for awhile, then I didn't look for awhile. I watched everything and nothing. For how long? I'm not sure. All of a sudden I realize I'm walking quickly down the center of Fifth Avenue toward what we now call Ground Zero. Except for one last wailing ambulance hurtling downtown, there were no cars, or any other vehicles moving on the thoroughfare. People were running North. I was reminded immediately of Hollywood blockbuster disaster films like "The Day After Tomorrow", and thought how reality had just surpassed fantasy like a long-shot racehorse outpacing the favorite in the Kentucky Derby. No Hollywood scribe had imagined this one. I was not comforted by the thought. After sometime, it couldn't have been long, I found myself in front of the Fifth Avenue entrance to the Empire State Building. Survivor of previous aircraft collisions. I stopped and stretched my neck to look upward. I unknowingly was already searching the skies for more jetliners; not just looking at the old and glorious premier skyscraper. What I did find, with a sound that proved to be one of the most haunting for long afterwards, were the F-15 fighters now circling the Island of Manhattan. A constant that was audible to me in my waking, and in my dreams, for months after they had gone. I snapped out of my thoughts as the symphony of rumbles and screams began again. This time I looked, and I saw. And, I felt the very firmament of the invincible city tremble. The second tower fell within a vacuum of profound sadness that has yet to be refilled with hope. Much more happened after this for me. I volunteered down there that day, and days to come. I saw the horrors. I saw the most beautiful strength of good people as well. I have a lot more to tell, but this will have to do for now. Maybe next year I'll tell more. If anybody really cares to hear.

-john Michael Sudol

Los Angeles, California, USA
September 11th, 2006