Amazingly, it has been ten years. It still feels like yesterday. We all remember 9/11/01. I have a permanent daily reminder – a tattoo of two hands clasping with the numbers 9-11-01.
We all have stories of where we were on that fateful day. I was on the 25th floor of One World Financial Center, which was and is diagonally south of the towers. When the first plane hit, it sounded like a dumpster was dropped from a garbage truck – a kind of metal and tin meets asphalt. I looked out the window and saw papers flying by. Coworkers were saying a small plane had struck one of the towers. A look of fear was on their faces.
I immediately took the elevator to the lobby and went outside for a better view. I called my wife, who worked for the same firm but on the 5th floor—and told her what happened. She remained in the building.
As I was looking up, bodies started falling. It was horrible to see. As I looked away, a dark shadow came across the sky with a roar. The second plane had it, the other tower. People started running south, screaming, “Another plane,” “We’re under attack!” Some were thinking that it was a missile.
I continued to head south to South End Ave – our firm’s rally point for contingency was there. I had difficulty finding my wife after the second plane communication lines were jammed. After about 20 minutes of walking back and forth frantically asking coworkers, we found each other back at the rally point.
Some time had passed without getting any clear direction on what to do. There was no plan for this. We weren’t exactly sure where to go. We were slowly watching the Twin Towers burn. A police officer came to our group and told us to move north, never thinking the towers would come down.
We moved north numbly; my wife was trying to contact our family on the cell phone to no avail. She finally got through right at the South Cove marina and the winter garden. We let them know we were OK and walking north. Her dad told us that there were other planes unaccounted for. At that moment, the first tower began to fall. I screamed out, “Oh, fuck! Run!” That was the last words her dad heard for quite some time.
We ran. People were getting trampled. Some jumped in the Hudson; others jumped into ferries and fireboats. At that moment, self-preservation took over, and I forgot about everything and everyone and ran. We turned the corner just in time. We safely passed the plumes of smoke, debris, and dust. Others did not.
We were ushered through a construction gate by a man in a security jacket and finally back onto West St. and headed north. At the same time, fighter jets flew overhead – people ducking, thinking the jets would crash into other buildings. We continued walking north for about 30 to 45 minutes, stopping along the way to catch our breath and try to soak in all of what happened.
When the second tower fell, we were far enough away that no smoke or debris could reach us. Our walking ended when we got to the NYC Sanitation garage on West St. near West 14 St. They offered use of their bathroom, and we watched their TV—our first opportunity to hear and see about the Pentagon and Pennsylvania. We sat there glued to the TV for a couple of hours, making sure it was safe to venture out and making plans on how to get back home.
We eventually returned to our home on Staten Island around 5 p.m. to watch CNN non-stop for several days.
Visit YouTube.Com/September11 to watch perspectives on the 10th Anniversary of September 11 and to submit your own.
