World Trade Center Stories - Day Four

From: Cari Chadwick 

Hey everyone, this email is from a family friend.
Love
cari
---

Folks,

John, a long time friend, sent me his son's email yesterday. Mike is
30 years old and went to Freehold High School with Bud, my son. Mike
is now a lawyer working at the World Financial Center.


Bud's reply to Mike is also included.


Bud sent me an email a few minutes after watching the second plane fly
into the WTC from his office.


Reed


-----Original Message-----


Subject: Quiet and Unyielding Anger


--------------John on 9/12/2001 04:28 PM ---------------------------


 "Michael (US - New York)"  on 09/12/2001 03:57:31 PM

My son Mike reports... (He works in the World Financial Center, right
next door)

Hi, everyone. Just wanted to let you all know that I am ok. My prayers
go out to the families of the thousands who are not.

I'm writing this mostly to make myself feel better.  Debra captured it
best when she said "my guess is that you saw too much."  I did.  The
following is my account of Tuesday, September 11, 2001.  CBS news said
that New Yorkers want "street justice.  Swift and ruthless." Damn right
we do!

7:30am:  I go to the office after walking through the Trade Center and
over the catwalk to the Financial Center.  Typical day stuff.

8:30am-ish:  I go to get coffee with my friend Rob.  We're over on the
Trade Center side of the building on the 8th floor.  Someone tells us
that a bomb went off in the Trade Center.  We go to the windows and look
up at the massive hole and the flames.  Someone announces over the P.A.
system that nothing is happening to our building and that we should stay
inside.  We head to the bank of TV's to see what is happening on the
news.  Rob goes back to his desk on the 7th floor.

9:00am-ish:  I decide to go back to my desk and grab my briefcase and my
computer.  The second plane hits, but I don't hear it at all.
Amazingly, I didn't hear either crash from inside my building.  A guy
shows up on our floor and tells us all to evacuate.  The two other guys
in my group who were in the office at the time, Larry and Ron, and I
head for the stairs and they are packed.  It takes approximately 20
minutes for us to get out of the building.  We head straight for the
Hudson (away from the Trade Center) and make our first mistake.

We head south along the river instead of north.  We didn't factor wind
direction into the equation because the fires were many floors up, and
the smoke columns appeared to go up and then south, missing the south
end of the island.  I never thought about running out of land.  Once we
started going south, there was no way to change direction and go north
because of the sea of people.

From a park on the river, I watch in horror as the Trade Center towers
burn.
People start jumping.  It's horrible.  That's the word I've been using
non-stop since yesterday.  Horrible.  There's a few images that are
forever ingrained in my mind.  My guess is that you've seen the
pictures, so I won't go into detail.

If you've ever heard me talk about my dad, you know how much faith,
respect and awe I have for engineers.  I'd heard that the Towers were
designed to withstand the impact of a 707.  Having no idea what type of
planes were used, I figured that the Towers could withstand the crashes.
I never thought they would come down.

All of a sudden, I hear the most sickening sound I have ever heard.  I'm
frozen staring at the Trade Center as the first tower collapses.  I will
never forget the image.  Larry and Ron instantly start running farther
south.  They assumed that I was right behind them, but I was frozen in
my tracks.  I hear them yelling for me, and I finally get my feet to
move. We're trying to outrun the dust cloud, but it caught up to us
pretty quickly.  We hunkered down right against the railing by the
river.  We start breathing through our shirts as the cloud enveloped us.
It got pitch black, and it started snowing ash.  I can't describe the
smell.  It was horrible. Absolutely horrible.  We hear the scream of two
jets as we sit there in the darkness.  Everyone tenses up (some people
scream) because no one knows if more hijacked planes are coming.  I
thought they sounded like fighter jets (they were), but I still tensed
up.

At this point, Larry, Ron, and I start calmly making a plan.  I've been
told many times that I get calmer and more deliberate as things get more
stressful.  That's certainly what happened.  We decide to try to make it
to the Staten Island ferry.  We can see that it's running, but the
problem is that the wind is blowing more smoke and ash right towards the
ferry station. A day trader named Greg overhears our planning session.
He asked to join up with us, and we took him into our fold.  He
described (in too much detail) what he saw as he made his way from the
other side of the Trade Center to where we were.

It's still pretty dark, so at one point we were holding hands as we made
our way further south.  I see a cop and ask him where people should go.
The poor guy looked like he was 20 years old.  He almost started crying
when he looked at me and said "I don't know."  We decide to stick with
the plan and keep heading south.  We hear the familiar sound of a tower
collapsing, and we take refuge against a building with an awning.  There
were maybe twenty of us huddled under the awning.  A man comes by with a
screaming baby, and I grab him and give him my place under the awning.
The second cloud hits and everything goes black again.

The ash clouds lift enough for us to see about 50 yards.  We see a ferry
coming, so we decide to break for the ferry station.  I see another
image that I will never forget.  There was a beautiful girl (face of an
angel with a body built for sin) who, amidst the crowds of people who
are absolutely covered in ash, had not one flake of ash on her.  Seeing
her perks our spirits up a little.

We make it to the ferry station and wait for the ferry to dock.  The
Coast Guard had taken over operations, so they were running the show.
The ferry is packed with firefighters and equipment from Staten Island.
I think the reality of the situation set in for many of the firefighters
when they saw us.  You've seen the news clips.  That's what we looked
like.  It was as if we had been caught in a blizzard of ash.  Ron joked
that I looked like what I will look like twenty years from now (my head
completely gray).

As the gates come up, we start cheering for the firefighters.  Some of
them started crying as they walked past us.  Others looked scared.
Still others had a thousand yard stare, likely from dealing with
previous horrors.  Once again, the image of those brave firefighters
will always be with me.

We finally make it onto the ferry and it pulls away.  Those Coast Guard
guys put the pedal to the metal and we were flying.  Looking back
towards the city, the skyline looked  foreign.  The Trade Center was
just gone.  Smoke billowed from where they once were.

Once on Staten Island, we were kinda stuck.  Ron lives there, but his
house is pretty far away from the ferry station.  The busses weren't
running, so we started walking.  We walked for quite some time and
finally stopped to rest at a gas station.  We got some water and sat
down.  A van pulled in to get gas and the passenger took one look at me
and asked if I was ok.  I was still covered in ash and the look on my
face was probably some combination of rage, horror, and a deep sadness.
The guy tells me that God must have put me on this earth for a reason.
I agree with him (although I wish God had picked some less tragic way to
show it) and say thanks.

We finally make it to Ron's house and turn on the TV.  We watch all the
footage, and the reality and magnitude of what we went through sinks in.
We go out to the store to buy some new clothes and a tooth brush and
some stuff for contact lenses.  Concrete ash does a number on contact
lenses, and I'll get to that more below.

The rest of the night is pretty much devoted to decompression and
catching up with loved ones on the phone.  I thank God for my family and
the friends I have.  When I go to take a shower, I look in the mirror
and am startled by the image that looks back at me.  I take a shower and
look down at the huge gray mud-pile that forms at my feet.  I can once
again smell and taste the ash/dust.

Wednesday, September 12, 2001:  The bridges into and out of Staten
Island open.  Larry's wife Jen drives over from Metuchen, NJ and picks
up Larry and me.  Their young son Jacob makes us all smile and forget
about the previous day for a moment.  Larry and Jen drop me off at the
train station and wait with me until the train comes.

Heading into the city, I look at the skyline and see the billowing smoke
from where the Trade Center once stood.  The guy sitting next to me, a
med student, sees the dust still on my briefcase and asks if I was
"there."  I tell him my story (pretty much what I've written above) and
notice that I'm shaking by the end of it.  It's then that I decide to
write this email. And I think it is helping.

I get to Penn Station and I'm nervous.  So is everyone else.  Cops are
everywhere, people are talking in low tones, and everyone looks jumpy.
I take the subway home and stop to buy a newspaper.  Everyone is still
speaking in near whispers.  It's eerie.  I open the paper and see some
pictures of people jumping, pictures of the wreckage, and pictures of
those who were trapped just before the collapse.  Tears come to my eyes
and I wipe them on my sleeve as I walk home.  Everyone on the street is
smoking. Everyone.  It's like North Carolina.

I walk past a firehouse and there is a shrine already there.  There are
flowers and candles and a big card from an elementary school.  I shake
the hands of the two fireman who are standing in the garage doorway and
say thank you.  They nod their heads and I keep walking.  I make it
home, check the 15 messages on my home answering machine, and take a
shower.

And that's pretty much it.  As I mentally debrief, I've come up with
some things that I wish I had done and items I wish I had kept at my
desk.  Here is that list:

Things to do:

1)  At the first sign of trouble, leave.  The person on the P.A. is
making a judgment call and they can be wrong.  I wish I had left as soon
as I had seen the hole from the first plane.

2)  When you get outside, check the wind.  If possible, run upwind of
the situation.  Even if you don't think the wind will factor into the
situation.

3)  Grab your friends and stay with them.  A small pack can travel
efficiently, and you'll feel safer in numbers.

Things to have at your desk:  (Don't laugh.  And Elaine, don't make fun
of Chris for doing things like counting the seats and windows to the
exits on a
plane.)

1)  If you wear contact lenses, keep a pair of glasses handy.  Ash and
cement dust get in your eyes and scratches everything.

2)  A facemask of some kind.  I'm talking about those filtering ones.
They block more stuff than a shirt and you keep both hands free by
having one.

3)  A flashlight.  There's dark, and then there's black.

4)  A small transistor radio.  Once you make it to safety, you don't
know what's happening, you aren't sure what has happened, and it's
comforting to find out.

5)  Safety goggles.  I would have given anything for these.  One piece
of comic relief was Greg with his glasses completely snowed over with
ash and dust.

I promise you that I will carry these items with me in my briefcase for
the rest of my life.  You might want to consider doing so as well.

Thanks for reading this far.  I hope everyone is safe and well.  Feel
free to share this email and/or my lists with anyone who might want to
read it. If I forgot to copy someone on this email, please forward it
on.

Take care,
Mike

==================================================================
Mike,

Thanks for your account of the horror.  My father forwarded it to me.
It's (success) stories like yours which will provide some help in
dealing with the events of September 11.  I work at the Harborside
Financial Center in Exchange Place, Jersey City and watched in shock
from my window as the second plane did its damage and the first tower
collapsed.  From the turnpike extension, I saw the other tower fall.
From my vantage point, a static picture was forever altered.  I could
only imagine what was going on over there.  Glad you are safe.  Take
care.

Reed





From: [Name withheld]
Sent: Wednesday, September 12, 2001 9:55 AM
Subject: A Singular Tragedy


The following was forwarded to me by a friend who lives not far from the
WTC.  This is a first-hand account, and includes a level of graphic
detail not related on TV.  I'm sending this with mixed emotions, because
it is not my intent to add to the pain of the past 24 hours. However, I
think we live too much in the world just on the other side of the glass
tube, and the story of the true depth and scope of this tragedy needs to
be told.

(Below is an account of yesterday from an NYU linguistics professor
who lives in a 27th floor apartment, and watched the WTC with a
telescope.)

....

	I was quite moved by Frank K.'s letter. This is indeed an
	enormous tragedy.

	I live in the New York University Housing on 100 Bleecker
	Street on the 27th Floor looking south. I am a professor of
	linguistics. I have an unobstructed view from New Jersey to
	Brooklyn, and watch planes land at Newark and Kennedy. If the
	pilot had missed the world trade center, he would have been in
	my living room.

	I heard the boom, and it knocked over a lamp near my window.
	Schrapnel hit my window. I thought a plane had broken the
	sonic barrier and knocked the antenna off the roof. I looked
	over and saw the hole in the WTC and saw the flames. While we
	watched the burning building (some friends, students, faculty,
	etc. came by) the second plane hit. We did not see the plane
	and throught it was an explosion.

	The fire spread lower and lower through the WTC building,
	probably as the jet fuel ran out. Flames came out of every
	window in both buildings on all sides. The planes hit one
	building about 1/3 way from the top, the other about 1/4 way
	from the top. Descent for those above in the WTC was
	impossible since all floors near the impact were aflame.

	People went to the roof and, after 20 minutes or so of
	increasing heat, jumped off - frequently in pairs holding
	hands. I saw no jumping triples.

	My Thayer School engineering training came back, and I
	realized that with that intensity of heat in a building in
	which the steel girders were insulated with asbestos, it had
	to collapse within one hour. I called the fire department,
	police, etc. and told them the building was guaranteed to
	collapse. I was told that 911 was only for emergencies, and I
	should call somewhere else.

	After about 40 minutes, as I saw (I have telescopes,
	binoculars, etc.) the top segment of the building listing
	about 3 degrees, I left my apartment and went out to walk in
	the street. Buidlings collapse if they list more than 3
	degrees. As I walked down Bleecker Street, people gasped as
	the building collapsed. Like Lord Jim, my imagination
	surpasses any reality. I should have stayed and watched. I did
	for the second tower. It was easier on me.

	I bought some milk, water, beans, etc. and went back to the
	apartment. We watched the second building, and I noticed it
	was more than 3 degrees, but as the telescope revealed, that
	was because the beams were buckling on both sides. A building
	like the WTC does not 'break off in the middle' and fall like
	a tree. Rather, each floor can support a certain amount of
	weight, and the floors above are supported by the steel
	girders. If a top floor collapses onto a lower floor, it must
	collapse onto the floor below, etc., etc., etc. And the
	building implodes. All of the people that were in the WTC
	building are squished into a sort of accordian structure
	between floors constructed of reinforced concrete. The steel
	beams flexed like rubber to allow the building to collapse,
	but they are certain to become rigid when cooled, thereby
	locking any trapped victims between the immediately adjacent
	floors

	As each building imploded, an immense amount of burning
	kerosene, moulten aluminum, white hot steel, cement heated
	into dust, and sundry smouldering flammables spread out in an
	inverted mushroom cloud - inverted in that it spread along the
	earth, and unlike an atom bomb did not spread out above.

	As each building imploded, this burning cloud of asbestos
	laden dust spread out from river to river and as high as the
	original erect World Trade Centers. I imagine that most of the
	deaths of the rescue workers came from being enveloped in this
	thousand degree dust cloud. On one ambulance caught up in the
	cloud, all of the paint was burned off of one side, according
	to one radio report.

	I have never in my English speaking life owned a television
	set. The goal of the media is to make the world palatable, not
	comprehensible. I only own a TV in France or Germany, mainly
	to learn the language. I even watch French and German soap
	operas to learn basic 'hello, good-bye' type stuff, and of
	course, the curse words and their tidy use in proper social
	situations.  English speaking TV is abominable. The only thing
	worth watching are the commercials, and even those are not
	very good. The news is intolerable.

	My friends who have watched the WTC collpase on TV do not
	grasp the Hiroshima-like horror.

	I heeded the call for blood, and began to walk towards the
	hospital, about a distance from Tuck/THayer school to the
	Dartmouth Gym. Freshly showered and in a crisp new white
	pressed buttondown shirt, I arrive at 6th avenue and Houston
	Street, where I see hundreds of men and women of all ages
	walking towards the hospital. Badly burned, clothes torn and
	shredded, bleeding, some with (I am not a doctor) apparently
	broken or dislocated limbs, they are dragging themselves
	towards the hospital. One 17-19 year old boy I tried to help
	did not seem to even know that I was trying to help him, or
	perhaps even, that I was there. He was waving his arms trying
	to keep people away.  >From his jargon, I think he had been
	trampled in a stairway.

	Crisply and cleanly shirted and powered by newly shined shoes
	I walked faster than most towards the hospital.  Different
	than I expected. They had the 'sick' people on the sidewalk,
	and the 'sicker' people were steered off towards something
	else outside, maybe a truck. Only the 'sickest' people got
	in. Some advice: If you are ever in such a situation, no
	matter what your ailment is (broken ribs, crushed whatever) be
	certain to cut your forehead (with a found shard perhaps) and
	bleed all over your head and shirt. This will guarantee you
	get inside the hospital.

	There were about 500 people ahead of me donating blood, and
	they parsed the line. They seemed to want O type, which isn't
	me. So I will go back tomorrow.

	Many of the severely injured people at the hospital seemed to
	be NYC officials (fire, police, etc.) that were trapped in the
	collapse of the World Trade Center. The blazing hot inverted
	mushroom cloud burned off their clothes and damaged their
	lungs and eyes.

	Back home, I looked towards Brooklyn and saw thousands and
	thousands of people on each of the major bridges (Brooklyn,
	Manhattan, and Williamsburg) walking out of Manhattan. It was
	like a hundred marathons, except that everyone was walking
	slowly. No one seemed to be carrying anything (remember I have
	an astronomical telescope that can see Jupiter's moons and
	canyons on our moon). They left Manhattan empty handed, at
	most, helping some friend to leave. In my life I have never
	seen anything as moving as this immense exodus of bobbing
	human heads (they were shoulder to shoulder, back to belly)
	slowly groping their way across the bridges. It appeared that
	noone had a laptop.

	I was feeding my daughter supper when the third building
	collapsed (only 50 stories or so). It seems to be (or was) a
	telephone central, since when it went down my building fire
	alarm went off, my lights flickred, and my internet connection
	died.

	After supper, I walked around and saw no more burned,
	bleeding, crippled people dragging themselves towards the
	overloaded St. Vincent's Hospital.  Only young couples out on
	hot dates, each on a cell phone talking to someone they
	presumbly would rather be out with.

	So. What moved me to write this letter. Well, my intention was
	tomorrow to jump in my car with my daughters and go to our
	farm in New Jersey to avoid the mind boggling amount of
	asbestos that must be floating in the air.  (At one time in
	the 70's - having studied with Noam Chomsky - I was a
	protestor of sorts, and vigorously protested the spraying of
	asbestos as fireproofing on steel girder buildings. The WTC
	were asbestos insulated.) If you live in NYC, particularly
	Brooklyn where all the smoke went, buy a mask. Avoid the 'gray
	dust'.

	But now I might not be able to leave. On Houston Street, 27
	floors below my window, I see enormous numbers of trucks
	(300?) lined up blocking my driveway. They are from out of
	state (Conn., NJ, etc.), the National Guard, and various
	carting companies owned by people whose names end in a vowel.
	Many of the trucks are empty. Some are huge - like they could
	carry a tank - but empty. A small number of beat up old trucks
	are full of lumber, or I thought they were. I went down to ask
	when the street would be open so I could get my hot 1989 Volvo
	Station Wagon out of the driveway to speed my family towards
	the supernatural ecstacy of rurual New Jersey. Anytime, it
	turns out. All streets are blocked below 14th street, but
	residents can get a pass to escape.

	I asked what they were going to build with the lumber I saw
	neatly stacked in the beat up old trucks. After a bit of a
	confused discussions (I contributing all the confusion since I
	saw the trucks from my professorial ivory tower), it turned
	out that the trucks do not have lumber, they have small,
	narrow pine coffins into which one apparently places the body
	bags.  Well, the joke was on me.

	People who know where I live have been calling me all night.

	My feeling is that the TV has made the situation politically
	palatable so it can fall into the mainstream database and be
	manipulated into endlessly repeated segments of Hollywood
	titbits - 15 second plane crashes, 13 second building
	collapses, etc. My guess is that the same TV newscasters that
	present this unspeakable situation will be back in another
	year telling us that there is a plan to evacuate New York City
	in eight hours if the Hudson River Nuclear Power Plant blows
	up. Or that a nuclear war isn't really that bad if you prepare
	for it beforehand and rememmber to stick your head between
	your legs at the moment of nuclear detonation.

	For me, there were many moving experiences. I was impressed
	that the blood donation center had more donators than it could
	handle. The line contained people of all walks of life, all
	ages, races, religions, genders, and social classes. There
	were even tourists in the line. I will never forget the tens
	of thousands of bobbing heads stumbling across the East River
	bridges.  Or, the dazzled tattered bleeding blackened crowd
	walking north from the scene up Broaday, Green, Mercer, 6th
	Avenue... - that was moving.

	But above and beyond everything, the one thing I will never
	forget to my dying day, is the view of the people on the roof
	and higher floors of the World Trade Center lined up in the
	windows and on railings. You cannot see their expressions, but
	it is amazing what a 40 power telescrope reveals.  They often
	huddled, probably talked about their chances, and sometimes
	went back into the building, or maybe, just laid on the
	floor. But then, some went to the edge, and jumped.

	Some jumped in pairs, holding hands. I doubt if they were
	married or lovers. I think it was just two people, alone,
	desparate, black, white, oriental,who cares - the telescope
	looking through the heat waves and smoke didn't allow me to
	distinguish age and race. They would just pair up and jump.

	I have thought all day about this. If I were on the roof, and
	I saw flames on all sides of the building, I would almost
	certainly jump rather than fry.  And if I saw another
	trembling human alongside of me, I would be much happier
	holding their hand, and jumping as a pair. Somehow to jump as
	half of a pair, even if the other half is an ad hoc recent
	acquaintance, seems to me an infinitely more human way to pass
	on to the next step, than to take the next step alone. I would
	wait to the next life to explain to my wife why I held the
	hand of a strange woman, or to Senator Helms, if my other half
	were a man.