TUESDAY 9/11/2001: THE ATTACK -- FEAR AND DISPLACEMENT

At 6:30 AM my alarm went off but I didn’t get out of bed until 7:30.  I was tired, had a headache and little desire to face the day, which is unusual for me.  I had an “emotional hangover” after hearing about my aunt’s heart attack and the pending lay offs the day before.  

It was a painfully gorgeous morning in New York City on September 11.  Crisp, clean, stunning blue skies.  I opened both of my giant windows which overlook the Hudson River from Battery Park City.  Despite how I felt, the sight of the Hudson rolling by gave me hope for making it through the day. 

The little street four floors beneath my window, River Terrace, was already busy with construction workers building the much anticipated “Green Building” next door, people jogging, walking their dogs, people in suits on their way to work at the World Financial Center, someone hitting tennis balls in the handball court below, parents pushing baby strollers.

By 8:15 am I was on my third cup of coffee, checking email, running late.  My eyes were still puffy from crying the night before.  I had a 10 AM meeting in Times Square, a meeting which I had requested.  Didn’t know what I was going to say yet.  The thought crossed my mind, why bother with them if I’m going to be laid off?  But I am a worker at heart and I pushed that thought from my mind.  I should be leaving my apartment for the train by 9:15 at the latest.  I checked my horoscope and I-ching online.  I-ching reading said, “Excessive Pressure.”

Around 8:35 I got a call from Robert.  While I was VP of VH1.com Production, I had hired his consulting company to help us strategize building a more advertising-friendly site.  Robert asked if I would be willing to write a recommendation for his company based on their work for VH1.com.  I agreed to do it.

At 8:47 am I had one toe in the bathtub when I heard and felt a deep, resounding THUD from outside.  I grabbed a towel and ran to the window – three burly construction workers and everyone in the street below were crying, “Oh my God, Oh my God!”  My first thought:  There’s been an accident at the construction site and from the sound of their cries, someone must have been killed.

My second thought: There might be fire!  I dressed quickly and ran down the stairs to the lobby out in front of the building.  I looked to where everyone was pointing and saw what was to be only the first of the most sickening and surreal sights that I was to see that morning.  And God willing, that I will ever see in my lifetime.

I stood in the street in front of my building, watching the North Tower burn.  People filled the street, the sidewalk, the park with their dogs, their children, their briefcases.  Just staring helplessly at the violated building.  The jagged, gaping hole in the North Tower looked fake.  Not like a movie set, I’ve seen those before.  This was completely unreal.  I asked the construction workers, what happened?  A plane flew into the building! One of them said.  Oh my God, I said.  There must be so many people dead!

I ran back upstairs to get my camera.  I have always been one to document, it’s a need of mine. 

Back in the street, I took pictures of the giant gash in the North Tower, looking through the zoom lens.  The fire spread rapidly.  I wondered, how are they going to put that out?  How are they going to fix the building?  Will they chop off the top some how?  Can people get down past the fire?

A helicopter flew at a distance around the burning tower, looking as small and helpless as I felt.

About 15 minutes after the first hit, a large jet flew low and rumbling and fast right over us down the Hudson and turned toward the Towers. I was looking through my zoom lens at the huge plane flying towards the buildings.  I didn’t know what was happening.  I didn’t take a picture of the plane and had barely been able to form the thought in my mind that it was going to hit the building, when someone standing behind me screamed, “Oh God, no, it’s going to hit!”  I lowered the camera and watched the huge plane slam into the South Tower.  The violence of the impact was deeply disturbing, affecting some primal part of me that I am not really familiar with.  The sound was incredible, but it was not like the movies.  It was not surround sound, it came from only one direction and I didn’t hear any treble, really, no sharp glass breaking, I was too far away for that.  What I heard was deep and rumbling and the ground shook.   I took a picture of part of the massive violent explosion in the South Tower.

The realization swept down the park that we were being attacked.  Suddenly, everything became a potential death machine.  A sailboat going by on the Hudson 50 feet behind us, the NYPD helicopter hovering over us.  Now people started screaming and running in the streets. 

Many of us did nothing but stand there staring in horror.  My knees started shaking, I leaned on a nearby construction barricade.  I felt sick, from a place inside of me I didn’t know existed.  I was afraid.  I kept thinking, someone is trying to kill us!  I needed to sit down, to hide, to run away, to go inside, do anything but I couldn’t move from that spot.  An older woman riding by on her bicycle made eye contact with me.  “Get out of here,” she yelled at me.  “You don’t know what’s going to happen!”  She’s so right, I thought, still not moving.  The woman yelled at a younger woman nearby with her baby stroller, “Get that baby out of here!”  The younger woman nodded slowly, turned, moving as if through mud and pushed her baby up the street.

A few minutes later, a fighter jet screamed overhead.  Several people standing next to me were startled to see and hear the jet.  They backed up, crouching.  That’s ours!, I said.  That’s an F-16!  You know that moment of joy and relief in movies when the cavalry arrives?  That’s real!  Then I felt sick, if they’re here are there more planes or bombers coming?  Who else is up there?!

People were running up the street and flowing into the park from the World Trade Center and surrounding office buildings.

A man walking by stopped to ask me, what kind of plane was it that hit the South Tower?  It was a jet, I said.  But I’ve never seen anything like it in my life!  As far as I was concerned, at that moment, the jet could have come from another planet.  He said, someone said they saw United’s name on it, I think it was a 767.  Oh God, I said, I don’t know.  It looked wrong, is all I know.  He walked on.  I thought to myself, get a grip, you need to pay attention!  You stood here and watched and you don’t even know what you saw!  I took a few more pictures, because now I knew my mind was not working enough to understand what was happening.  I’d need the pictures to figure it all out later.

Through my zoom lens, the flames and billowing smoke seemed close enough to touch.  I saw little figures emerge one after another and cling to the outside near the top of the North Tower.  And then fall.  I took pictures of a few falling figures.  Deep inside, I knew what I was seeing.  But I didn’t verbalize it to myself until a group of men stopped next to me and pointed to the building.  Are those people falling out?  One of them asked me.  Yes, I said.  Now I was going to throw up.  The feeling of helplessness was so totally overwhelming.  There was nothing I could do to help those people.  There was nothing anyone could do!  Hold on, I said out loud.  Please hold on.   God, please help them! 

The fire and smoke inside must have been too much to live through.  I saw several people emerge from the same spot at the top floor restaurant in the North Tower, where the person is in the center of the above photo.  They emerged, and then fell.  The picture below is the person in the above shot falling.   These pictures make me sick.

This picture does not reveal the violence happening in the Tower  higher up.  You see a beautiful day and an office building.  If you look closely, you see two figures falling, one casting a shadow on the building.  The picture below is this detail.  Human life ending.

An NYPD helicopter flew very low over us.  The fear I felt was sharp; I could taste the acid in my mouth.  The helicopter had its doors open, a man was leaning out.  I wondered if he was going to open fire on all the people running up the park.  I stood my ground and got ready to take a picture of the man if he started shooting.  I might need to explain to someone what happened here and they’ll need my pictures as evidence.  Even if I’m dead, they would be able to develop my pictures. (Later, when I was back in my apartment, the same NYPD helicopter landed on the park lawn in front of my building.  They were not going to shoot people, they were trying to get people to head north and keep moving.)

I walked south on the Esplanade to the World Financial Center, through all the people streaming north up the Riverfront park.  The patio on the River side of the Financial Center was jammed.  People were packing on to the ferries.  “I just want to get out of Manhattan!” they were saying.  “I need to get to my kids!”

For the most part, where I was, people seemed fairly calm.  They were reacting much like I was.  In shock, not completely rational but moving and appearing as if.  I took a couple of pictures of people pouring west from the World Trade Center and surrounding buildings.  They evacuated the World Financial Center, too.  The ferries were moving fast and more ferries seemed to come out of nowhere to take people to New Jersey.

I didn’t want to be trapped in a mob of people if another attack came, so I headed back up the park to my apartment.

Upstairs in my apartment, I called my parents.  I grew up in California, and being a child of earthquake country it is a family tradition to call as soon as possible after an earthquake to say you’re okay, because the phone lines get tied up fast.  My parents were asleep in California so I left a shaky message, “I’m okay, but two planes just flew into the World Trade Center.  Please call me when you get this.”

I turned on the TV.  They were already covering it, but I didn’t hear anything they were saying and I didn’t watch the coverage.  The phones stopped working, neither my home phone nor my mobile could dial out.  Thank God for email

[Email I sent to my parents.  The clock on my computer was about 18 minutes fast, so the time stamp is incorrect.  Note my tone, which shows my instinct to minimize things – “I am a little shaken up,” right!  I was practically paralyzed with fear!]

Since I lived alone, I didn’t have anyone to turn to to say “What should we do?!”  So I ran downstairs to the lobby to find out what my neighbors were doing.  When I reached the lobby, I heard a tremendous crashing sound and people screaming again.  Screaming, crying and calling for God.  [I think the sounds of people’s anguished cries on that day are forever burned into my psyche.] 

I went out the back door to see what was happening.  Only, I couldn’t see any buildings at all because a gigantic, billowing wall of gray dust was rolling toward us.  The South Tower had collapsed.  People were running again.  I took two pictures.  My neighbors were running back inside the building.  “We have to get out of here, NOW!” they were yelling.  I stared at the dust wall approaching.  It approached with incredible speed. 

The thought stabbed me in the gut, oh my god, where is Melva?!  Melva is my friend who lives on Albany and Greenwich Street, in a building beneath the Towers.  I ran back upstairs.  I tried to call Melva at all of her numbers, most of the calls did not go through but the ones that did just rang and rang.  I sent more email.  I sent an email to my boss asking him to put people on calling Melva.  I’m staying here, I wrote.  My boss replied, you should leave the area.  How?  I asked. 

I closed the windows and assessed my situation.  I had a police scanner and a shortwave radio.  I had bottled water.  I had a flashlight.  I had food.  I could hide in the bathtub if any shooting started.  I’d be safer here than outside.  I kept trying to call Melva.

There was a loud knock on my door, I ran to open it.  It was one of the building guys.  “We’re evacuating,” he said.  “You have three minutes!”

Okay, I re-assessed, maybe I shouldn’t stay here if no one else is going to be here.

What to take with me to evacuate?  I had no more film.  I could find film, but I didn’t want to be lugging that big camera if I was going to be running from sniper fire or bombs.  I decided to leave the camera.  It was about survival now.  I grabbed my small purse, because it was easier to run with than one of my larger shoulder bags.  I shoved my cigarettes and ID’s and bank card in my purse.  I grabbed a big band aid and shoved it in there, too.  I get blisters easily and I didn’t want to be slowed down by a blister.  Who knew how far I would be walking or running?

I checked that my phone was still clipped to my belt and that I was holding my purse.  I grabbed a bottle of water and my keys and headed out.  I thought, I’ll just be gone for a couple of hours, until the dust clears.  The thought never entered my head that I wouldn’t be back for days and wouldn’t be able to re-occupy for almost two weeks.

I headed out the west side of my building and up River Terrace, behind Stuyvesant High School.  I passed a business man walking calmly, completely disheveled and covered with a thick white coat of dust.  He looked like a ghost in a business suit.  An NYPD officer in the street handed him his bottle of water.  The ghost man took it, thanked the officer politely.

Rounding the corner behind Stuyvesant High School, turning north on Westside Highway, there were thousands of people streaming up the Highway on foot.  The people walked calmly, but took up most of the Highway lanes.  Emergency vehicles screamed down the open lanes.  Pedestrians should get off the Highway, I thought.  Someone’s going to get hit by the fire trucks.  As soon as I made the turn on to the Highway, down the street to my right, the North Tower folded into itself in a cloud of dust and with a sickening, gut-wrenching deep muted sound of crushing cement and steel.   People started screaming again and running.  I was standing in the middle of a group of high school students next to the High School and they were terrified.  They started panicking.  I feared a trampling scene.  I backed up behind a little tree.  The tree was too small to provide any protection, so I held up my hands to the students, you’re okay, I told them.  We’re okay!  I didn’t even believe myself when I said that, but they stopped running.

I looked down the street behind me at the buildings.  But they weren’t there.  That can’t be, there’s no way.  They’re just gone?  What about all the people inside?  What about the people in the street below?  How can the buildings just fall like that?  Where are they??!  The cloud of dust had grown to the size of a mountain and was moving across Westside Highway and north towards where I stood, swallowing everything in its path.  I turned away from it and walked briskly up the Highway.

There were older people with canes walking.  Business people.  Families.  High school and Manhattan Borough College students.  I passed all of them.  I am a fast walker for being 5’2”, but this was like bionic woman speed-walking.  I was sweating, breathing hard, my heart was exploding out of my chest.    I didn’t look back until I reached Canal Street.  The Towers were still gone.  I scrunched my face up, squinted my eyes, cocked my head.  The Towers were still gone.

I walked North on Westside Highway until the thought hit me, where am I going?  I should go to the 770 office at Broadway and 9^th Street.  So I turned right to head east on Christopher Street.

Walking through Greenwich Village was surreal.  The streets were filled with people, everyone silent.  Groups gathered at open doors of restaurants and stores to watch TV news.  Others gathered around delivery trucks who had their radios on.  There were sirens in the background.

Every time I crossed a north-south street, I looked south.  But the buildings were still gone.  Quite a few people I passed on the way were talking about how they were inside the buildings and how they got out.  Thank God for you, I thought.  I wanted to hug them.

When I reached the 770 office, there was a group of people outside smoking, including some of my co-workers.  Are you okay, they asked me.  I’m okay.  Do you know Melva?  Have you seen her?  No.

Inside, the building people were discussing evacuating.  I took the elevator up to the 9^th floor.  I immediately went to Melva’s office.  Her door was shut, which was unusual.  Maybe she'd been here and went somewhere else?  There weren’t a lot of people in the offices.  I asked her co-worker, have you seen Melva?  No, he said.  I said, you know she lives below the World trade Center?  Do you know who might know her schedule?  Is she traveling or at a meeting?  I don’t know, he said.  I looked for other co-workers of hers but there was no one around who knew where she is.

I went to my side of the building.  There were not a lot of people there, either.  My co-workers asked, are you alright?  We were worried about you! 

Most people had already left to get out of the City or go home.  I had moved my office to the Times square building a few months ago, I didn’t have an office at the 770 Building anymore, so I signed on to one of my co-worker’s computers to open my email.  There was an email from Melva -- Thank God for Blackberry hand-helds!  She had been trapped in her building, unable to get out through the debris.  She said, there were things hitting her building.  A piece of something cracked her window.  I was very afraid for her and wanted to go back and get her.

The TV’s were on in the office.  I heard that the Pentagon was hit, sickening.  What’s next?  Bombing military silos in the Mid-West?  Is this real?  Is this war?  Who is attacking us?!  I thought about my family in California, my friends around the country.  God help us all.

A co-worker told me that the planes were hijacked.  There were people in the planes.  People like you and me.  I had not considered this at all before.  Horrific, this news struck me as the most evil, disgusting, sickening thing I had ever heard.  Instantly, the image from that morning of the plane flying over me filled my mind with sharpness.  Like when my fiancé died in my arms 11 years ago, I was incapable of accepting this as fact.  My mind was doing it’s best to reject this, rationalize it away, make it not so.  Just like when Jamie died, the fact that I witnessed it did not make it more believable. 

I went into the bathroom and leaned against a stall door, waiting to throw up.  The images of the plane flying over me, disappearing into the Tower, the explosion following, filled my mind like widescreen digital TV.  Everything I looked at I was only seeing as a background to these images.  I thought about the people on that plane, did they see us standing below them?  Did they see us running and the North Tower burning?  Did they understand what was happening?  Did they know where they were headed?

I went downstairs to smoke.  I bought more water and talked to the guy who runs the snack stand in the lobby.

Back on the 9^th Floor, I watched more TV.  There were more hijacked planes out there, they were reporting.  Planes with people in them, flying around waiting to hit whatever target.  Waiting to die.  I sent more email.  There was a perfect view of Downtown through the window in front of me, directly south down Lafayette.  The Towers were still gone.

By late afternoon, everyone had left the office.  Melva emailed me, she wasn’t coming to 770 after all, she was going to her friends’ apartment in Harlem.  Then I started to wonder, where should I go?  I could sleep on the couch at work, but I didn’t want to be there alone.

I called my friend Tracey in Brooklyn and asked for Cary’s phone number.  Cary, another friend, lives a few blocks from the 770 building on 11^th and 3^rd avenue, maybe I could stay there for the night. Tracey said that he was out of town, why don’t I come out to Brooklyn for the night.  I should get out of Manhattan.  I said okay.

I wasn’t thrilled about making the trip to Brooklyn.  I felt weird about leaving Manhattan, like I should stay and protect people, as if I could do anything useful.   But if I was going, I definitely wanted to get out there before it got dark.  It was about 5pm by that time, I had two hours before it was really dark.  The N/R subway at 8^th street was closed.  I walked up to 14^th Street Union Square to catch the train there.  Most trains weren’t running.  People were sitting on the platforms and along the walls of the station.  The subway guy announced, you can catch the F train to Brooklyn at 7^th Avenue.  I got a transfer slip from the kiosk woman, although I didn’t know why I was bothering to save $1.50 at that point.  I walked over to 7^th Avenue station.

The first two F trains that stopped in the station were packed with people, so packed that when the doors slid open, people held on to each other to keep from falling out.  Other passengers waiting on the platform with me shoved themselves into the trains.  But I was wary of inserting myself into a mass of people trapped on a train.  Even if this was the last train out of Manhattan ever, I didn’t want to go like that!

The next train had less people, so I got on.  Since it was a different train than the one Tracey told me to take, I didn’t know where to get off.  This train went over the Manhattan Bridge instead of under the East River to Brooklyn.  Approaching the bridge, everyone on the train readied themselves to see the view of Downtown.  When it came into view, the buildings were still gone, and a huge plume of smoke stood in their place.  The train was dead silent.

I got off the train somewhere in Brooklyn and called my friends for directions to their apartment.  While waiting on a street corner for Tim to come walk me to their place, I got another call from Robert.  Are you okay, he said.  Isn’t it weird that we talked just minutes before this all happened?  I said yes, but only vaguely remembered talking to him at all.  [It would be two months before I remembered that he asked me to write that recommendation for his company.]

Tim found me standing on the corner and walked me back to his and Tracey’s apartment.  I only slept a few hours that night in Brooklyn.

Email I sent in the afternoon to a friend: