Wednesday, September 12, 2001
I sit here in my parents’ home in the quiet little town of Cross River an hour north of Manhattan where the madness happened. I look out the window as I type and marvel at the blue sky and serenity about me. Tigger drowses on the desk beside me, his head cradled on my elbow. The only sounds are the tapping of the keyboard and the soft drone of the computer, the television mumbles softly downstairs. It is so hard to believe and remember the insanity of yesterday, my mind cringes from the memory. But, I need to record the events. We all must remember.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001
I wander into work and begin my morning routine. I greet the people around me wondering what the future will hold, if Gruntal as a company will even exist at the end of week. Who will I be working for? Will I even be employed? I begin updating checking the various accounts idly wondering where Dennis is. Denise is behind me using the copy machine grumbles irritably as the machine jams yet again. Then…
A sudden rumbling, followed by flickering lights… I think it is merely thunder (especially after the thunderstorms yesterday). But a quick glance out the window turns to confusion, when the clear blue sky registers.
“Oh my God!!!!” Denise screams, “Oh my god the World Trade Center exploded!!!” She screams again as she rushes toward the room facing the Twin Towers. I will remember her words for the rest of my life. I, and those around me, run to window in shock. We see papers blowing from around the corner of our building. Thoughts of the bombing only a few years ago flash through my head. I glance around swiftly.
Joy has her bag is already halfway out the door. Other people are rushing after Denise to see what is happening. There is total confusion.
“Let’s get out of here!” Someone says. We gather our belongings and head for the banks of elevators.
“Don’t use the elevators!!! Use the stairs!” Denise shrieks. The elevator doors have opened now to let people out. They are quickly herded out and we all head for the stairs.
I start down the stairs following Joanne as slowly. Around the 12th floor I look behind me, realizing that we’ve lost Ellen. “Joanne where’s Ellen?!” I yell.
“I’m back here!!” answers Ellen from the flight of stairs above me.
Relief… But only briefly, “where’s Dennis?” I ask, realizing I have not seen him at all this morning.
“He went to get a haircut,” Joanne replies. “Just keep going. He’s already outside.”
After a seemingly infinite number of stairs we arrive on the ground floor and emerge from stairwell B. We mill around the lobby and huddle together like sheep with our colleagues. “Stay inside and away from the windows,” we are ordered by security. Ellen, Joanne, and I all repeatedly try our cell phones. None of them work. Scott has appeared by now and we huddle by the Starbucks. “What happened we all ask?” Someone says a plane hit the World Trade Center. We all breathe a sigh of relief, “a low flying plane, thank God, it’s just an accident. Nothing intentional,” we all think silently.
I step outside facing Broadway to try calling my father again. Still nothing. Then, a shriek and people come rushing out the revolving doors. I am almost trampled. I go back inside remembering securities’ instructions. Kevin and Ellen are still there. “What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” they reply.
Then security evacuates One Liberty Plaza.
“Come on,” orders Kevin, “let’s get out of here. We’ll go east then north. He herds Ellen and me outside and up Maiden Lane. We walked swiftly up the street ignoring the ominous silence behind us. People are milling the streets gawking at the Trade Center. “Just keep going,” says Kevin. “Let’s get as many buildings between us and Trade Center.”
As we continue up the street, it is littered with papers. I remember seeing Paine Webber and JPM Chase research.
Kevin recognizes someone around Water Street. The man is talking to someone else about what happened. Kevin asks for information. “An American Airlines plane flew right into the Tower,” he says. Ellen and I exchange looks of disbelief. “Then another one hit the other Tower. I saw it,” he claims. “Look I even picked up this business card on the street. Whoever it is, the poor guy is certainly gone,” he continues.
“One plane maybe, but two?” whispers Ellen to me.
“You know?” I reply. Both of us thinking that Allan is spreading rumors and wondering at the morbidity of taking a dead man’s business card.
We continue walking up Maiden Lane hearing snatches of talk about planes. “Have the rumors really traveled so far? Or did two planes really hit? The thought defied belief.
“Just keep going,” says Kevin repeatedly throughout the day. We reach South Street Seaport, and turned left and began walking north. This is when we get our first clear look at the towers. Both were burning. I still refuse to believe that it is intentional. I marvel at the people gawking at the burning towers. One man is snapping photographs. All I want to do was to get as far away as possible from the wreckage. What if they fell? We continue walking up South Street, until we arrive at Chatham square. So far every pay phone we pass has long lines and the cell phones are still non-functional.
I tell my companions that I would like to go up Mott Street to a restaurant my parents frequent. Perhaps they will let us use the phone. We turn into Mott Street, but the restaurant is closed. The lines to the pay phones are still long. I remember the MetLife branch around the corner. We go inside; they are all watching the news report inside. I tell them, “My mother works for MetLife in White Plains, and we work next to the World Trade Center. Please let me use your phone.” One man immediately points to the phone.
I rush over and call my mother’s office. She is not there. I speak with her colleague, frantically explaining my situation and asking her to contact my parents and tell them I am all right and where I am. The poor woman has no idea what has happened and undoubtedly thinks I am insane. Kevin and Ellen also make phone calls. Relieved we are finally able to notify our loved ones we are safe. We thank the MetLife employees and sink down on the sofa and stare transfixed at the television. Sometime during our trek the first tower has collapsed. As we sat watching the news the second tower collapses as well. At this time we also receive confirmation that two airplanes had struck the towers less than an hour ago. We sat stunned unable to believe our worst fears are confirmed. One plane is an accident, but two? A terrorist attack on the United States.
We remain at the office for a couple of hours, unable to tear ourselves away from the television and telephone, and wondering if it is safe to move uptown where there are more potential targets. Ellen finally hears from her boyfriend, who works in the financial district as well. He is safe and on 36th street, slowly walking home. As we sit and watch television we thank God that we are safe and managed to leave so quickly. We wonder about our missing colleagues and pray they are safe as well. Finally the inaction drives us out to continue walking toward home.
We walked into Little Italy along Mulberry Street, where workmen are setting up booths for the San Gennaro Fair. Life goes on…
As we walk out heading toward my home, the streets were eerily devoid of cars. Union Square and Astor place are both deserted except for the people walking north. The shock of looking back and seeing clouds of smoke and dust, instead of the familiar sight of the towers brings tears to my eyes. We continue north along Park Ave. In the twenties the crowds become thicker. The normal hustle and bustle of the city is replaced with a tense and frightened air. I jump and flinch at unexpected sounds, the skin crawling on the back of my neck as I imagine the buildings collapsing over our heads.
The sight of armed men with rifles and camouflage gear brought us to a stunned halt. Kevin reminds us we are at the armory and the streets on either side are still open. We Americans are not accustomed to seeing military on our normally peaceful streets.
As we draw closer to the Midtown Tunnel the streets are clogged with motorists desperately trying to leave the city. We thread our way through the traffic, and finally arrive on the corner of my block, when my cell phone rings. I claw at my pocket in surprise, “it’s working,” I exclaim. Pei Lynn is calling.
“Michele?!!! Michele?!!! I can’t believe it, I finally got through. Are you all right???!!!!” She demands.
“I’m fine,” I reassure her shakily. “We got out really quickly. Thank you for calling. All the cells phones aren’t working,” I say inanely. “I’m almost home.”
“I’m glad you’re okay. I was IM-ing Kathy, she’s freaking.”
“I’m fine. Tell her I’m okay. I’m going to my parents’ house if I can get out of the city. I’ll call her tonight. I’m almost at my apartment.”
“Okay. I’ll get off now. Is there anyone you want me to call?”
“Kathy, Christina? My parents already know. Thank you though.” We hang up.
A wave of relief hits me, when I see my father waiting for me at the front door. I am home. I struggle not to burst into tears, and partially succeed. We go up into the mess that is my apartment. Dad tries unsuccessfully to tidy up as we sit and regroup. Ellen manages to contact the friend she wills stay with tonight. We use the phone again. I pack a bag and my cat. We tell Dad what has happened.
Dad tells us his building was evacuated when his manager was informed that people had just rushed out of Grand Central and no one knew the reason. He says only one door was open at Grand Central. He had actually gotten on a train and was ready to go home. But he noticed that people were rushing on the train and acting like they were escaping disaster. This was his first sign of the terror that had swept the city. He decides at this point that he should come fetch me and go home together.
Thank God.
We leave the apartment heading our separate ways. My father and I walk to Grand Central amid the crowds of people and motor vehicles. People are packed into buses like sardines. The general air of fear is even more pronounced. My father experiences difficulty maneuvering the luggage carrier load with my bag and cat through the thickening crowds. We arrive at Grand Central and board the train. I sit down nervously hoping the train leaves the terminal before the roof caves in on us.
Only after the train passes 125th street, do I realize that my knees are numb and my legs are rubbery. As we pull further and further away from the city do my hands finally stop trembling and I pull out my phone to call my friends and attempt to reach my mother again.
Once we get home, I go up to my room to nap. My mother finally calls and speaks with my father. Apparently she was so afraid for me when she heard the news that she lost her cell phone and spent the rest of the day trying to track down her phone.
That night, between the calls of concerned friends and family, I called Debbie. I was surprised and touched when I realized that she was near tears to hear my voice. It is at this point my mind finally begins to grasp the toll this attack has taken in human lives. So many people injured, so many people missing. WHY?????
Scott calls later that night. I am relieved to hear he is safe and everyone on the desk is safe. Dennis is fine. He says he will keep in touch, and that in the morning he would participate in a conference call to determine the damage to the company and where we will set up temporary offices. Life goes on…
Thursday, September 13, 2001
I visit my sister in Princeton, with my father. On the way there, we stop in shopping center to pass the time while Grace finishes her class. I go into a baby store to pick up a gift for Monica’s new baby. It felt strange to be celebrating a new life when so much was lost. But the very act gave me hope for the future.
Grace has just finished her second day of classes. The events of Tuesday seem far away, except for my sore legs. My sister is barely touched by them. She is struggling with the usual freshman woes. The most pressing problem, which class should she take? This one is too hard that one is too easy! So many choices!! Dad and I attempt to offer some advice; she becomes frustrated and goes through campus with us trailing behind her, to the registrar’s office, to see her advisor… Life goes on.
On the way back to Westchester we hear that Grand Central and LaGuardia were evacuated. Will the madness ever end?
Friday, September 14, 2001
I am back in my apartment. I wonder if I will dare to go back to work. Is One Liberty going to collapse? Do I want to go to Roseland? Then I realize it does not matter. I will go to work. Not out of any love for my job or any feeling for my company, but because I will not let the terrorists win. I am terrified, and my job is NOT worth dying for but the freedom to go to work when and where I choose to is worth dying for. The dream that is America is worth dying for. I will go to work to show the terrorists that they will not win, that “the business of American is business.” We may destroy our own economy through carelessness and irresponsibility, but they will not destroy our economy through wanton destruction and fear. The ones who attacked the World Trade Center have made all of us freedom fighters. We may not be soldiers, but we will fight by going to work and keeping the economy going so our military can track them down and destroy them. This is my one small act of defiance.
Reflections
This event has crystallized the important things in life: family and friends. The incredible outpouring of concern from friends and family all over the world makes me realize how fortunate I am. Thank you for calling and emailing. Your concern is touching and my family is grateful that you care.
God Bless us all.
Ten years later and I wonder. Was it all for nothing? Has the tragedy just become one more media circus and yet another holiday? I will never forget, but can’t I just be left in peace to remember in my own way and not have it shoved in my face so I have to relive the terror all over again? Because if that’s the case maybe the media has let the terrorists win.
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