Remembering 9/11

I can still remember what happened that day as if it was only yesterday. It was a Tuesday, election day and people were streaming out of  their neighborhood public school basements after casting ballots for  local leaders.  I had voted earlier and was now walking down Sixth Avenue on my way to work in New York City. The atmosphere was breathtaking and the weather was unseasonably warm and sunny for an autumn day. In fact, most people that passed me on the street were wearing either shirt-sleeves or some other forms of light summery garb.  I guess one might could have been so bold as to say that that Tuesday was a weather forecaster's dream. 

As I approached Duane Reade drugstore, I felt a massive shadow pass over me but I paid no mind to it and entered the store.  A young man who seemed to be extremely distraught followed me into the store and shouted to no one in particular, "I think a plane crashed into the World Trade Tower!!"

I spun around and returned to the sidewalk outside to see that every ones attention was focused  toward downtown.  Initially, I thought I saw a  small plane embedded into the upper floors of the World Trade Center.  

The morning rush to work had come to a standstill and huddled masses converged on each street corner, while shoppers had ceased what they were doing  and formed into small gatherings  outside the store where they were shopping.  I asked one of the sidewalk vendors what exactly had happened and they told me that a commercial airliner which passed overhead minutes ago, the same one that narrowly missed hitting the Empire State building slammed head-on into one of the Twin Towers.

Before I continue I should tell you a little something about  New Yorkers .  If you live or work there, like myself, you can just skip ahead to the next paragraph because you don't need me to remind you that New Yorkers often appear hard-edged, and at times, almost unforgiving.  Of course not everyone in the city is like this, but there is certainly enough to label it as a tough place to live.  But if I were to hazard a guess as to why New Yorkers have this reputation, and mind you now, this is only a guess it would be due to the plain fact that this city that never sleeps is a relentless competitive town.  Living or working in such an aggressive environment day after day after day can form a hardened callous on even the kindest, most gentlest soul.  Yet, my friend, on that warm Tuesday at 8:46 in the morning millions of those same tough unbreakable New Yorkers broke down and wept like babies. Their home was falling apart.

I walked the rest of the way to work with my eyes riveted to the dark gray plume that spewed out of a sickening spectacle at one of the twin towers. When I felt the icy cold handle on the front door to work  I shuddered knowing I might be the bearer of this bad news. I also thought about another national tragedy.   Thirty-eight years ago that coming January,  I had announced to a class of twelve year-olds that their president was shot by a sniper's bullet.  I didn't relish the thought of telling my friends and co-workers that their city was attacked.  Instead, the fates were on my side this time - everyone had already heard about the tragic crash from their radios that were broadcasting the enfolding events.

A continuous train of firetrucks sped down a vacated sixth avenue  amidst the blaring noise of their emergency air horns.  As soon as each and every rescue vehicle passed, whether it was a fire engine, ambulance, or police patrol car, the throngs of New Yorkers greeted them with cheers and applause.  

After more employees arrived I heard the radio announce that a second commercial jet crashed into the other tower.  And minutes later we heard reports that another commercial airliner had veered off course and hit the Pentagon.   It was quite evident to most of us, the first crash was not an accident at all.

I couldn't think.  My entire body was numb. I walked out to the corner and gazed at the two colossal towers which had always seemed so impenetrable to me , finally buckle and collapse into a billowing pillow of smoke and ash.

The reaction of the crowd that surrounded me was immediate and intense.  Amidst a chorus of wails and screams,  Joey P., the owner of "Olympia Corner Deli" stood outside his store with both his hands clenched above his head and cried out, "NO . . .NO . . .no . . .noooo. . . "

One of Joey P's employees rushed to his side and tried to console their distressed boss.  The pain I saw in Joey's eyes reminded me of what he so proudly told all his customers last week ; his kid brother had just landed a  job as a trader in the tower we all saw collapse.

Louie, one of the nearby parking lot attendants threw his cell phone on the street in frustration and turned away moaning, "God damn it, WHY!!"

So many others were shouting with their own forms of despair and grief.  Some stood frozen with their mouths agape and others, like myself,  prayed for a miracle. When I retreated back to work I heard the radio inform me that my prayers were not answered; the remaining tower had fallen as well. 

What seemed to make matters even worse was that the mayor of New York at an emergency press conference, pleaded to all that they should remain where they were.  I thought "REMAIN WHERE I AM??  He must be crazy."

Later on I sort of understood that the reasoning behind this plea was to prevent wide spread panic.  But that request to remain where I am just made me feel like the proverbial fish in a barrel - trapped and poised as a sitting duck just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  If we wanted to escape we couldn't; all the bridges and tunnels  were closed and  many of the subways lines were suspended.

During this time that I was holed up at work, I asked some questions, probably the very same questions that confused and angered millions of other New Yorkers . . .

"How the heck, did this happen? 

"How could New York be so defenseless?" 

"What happens now??"

People didn't heed the advice of their mayor to remain at work; they left their places of employment in droves and headed to their homes by the only means available to them- walking.  Thousands upon thousands of scared citizens crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and were greeted by fellow New Yorkers who had set up refreshments for them on the other side.  

When I reached Penn Station and boarded the Long Island Rail Road for my trip home, the conductors said the train would not move until all cars had filled to capacity.  It wasn't until the train exited the station completely could I unclench my fists and breathe anything resembling a sigh of relief.  And I was quite certain that every passenger on that train were battling their own trauma from that day.  The elderly man  who sat motionless across from me still had fear soldered into his eyeballs.  After the train increased speed, I noticed that he had begun to scratch, quite nervously, the ash-covered briefcase which was on his lap. My eyes travelled from his suitcase back to his glassy gray eyes and I thought, "Oh my God, what did this poor man see today, what horrors did he witness?  Did those gray eyes see the helpless people who were trapped on the roof of the tower jump to their deaths?  Had those eyes seen the fear and helplessness of his co-workers as they ran from the crumpling building?

  

Muffled sobs from a woman who was pressing her forehead against one the cars windows grabbed my attention. She appeared as if she list her best friend and knowing what happened today, she just might have.  I thought if it were not for the balled-up handkerchief she was gnawing, those very same muffled sobs would have been uncontrollable wails of grief.  An older woman who sat beside her offered what little help she could muster for the grieving lady - her own kerchief.

When the train finally emerged from the tunnel and into daylight, we turned and saw rising from downtown Manhattan a plume of dark gray smoke the morbid reminder of where the World Trade Towers once stood.  

Traumas from the attacks befell not only on the passengers on the Long Island Railroad or on other eyewitnesses like Joey P. from "Olympia Deli" or Louie, the parking lot attendant but also on the survivors of the two attacks and most especially on all of their  families and loved ones.

It wasn't until after I had returned home did I fully comprehend the serious emotional effects this tragedy had on my wife, Billie.  I came to understand that there was so many other "Billies" out there who spent their day glued to the TV that day, and prayed that their loved ones returned to them safely from the burning city of New York.  And to make matters even worse a breakdown in cellular telephone service along with intermittent land line service helped increase their anxiety level substantially.

As time progressed it became obvious that more than New York's skyline had changed;  New Yorkers had changed as well.  Their renowned tough exterior was sanded down to a soft layer of kindness and gentleness.  Make no mistake, these attributes were always there but were seldom seen.  For days, then weeks, then months following the two attacks on New York, this noisy city was almost silent.  The irritating blast of car horns was replaced by the welcoming drone of fighter jets that patrolled the city far above.  The hordes of pedestrians that usually busied along the city sidewalks became smaller. Groups casually meandered through the intermittant photo tributes which memorialized the dead and missing from the attack on the World Trade Center the past Tuesday.

Besides the fact that New Yorkers were bonding together in a way they never had hoped a re-newed patriotism emerged in the hearts of their fellow Americans. A hurting country was united once again, but for how long was anybodys guess.  

Now every single time I cross Sixth Avenue, I can't help but turn my eyes toward downtown to see where the two towers once stood and remember.  I think of all those New Yorkers and heros who fell that Tuesday. I think of the bravery that was exhibited and  the countless acts of kindnesses to and by complete strangers.

So I think one more thing, dear friend.

That Tuesday, September 11th was my citys worst but also finest day.  

Reviews

[Shannon]

Thank you so much for this story. I love the there was some really organized and thoughtful people amidst the chaos. Refreshments provided; making sure a train is full. I am curious as to haw long after the event you wrote this. I was not sure you want to talk about this too much, but you can hear the impact of this event in the voice of your story. It seems to move between a stark retelling of the large events, to a more emotional recounting of the smaller details, which provides a really impactful narrative.

[Relic]

I lost two friends (both firemen) in the attack. I remember looking out my front door and seeing the neighbors all upset about something. About a minute later a worker for con ed yelled the second tower is out. By instinct I put the TV on and almost all the stations were out. That's when I knew something bad had happened. There are some typos but you wrote this really well.

[Philip Muls]

Very genuine and authentic. Thank you for sharing.

[J.Paddy]

Thanks so much for your critique. It helps a great deal.
It was hard to see the mistakes in this piece. Initially, I wrote it for my blog and to jot my feeling down about the event. I had so much emotion that was bottled up in me I just tossed it on paper. I don't know if I ever re-read it for fear of a bout of PTSD.

Your critique made me curious and I read it for the first time in months. And when I did I winced at all the mistakes.

Thanks you, Jack.

[Jack Wolfe]

Always glad to be of help.