September 11, 2001
Time never stops. The moments that elicit blissful ecstasy, pure joy, and horrible pain seem to go on forever, and yet they are over as quickly as they started. These are the moments that tend to define us. We become tough and learn how to deal with pain; conversely we begin to understand what gives us joy, and how to hold on to the things that make us happy. Joy and Pain. Time moves them on, until they intersect, and we remember.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, my alarm clock went off at the crack of dawn as it normally did. At the time I lived in a small town in the Mid Hudson Valley of New York called Wappingers Falls. It’s about 80 miles north of New York City. Just a few weeks before, I had been hired as a consultant to Morgan Stanley, a large investment firm. I was hired as a quality assurance engineer, and my current job was to take ownership of the company intranet to make sure no bad data or content was passed onto the user base. It’s the kind of job that I love: analytical, solitary, and I could do it from anywhere. Because I worked in the technical group, we never really had set hours or schedules. As long as deadlines were met and projects did not fail, I had flexibility in my schedule. The absolute best part of my job? I worked in the south tower of the World Trade Center on the 64th floor.
So my alarm clock was buzzing. And I was more tired than usual. And then I made the most important decision of my life: I had decided to sleep in. There was no party the night before, I was not hung over; I was just sleepy, as simple as that. So I reached over from my warm bed and smacked the snooze button. And I closed my eyes and went back to sleep. This sequence of events happened at least three times before I finally crawled out of bed. And then the usual, mechanical events: take a shower, shave, brush my teeth, apply deodorant, dress, fix my hair, and out the door. I drove to the train station, and waited with the rest of the commuters at the Metro North train station. I did not recognize this group, but I was taking a later train. Right on schedule, the train came, and I settled in for my 80 minute trip into the city.
Working in NYC is portrayed as exciting in the movies, but it’s a lot more mundane in real life. From the moment the train ends its run at Grand Central Terminal, people are off and running like horses out of the track. Thousands run from the train to the next part of their journey. Some walk right to their offices, and some, like me, embarks on the third leg of their journey. First car, then train, now subway. I took the number six subway line to Fulton Street, and then walked to the WTC. I made my way down into the lower floors of GCT, fighting the crowds, mind thinking of nothing in particular. I made it to the subway platform, now 1 hour and 40 or so minutes into my commute. In 20 minutes, I would be on an express elevator to the 64th floor of a building I was ridiculously proud to be in.
The subway came, and I boarded. Since I was running late that day, it was not crowded, which was nice. I had the luxury of sitting, which I normally did not do. I watched each station fly by as the train made its way down town. Sometimes I’d be rewarded with a glimpse of a pretty woman, or a dancing man, or some other typical New York sight. Today was different. There would be no happy sights for the rest of the day.
About half way down town, a woman stood up. She had a confused look on her face. She made the following announcement to the rest of the passengers in the car: “Excuse me people, but I just heard that there was a problem at the world trade center”. This being New York, people take things they hear with a grain of salt. I looked at her. She did not look crazy. She looked like a typical woman in her 40’s dressed like she was on her way to some office, one ear attached to a small radio she was holding. I gave her a momentary glance, and then went about my window watching. Less then a minute later, the conductor made an announcement: “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve just received word that the Fulton Street subway station has been closed. The train will end its run at the Wall Street station”. Now I was interested. To be honest, I was a bit pissed, as I now had to walk an extra few blocks to work. The rest of the ride was uneventful, if not quiet. Nobody was talking; the only sound heard was the metal grinding on metal sound that a subway makes. Eventually the train stopped and the doors opened. I exited the train and looked for the subway exit. I spotted the steps that led up to the city and I made my way towards them. When I made it to ground level, I knew right away that the world as I knew it had ended.
The first thing I noticed was the papers. Almost like a tickertape parade, paper blew in the wind all around me. Except this was not tickertape. This was full sheets of paper, with company letterhead, many of them singed and burning. The next thing I noticed was the smell. Acrid, heavy smoke, like a building on fire all at once seemed to engulf me. The Wall Street subway station faces away from the WTC, so as I noticed the paper and the smell, I still did not see the cause. I then turned around and saw a sight so amazing that I could have been watching a movie. The two towers, which loomed so high over the Manhattan skyline, were burning. From where I was standing, there was also a gaping hole in Tower two. It was such an amazing and unbelievable sight to behold that I was stunned in place for what seemed like minutes. Then I got hold of myself and began to walk toward the towers. I had to get closer to see how bad the damage was. I also had friends who worked there. I made my way closer.
When I got as close as the Police would allow, I could see the full depth of the damage. Both towers had gaping wounds near the top. In the plaza at the bottom, where I had eaten lunch not 12 hours ago, were large chunks of debris, along with thousands of pieces of paper, and uniformed men running in and out. My senses were alive and overloaded with sights of unimaginable destruction, the smell of smoke and unnamed chemicals, and the screams of thousands. I was frozen in place drinking all of this in until I saw a sight that both jarred me into action and managed to be even more terrible than what I had seen so far. A body, far into the distance but recognizable, had appeared out of a window and was now falling to the ground. At my distance, it was little more than a spec, but I knew what I was looking at. The spec disappeared behind another building, but I knew its eventual fate. It was at that minute I knew I had to move.
I then started walking. I walked slowly, with no direction at first. I was in a state of shock since I left the subway, and I did not know what do. Eventually the screams of those around me woke me into action. Thousands were all around me; screaming, running, staring. I then became more focused and made a plan. I found Broadway and began to walk uptown. I knew that I was not going to find any sort of transportation, so I resolved to walk back to Grand Central. I left the carnage behind me and hiked uptown. Minutes went by that could have been hours. All around me the scene was chaos. Smoke in the air, people running, sirens, screams, sobs. I put my head down and continued to walk. All of a sudden I noticed people running past me at full speed. I lifted my head and looked around. I then heard a deafening roar that literally shook the ground. I turned around and saw the most awesome spectacle I had ever seen: The tower was falling right behind me. It’s difficult to describe the scene: The tower fell on top of itself; the TV antenna still standing tall as it fell down onto the lower floors. The cloud of smoke and debris was immense. And, I noticed, coming towards me quickly. I then joined the mass of New Yorkers running away from the cloud that was quickly overtaking us. Luckily, I was far enough away that I was only barley touched by the smoke. When I felt safe I stopped, turned, and looked. The Tower had completely fallen; it was gone. What was left was a wake of destruction I could have never even imagined in my worst dreams. I stood in the middle of Broadway, tears streaking down my face, sobbing. Everything I had known up to that point in my life had escaped me. The only reality was that I had been witness to one of the greatest tragedies that this country would ever see, and that I had come close to death just moments ago. The rest of the day came and went, but a small part of me never left that spot on Broadway. All I could feel was the crushing sadness of all of those who had just lost their lives, yet the overwhelming gratitude I had felt because I was still alive. Joy and pain intersect, and we remember.
