The 20th anniversary of 9/11 started creeping into my thoughts at the beginning of the year. I don't exactly know why. I think about that day frequently, but this year feels very different. Perhaps it is the state of the world, the lack of unity, the abandonment of the American ideals, or the absurd re-defining of what it means to be an American. I don't know, and I don't have the energy to pinpoint it.
As we keep getting closer, I can feel it getting harder for me. I don't know how to deal with it other than to talk about it. So, therefore, I have chosen to share.
This is my story based on what I remember. It is based on what replays in my head. I am not sharing for any reason other than to get it out of me. I am not comparing my story to anyone else's. Clearly, I am one of the lucky ones because I am still here.
I was working at Deutsche Bank in New York City. It was my first full-time job out of college, and I had been there just over a year. I worked at 130 Liberty Street across the street from Tower Two of the World Trade Center. Some know it as the old Banker's Trust building (Deutsche Bank had just acquired Banker's Trust). Most would likely recognize it as the large black building they hung the giant American flag on.
Those that have worked with me know that I struggle when I don't feel productive. I didn't feel very productive at the bank and tried to resign. However, the VP of our group wanted me to stay, and she asked me to stay late to talk about how we could improve the situation. Long story short, she convinced me to stay. She laid out a plan for the next few years of my career there. The world is weird sometimes.
I had a very long commute into the city. Because of this, I would sit and read each morning for about fifteen minutes in the courtyard of the World Trade Center to destress and refocus. For some reason, I chose to skip it this morning. I don't know why. Perhaps it was because of the conversation I had with our VP the night before. I often think about what this day would have looked like had I stopped as usual.
130 Liberty had a footbridge connecting it to Tower Two. Typically I would walk across into the second floor of our building. However, it was closed for maintenance, and so I took the stairs down to Liberty Street. I was holding the handrail walking down the stairs when the first plane hit Tower One.
I remember hearing what sounded like a plane engine revving up, followed by a loud bang. I was on the sidewalk at this point, trying to figure out where the sound came from. The buildings are so large down there that it was hard to locate the source. I remember seeing a shockwave through the large panes of glass in the buildings. It wasn't uncommon to hear loud bangs as trash trucks dropped empty dumpsters. But this was much louder.
I was on the sidewalk befuddled and looking around. As I looked across the street, I saw a fireman in the station next to our building yelling and waving his arms, telling people to run. For some reason, I remember this in slow motion.
Everyone was looking back at the World Trade Center, so I turned to look at Tower Two. All I remember is a large ball of fire that looked like it was coming down the side of the building. I ran.
As I ran by the fire station, a firefighter grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me in. I was in shock. I don't remember the next few minutes. The next thing I remember is a nearly empty firehouse. The trucks and firefighters were all gone already, having rushed to the scene. It was eerily quiet. I was standing in Ten House with a few other people from the street.
I remember seeing the news on a small TV in the office saying, "a plane hit the World Trade Center." They weren't sure why as it was a clear blue sky day. But, for the few of us gathered in the firehouse, we knew it had to be terrorism.
My mind went to my mom, who worked in midtown. I knew she would see the news and worry, and I wanted to call her. We had cell phones, but service had been knocked out. Someone told me there was a payphone in the basement, so I went down and called her. I told her a plane hit the World Trade Center, I am in the fire station, and I am OK.
I walked back up to the street level to see if I could help. There was an undercover police officer with his badge out, so I walked over and asked what I could do to help. He said, "nothing right now," and we stood there talking.
I don't remember what we said to each other. But I remember looking at the street covered in dust, papers, and office furniture. From where we were standing, we could only see Tower Two. We could not see the devastation that happened to Tower One.
People started gathering in the firehouse. More and more people wandered in until it was pretty packed inside. As we were standing there, an older Asian lady walked up, looking completely stunned. Her hair was smoldering. A paramedic seemed to come out of nowhere to attend to her. I have no idea who she was or where she was to have her hair catch fire. I think about her often.
The undercover officer and I resumed talking. As we were standing there, the second plane hit Tower Two. I remember this in slow motion as well. To me, it looked like the tower bent, and a collapse was imminent. I remember yelling "not again" and the officer yelling, "everyone get the fuck out". It really looked like the tower was coming down. People started to run toward the back of the firehouse, and I followed.
At this point, I was following a pretty large crowd. The people in front of me ran down the stairs to the basement, and I followed, thinking they knew where an exit was. When we got down there, I remember thinking "hell no" and running back up the stairs to find an exit. I didn't want to be trapped in the basement or near the tower if it was falling.
I got back up the stairs and sprinted out the back door of the station. I wasn't running in any particular direction except away. So many people were sprinting all around me that it feels like a movie scene when I remember it. It seemed like rocks were crashing down all around us for the first few blocks. Unwilling to look back, I assumed the tower was crumbling. I didn't stop running until I was sure I was far enough away.
I remember looking back for the first time and finally seeing the devastation of what had happened. There was a massive hole in Tower One near the top and another massive hole lower down in Tower Two. I will never forget seeing the people in tower one - clinging to the side, then letting go. That memory still haunts me.
At this point, I turned to keep walking. I was following the crowd and ended up down near South Street. The people around were all in shock, trying to make sense of it. Cell phones didn't work, but I remember listening to a radio. The reports were of 10 planes, 16 planes, 20 planes, all hijacked and heading for additional targets. The military jets were already circling overhead, but we couldn't see them because of the dust and smoke. We could only hear more planes.
A big crowd was gathering, and I started getting nervous that other attacks were imminent. I remember seeing the large concrete trucks and garbage trucks pulling up and thinking, "one of them is going to have a bomb and kill us all." At this point, I decided to get out of Manhattan. I was going to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. So I started walking north up the FDR Drive.
As I walked, I spotted a payphone and tried to call my mom, but the phone was dead. I remember being very frustrated. A drug dealer was on the street advertising, "get high before you die." I remember this making me irate. It took everything in my power not to punch him in the face.
From here, I remember walking with my head down, trying to zone out and keep moving. I was not alone as a large number of people were all walking north. I remember seeing a National Guard soldier on the street with this M16, again in slow motion for some reason.
I was heads down, moving as quickly as I could, when people started to scream. I turned to look back toward Battery Park, and it was gone, completely obscured in a cloud of smoke. I thought, "fuck, they blew it up". I turned to keep walking, and the Brooklyn Bridge was gone too. I thought they blew that up as well. I thought about jumping in the East River and swimming.
At this point, I was determined to get to my mom's office and get her out of Manhattan no matter what. I kept walking north. As I did, the dust started to spread out. The first tower had fallen, and the larger open roads funneled the smoke to Battery Park and the Brooklyn bridge. I could see both again, but the dust was getting bad everywhere. I took off my dress shirt and wrapped it around my nose and mouth.
As we were walking, people started to scream again. I turned in time to see the second tower collapse. For some reason, I remember a freeze-frame of a partial collapse before it fell completely. It is a very strange picture in my head.
I don't remember much from the rest of the walk to my mom's office. I remember getting to the block, then throwing open the door to the office. I believe it was about noon at this point.
My mom was the VP of a boutique artisan china company. I believe they had about 15 or 20 people working in that office. Clearly, they all knew what had happened, and the last they all heard was that I was in the fire station after the first plane hit. Everyone looked like they saw a ghost. I remember the receptionist frozen behind her desk and everyone in eyesight turning to look in the direction of my mom as if to say, "is this him?" She ran over, and we hugged. That sequence of events replays in my head often.
I don't remember a lot about being in the office. My mom insisted on ensuring everyone who worked there had a place to go as the transit system was shut down. I remember wanting to leave, but she refused until everyone had a ride, a friend to stay with, or at least a hotel room. Eventually, everyone was taken care of, and we left.
My mom had a tiny corporate apartment on the Upper East Side. Because all transit was shut down, we headed that way. I remember walking as quickly as we could. I remember my feet hurting from my dress shoes. My mom offered to knock on the windows of shoe stores to see if anyone was inside (they were all closed up) so I could get something more comfortable, but I didn't want to stop.
We were on a course to walk past the Empire State Building. Unsure if this was a target, we walked a block east instead. I remember seeing a steady stream of people walking across each bridge and discussing if we should follow them to get out of Manhattan.
We eventually made it to her apartment somewhere in the upper 70's I think. I didn't want to stay in the city, but we didn't have another way out. As we were there talking, my mom's boss called. A guy who worked in her building offered to drive us out of the city for no reason other than he heard I was there when it happened. We just had to walk to where his car was about 15 blocks away as he couldn't drive south to pick us up.
We met up with this kind soul. We asked how he would get back into the city. He said he wouldn't. He would stay with his family outside the city until they let cars come back in. He insisted we get in the car. We insisted on at least paying him. He refused over and over and over. To this day, that is probably the kindest thing a stranger has ever done for me.
I don't remember much about the car ride. I was in shock. I am not even sure I knew where we were going.
We ended up meeting my brother along the highway around 5PM. The kind stranger drove away to stay with his relatives, and we hopped in my brother's car to drive back to my parent's house. I don't remember much of this ride either, except my brother telling me that my dad had gone to my apartment to pick up my dog. That was a big relief.
A lot happened in the days and weeks after. The events clearly had a profound impact on me and my life. But those stories will have to wait for another day. Thanks for letting me get this off my chest.