Five Years

Five years
My brain hurts a lot
Five years
That's all we've got
- David Bowie

- I'd been in Lower Manhattan for several of the ticker-tape parades that have taken place in the "Canyon of Heroes" to honor the city's championship teams, as well as the Pope. So the sight of scraps of paper fluttering to a soft landing on the city streets was not an unfamiliar sight. But why I would be seeing that at 8:50 A.M. against the brilliant blue sky of September 11, 2001, upon getting off a bus at the corner of Wall Street and William Street, around six blocks from the World Trade Center, was hard to say.

The only explanation I could come up with was that it was some kind of marketing stunt, and that the scraps would contain the URL of the latest internet start-up destined for riches. But when a man in front of me yelped and brushed off a piece of paper that was in flames, it was apparent that there was a far more insidious explanation. "A plane hit the World Trade Center," I heard someone say. I think that only in New York City would I and those around me simply proceed into our buildings for a day of work rather than running like hell. In the South Tower, occupants returned to their offices when advised by security that everything was OK.

The TV news was on when I arrived in the 8th floor office; an eyewitness was confirming initial reports that it was a small Cessna-type plane. So I remember going to my desk; I suppose I was going through the motions of preparing for work. Payroll was due to be submitted that day. A couple of guys went out to walk over to the scene to take pictures. At 9:03, the sound of a huge explosion rocked the building, shattering any notion that there was anything innocent about what was occuring just a short walk away. We could not see the towers from our location, so we all went racing to the TV to see the second building in flames. At first, we thought that the fire in the first building may have somehow sparked an explosion in the second. The local newscasters were puzzled too until one of the station's weatherpeople called in to say that she thought she saw a plane hit the building; and the replays confirmed that fact.

The Assistant Head Chef, who in those early days of our relationship, had progressed far beyond Line Chef but had not quite achieved her stature of today, had a clear view of the towers from her bedroom window, and suggested that perhaps I should leave. The company president told everyone to stay put. And that seemed like a good idea. There were airplanes crashing into nearby buildings, and who knew what would be next. The New York Stock Exchange building, an obvious target, was practically around the corner. Then, when word came that the Pentagon was hit, no one doubted that we should stay put. I guess I never considered that the towers would collapse because I don't recall fearing that the building would topple over in our direction.

At 10:05, there was another sound of an explosion, but it wasn't quite that. It was a deep rumble that shook the building as it steadily increased in intensity. The company controller, Emile, was standing by the window that faced over Chase Plaza, in the direction of the towers. Hearing - and feeling - the rumbling, outside he saw the spreading dust from what neither he nor anyone else in the office knew was the collapsing of the south tower, accompanied by the sight of people running for their lives. Emile is one of those big burly guys with a deep, piercing voice that could shake a structure on its own, and when he bellowed, "EVERYBODY GET THE FUCK OUT!! GO GO GO!! GET THE FUCK OUT!!!," well, we got the fuck out. We raced down the stairwell, the women were screaming and crying like all the rest of us wanted to, not knowing if we were going to be blown up. We obviously were not the only ones who panicked at that point, as the stairwell was filled with people fleeing the floors above us.

A man yelled out that the top of one of the towers had fallen into the Hudson River, and that we should be calm. But panic occurred again when we got to the bottom, and we had seemed to reach a dead end. But we then realized that we had indeed reached the bottom and the front doors; but the white dust and smoke was so thick outside, that we had originally mistaken it for a white wall with nowhere to go.

We huddled in the building lobby. Several people covered in dust stumbled in, gasping for breath. One was an employee of our company, who told us that she had just gotten off the subway. They had sat between stations for an hour with no explanation of what was going on, and then were finally let out at the Wall Street exit without a clue! Thanks for riding the MTA, and have a nice day. We had to tell her that planes had hit the twin towers.

At this point, I specifically recall discussing leaving with a colleague. But there were rumors, a common occurance on Wall Street to be sure, of reports of planes that were still unaccounted for; plus there was the matter of the second tower, whose collapse we could only assume was imminent, as well as the poor air quality outside. Being inside the relative purity of an air conditioned office seemed the safer option, though the stench - that WTC odor that would become a familiar feature of NYC life for the next several weeks (even in Queens if the wind was blowing the right way), made its first appearance, seeping in through the windows and ventilation system.

We headed upstairs, back in front of the TV screen, without much of a plan as to what to do next. The Assistant Head Chef had witnessed the collapses from her window, and wanted me to leave. Then, at 10:29, what was for me the most memorably haunting moment of the day took place. I saw on the TV screen the sight of the north tower starting to topple. First the antenna at the top gave way, and - well, you all know what it looked like, I'm sure. But this time, there was no sound at all. Nothing. The north tower collapsed in absolute silence, at least in our office at 40 Wall Street. So, at first, I thought I was watching a replay of the first tower going down. Certainly, this massive structure could not possibly be imploding just six blocks away without a peep. But I heard the TV reporter solemly say, "And now the second tower collapses," with the matter-of-factness of a routine traffic report.

When I think back to that moment, the picture that comes to my mind is that of a silent movie. In slow motion, and black and white, complete with the little scratchy lines. But with no musical accompaniment at all. Someone warned those that were not watching, who were completely unaware due to the absence of sound, to be prepared for whatever would result outside. And what would result was darkness. Pitch black. As opposed to the white cloud from the first tower, the second tower collapse blackened the air so completely that it was as if someone had boarded up the windows with black cardboard. We waited nervously for the air to clear, wondering what would happen if we lost power, which certainly seemed like real possibility.

The air started to clear after about a half hour, and it was about another 90 minutes before the police came up to advise us of the evacuation route. We cut up some unused company T-shirts to use as masks, and put on colorful company hats so as to try and stay together. We walked through the dust and debris, and reached clear air as we moved east and north. And though it was a long, long walk to, and over the Williamsburg Bridge, into Brooklyn to the subway that took me back to Queens, at least I made it home. Compared to what others went through, my day was like a day at the races.

- Five years later, and, cruelly, the skies over New York are crystal clear blue, just as it was on 9/11/2001. Not long after that day, the French newspaper Le Monde declared, "We Are All Americans." Five years later, not only is that hardly the case throughout the world, but even us Americans aren't all Americans. We're Republicans or Democrats, liberals or conservatives, red or blue, for or (mostly) against the war in Iraq and the president. The damage inflicted upon this country, and the world, has gone far beyond what occurred that day. It seems ironic that with all of the brilliant minds that have populated this world, it's the words of a two-bit thief named Rodney King which come to mind today. "Can't we all just get along?" It was a simple and poignant plea for unity. On September 11, 2006, it's something that seems far, far beyond our grasp.