story851.xml

story851.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-07-03

I am a native New Yorker. I have participated in and witnessed the heroism and calamity of New York for all of my 54 years, through my Chinese eyes. I have my bittersweet love of New York and being American to drive my community activism and patriotism, all year long, all my life. I arrived in Chinatown to work on the Primary Elections, Sept. 11, 2001 at 8:48 a.m. We'd heard the explosion on the bus and crained our necks as we deboarded the bus to see the fireball and shower of papers flying around WTC North Tower. Chatham Square (in the heart of Chinatown) had a perfectly framed view of WTC. So, many spectators were stopped mid-stride their usual frantic scurrrying to stare incredulously at the burning tower. It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes before people were saying that the radio was reporting that WTC was hit by a plane. I pictured a small private plane and it didn't make sense. I was staring at a huge gapping hole in the side of the building with thick black smoke and three-story high flames basting out. I started yelling to people that it was terrorists blowing up WTC, thinking of 1993. While I was staring up, a police cruiser screeched nearby, the driver-officer strained his neck and head out of his window to see higher and exclaimed repeatedly, "Oh my God. Oh, my God." and then sped off down Park Row toward WTC.
The blast from the South Tower shook all of the buildings and rattled my ribcage. For an instant, I thought we were at war. I began thinking of how to survive. I tried for the tenth time to get a dial tone on my cell phone to check on my wife and son. I tried reaching my 90 year old mother, who was out at the senior center having breakfast. I ran around to various polling places to see if they had any more news than I, then I watched as the towers disintegrated, turning into clouds of smoke and dust.

At around 11:00 a.m. thousands of people marched out of lower Manhattan. Then vehicles covered in thick white dust and debris sped by leaving a cloud of dust and ears ringing from sirens and blasting horns. One group of people marching by completely covered in dust stopped on Doyer street in from of a pagoda styled bank to have their picture taken. No knew what to make of the event.

On my long walk home up Bowery and Third Avenue among tens of thousands walking, it was apparent that Police and National Guard had no idea what they were doing. I tried to ask if the Police had any information and was told to move along. People were huddled around cars with radios loudly announcing the event all of us were caught up in. I saw the New Yorker magic-in-emergencies I've witnessed in past events and hoped my son was safely sent home from school.

Like so many people, I tried to go on with my normal life, without phone service, without enough information. I stayed glued to news stations and could not find peace enought o sleep. Eventually, four days into the event, my stress peaked and I became completely deaf in my left ear and partially deaf in my right ear. My jaws were so tightly clenched that I frightened my son, thinking I was in a rage.

Eventually, I learned the fate of all my acqaintances, colleagues and friends working in and around WTC. Incredibly, all had gotten out alive, or by chance were not there that day. I began visiting the site as soon as police began letting people walk down Broadway and continued my pilgrimage for several months.

In the time since the event, I am certain that Firemen, EMS, Police, subway riders, and pedestrians who make up the throngs of people always crowding my City are missing and I feel their loss, their absence from my life. The ache of chronic sadness in my shuffle to moving on in New York.