9.11.2001 Remembered
Walking down the hall at Fairchild Publications in midtown, Gil Pivetta stops me and says "Looks like they might have to evacuate Manhattan." Not understanding his statement, I ask what he's talking about.
"Didn't you hear?" Gil asks, "A plane just hit the World Trade Center."
In my mind's eye, I envision an errant Cessna or other small plane striking the building, but not doing much damage--certainly not major structural damage.
"No," Gil says, "it was a jet...a big one...a passenger jet."
Both of us head to the advertising pagination work area, where Anne Leonard is listening to a radio with other staffers gathered around. Despite the fact we're in the middle of New York City--in a newspaper office, no less--there are no televisions at Fairchild Publications, only a radio.
Outbound cell phone calls continue to go through, so we begin phoning family to let people know we're OK. When I phone home, Kathie tells me she's seen the news on TV and says she's worried.
I'm reminded of "War of the Worlds" as this real-life drama unfolds before us, envisioning my parents gathered around the radio, tensely believing Martians were attacking. Although it is surreal, I know this is no fictional story.
Minutes after gathering by Anne's radio, we hear a second plane has hit the other tower. A short time later we hear another plane has hit the Pentagon and yet another plane is rumored to have hit the White House. Rumors fly left and right on the radio, some claiming the Golden Gate Bridge also has been hit. We realize our nation is under attack.
My colleagues, Carol and Brenda, attempt to continue working, but it's futile. We search the Internet for news beyond what we're getting on the radio. CBS.com and CNN.com offer more than other sites, but still precious little. The towers are just a few miles south of where we're sitting, causing us to wonder how safe we are in midtown.
Brenda's fiance is an editor in Tampa, so she phones him every few minutes for updates. In his newsroom in Florida, he knows more about what's going on in Manhattan than we do.
About 10:30 a.m., news comes over the radio that one of the towers has collapsed. Inside my head, I hear the screams of thousands of people trapped in the building. Having lived in New York years ago, I recall an arcane fact from a tour guide saying the two towers are like a small city, with up to 50,000 people working in them each day. I can't imagine the massive death toll south of us. Then comes the grim news that the second tower has collapsed.
At this point, everyone at Fairchild is fixated on the news, wondering about family and friends, whether they worked in the World Trade Center or not. Fairchild's other Manhattan facility is across the street from the Empire State Building, another likely target. People start wondering how they are going to get home...if it is safe to go home.
Some people leave the building, but most walk around in a daze, attempting to concentrate on work, but to no avail. Carol goes across the street at one point to our hotel, but returns a short time later. It's too depressing to watch on TV, she says, so she came back, hoping to occupy her mind with work-related tasks.
Mid-afternoon we decide to venture outside, as it's past our normal lunchtime and we're feeling a bit hungry. A sandwich shop is downstairs and we agree it's best not to stray too far from Fairchild's offices. Walking outside, it's a beautiful autumn day, warm but not hot and not a cloud in the sky. As we round the corner, we hear the deep-throated roar of military jets circling Manhattan. Coming onto Broadway, I'm struck by the absence of traffic. All I hear is sirens.
I walk into the middle of Broadway, just south of 42nd Street and Times Square, about 2 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. Standing in the middle lane, there's no traffic, no hustle and bustle, no danger of being hit by a car. Looking south, I see smoke rising from where the World Trade Center had stood until that morning. The occasional police car and fire truck head south, sirens wailing, but mostly, it's eerily silent. The few people on the streets are walking slowly, dazed and stunned.
I'm struck by how kind everyone is. Knowing New York as I do, this is atypical. Everyone treats everyone else as they would family members. There's a common bond that we're all in this together.
Returning to Fairchild's offices with our sandwiches, the building management has erected a security desk and checks everyone coming into the building. We have our Fairchild identity passes, so we're admitted. Everyone is on edge, though, not knowing what to expect next.
Fairchild's senior management decides to close down for the day. There's no subway service, no buses, no taxis in the area, so everyone wonders how they will get home. Some people live in Brooklyn, others in New Jersey, others out on Long Island. Those with cars are somewhat more lucky, but even they will have a difficult time returning home, as the tunnels are closed and traffic is badly snarled around the bridges out of the city.
My company's management is also concerned about Carol, Brenda and me. Scott and Bill both phone us and tell us to get out of New York, not worrying about the cost or the method. We return to our hotel across the street, ostensibly to pack and leave, but decide to meet in the bar to plan our exit strategy.
Leaving tomorrow, we determine, is likely to be less of a problem than attempting to get out today. We've still got our hotel rooms and it's late in the day, so we decide to stay put. Brenda is more shaken than Carol and is trying desperately to get a rental car.
Craving spiritual solace, I decide to walk a few blocks to St. Patrick's Cathedral and invite Carol and Brenda to accompany me. Carol says she'll go with me, but Brenda stays in the hotel. As we walk toward the cathedral, Carol and I pass the big white tents put up for Fashion Week, as it's called. Fairchild's primary publication is Women's Wear Daily, so Fashion Week is a biggie for them. New clothing designs seem so mundane right now.
Entering the cathedral and joining dozens of other people, Carol and I slip into a pew. I kneel and pray, thinking again about the casualties and again hearing their screams as the building collapses around them. Later, Carol and I walk around the perimeter of the cathedral. I think it's her first visit, so we look at statues and side altars. The whole time, I drift in and out of prayer.
Returning to the street, we search for an open restaurant and find a buffet-style place in the upper 40s. Hardly anyone is there, so we select our dinner and pick a table. Eating quietly, largely keeping to ourselves, Carol and I finish dining still dazed by the day's events.
We eventually return to the hotel and finalize our plans with Brenda for the next day. I contact my brother Jeff, who is working in Princeton, NJ that week. He's got a pickup truck with a full tank of gas, so we plan to meet Wednesday morning at the ferry dock in Weehawken for the drive back to Cleveland. Brenda has reserved a rental car, so she and Carol will drive to New Jersey to meet up with Frank, working at North Jersey Media Group. Together, the three of them they will drive back to Florida. Steve and Pete, working at NJMG with Jamie, decide to remain.
Carol, Brenda and I exchange hugs and best wishes, as we will depart separately in the morning. I spend the remainder of the evening in my room, talking to Kathie and Jeff about our return home, surfing the web checking ferry schedules and getting news of the day, and attempting to reach my friend and former boss Frank, who lives on the upper east side.
Upon rising Sept. 12, I check out of the hotel quite early, taking an apple from the basket at the front desk, not knowing how easy or difficult it might be to get breakfast that day. I need to walk to a ferry terminal on the Hudson River near the Jacob Javits Center. It's a fairly straight shot, but it's a long walk nevertheless, especially since I'm wearing dress shoes and lugging a suitcase and briefcase.
Walking west from Times Square, the streets are mostly deserted. Passing a fire station, I see a small cluster of firefighters sitting in the open doorway, the weariness showing on their faces. I am tempted to visit and thank them for their efforts yesterday, but decide the men probably need their rest now and don't need to be reminded of the tough job they had faced with such great resolve.
Aboard the ferry nearly everyone is silent and, as the boat slips away from its moorings and moves into the river, passengers crowd the railings on the port side, facing southward. It's our first glimpse of the skyline of lower Manhattan. A tower of smoke still rises from the World Trade Center site. For me, it's the first time I've seen New York without the trade center since my first visit in eighth grade, back in the spring of 1969.
Landing in Weehawken, I buy copies of The New York Times, Newsday and The Star-Ledger, all with second-coming headlines screaming about the attacks. Jeff is on my cell phone saying he is at the top of the bluff overlooking the ferry dock, so we meet quickly, give each other a warm hug and depart for Cleveland.
Driving across New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Ohio gives us plenty of time for talking about the attacks, what each of us has heard (including the fact that the plane which crashed in rural Pennsylvania had turned over Cleveland airspace, causing panic at home), our mutual experiences and America's likely response. Just like yesterday, it's a beautiful sunny day. No jet contrails are in the sky today, though, and America is a different place.
* * *
Postscript: My colleagues and I returned to Manhattan several weeks later to finish our software installation at Fairchild Publications. We heard the stories of Anne and Debbie, Cheryl and Gil, Joanne and Keith. Some of them had walked all the way home, others had been diverted well out of their way. Their offices across the street from the Empire State Building had been evacuated several times since 9/11 because of false alarms. Life wasn't the same, but it was returning to some semblance of normalcy in a post-9/11 world.
To this day, whenever I speak with one of these friends from Fairchild, as well as Carol or Brenda, there's an unspoken bond...a personal warmth...that only seems to exist among people who have shared such a tragedy in each other's company.
"Didn't you hear?" Gil asks, "A plane just hit the World Trade Center."
In my mind's eye, I envision an errant Cessna or other small plane striking the building, but not doing much damage--certainly not major structural damage.
"No," Gil says, "it was a jet...a big one...a passenger jet."
Both of us head to the advertising pagination work area, where Anne Leonard is listening to a radio with other staffers gathered around. Despite the fact we're in the middle of New York City--in a newspaper office, no less--there are no televisions at Fairchild Publications, only a radio.
Outbound cell phone calls continue to go through, so we begin phoning family to let people know we're OK. When I phone home, Kathie tells me she's seen the news on TV and says she's worried.
I'm reminded of "War of the Worlds" as this real-life drama unfolds before us, envisioning my parents gathered around the radio, tensely believing Martians were attacking. Although it is surreal, I know this is no fictional story.
Minutes after gathering by Anne's radio, we hear a second plane has hit the other tower. A short time later we hear another plane has hit the Pentagon and yet another plane is rumored to have hit the White House. Rumors fly left and right on the radio, some claiming the Golden Gate Bridge also has been hit. We realize our nation is under attack.
My colleagues, Carol and Brenda, attempt to continue working, but it's futile. We search the Internet for news beyond what we're getting on the radio. CBS.com and CNN.com offer more than other sites, but still precious little. The towers are just a few miles south of where we're sitting, causing us to wonder how safe we are in midtown.
Brenda's fiance is an editor in Tampa, so she phones him every few minutes for updates. In his newsroom in Florida, he knows more about what's going on in Manhattan than we do.
About 10:30 a.m., news comes over the radio that one of the towers has collapsed. Inside my head, I hear the screams of thousands of people trapped in the building. Having lived in New York years ago, I recall an arcane fact from a tour guide saying the two towers are like a small city, with up to 50,000 people working in them each day. I can't imagine the massive death toll south of us. Then comes the grim news that the second tower has collapsed.
At this point, everyone at Fairchild is fixated on the news, wondering about family and friends, whether they worked in the World Trade Center or not. Fairchild's other Manhattan facility is across the street from the Empire State Building, another likely target. People start wondering how they are going to get home...if it is safe to go home.
Some people leave the building, but most walk around in a daze, attempting to concentrate on work, but to no avail. Carol goes across the street at one point to our hotel, but returns a short time later. It's too depressing to watch on TV, she says, so she came back, hoping to occupy her mind with work-related tasks.
Mid-afternoon we decide to venture outside, as it's past our normal lunchtime and we're feeling a bit hungry. A sandwich shop is downstairs and we agree it's best not to stray too far from Fairchild's offices. Walking outside, it's a beautiful autumn day, warm but not hot and not a cloud in the sky. As we round the corner, we hear the deep-throated roar of military jets circling Manhattan. Coming onto Broadway, I'm struck by the absence of traffic. All I hear is sirens.
I walk into the middle of Broadway, just south of 42nd Street and Times Square, about 2 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. Standing in the middle lane, there's no traffic, no hustle and bustle, no danger of being hit by a car. Looking south, I see smoke rising from where the World Trade Center had stood until that morning. The occasional police car and fire truck head south, sirens wailing, but mostly, it's eerily silent. The few people on the streets are walking slowly, dazed and stunned.
I'm struck by how kind everyone is. Knowing New York as I do, this is atypical. Everyone treats everyone else as they would family members. There's a common bond that we're all in this together.
Returning to Fairchild's offices with our sandwiches, the building management has erected a security desk and checks everyone coming into the building. We have our Fairchild identity passes, so we're admitted. Everyone is on edge, though, not knowing what to expect next.
Fairchild's senior management decides to close down for the day. There's no subway service, no buses, no taxis in the area, so everyone wonders how they will get home. Some people live in Brooklyn, others in New Jersey, others out on Long Island. Those with cars are somewhat more lucky, but even they will have a difficult time returning home, as the tunnels are closed and traffic is badly snarled around the bridges out of the city.
My company's management is also concerned about Carol, Brenda and me. Scott and Bill both phone us and tell us to get out of New York, not worrying about the cost or the method. We return to our hotel across the street, ostensibly to pack and leave, but decide to meet in the bar to plan our exit strategy.
Leaving tomorrow, we determine, is likely to be less of a problem than attempting to get out today. We've still got our hotel rooms and it's late in the day, so we decide to stay put. Brenda is more shaken than Carol and is trying desperately to get a rental car.
Craving spiritual solace, I decide to walk a few blocks to St. Patrick's Cathedral and invite Carol and Brenda to accompany me. Carol says she'll go with me, but Brenda stays in the hotel. As we walk toward the cathedral, Carol and I pass the big white tents put up for Fashion Week, as it's called. Fairchild's primary publication is Women's Wear Daily, so Fashion Week is a biggie for them. New clothing designs seem so mundane right now.
Entering the cathedral and joining dozens of other people, Carol and I slip into a pew. I kneel and pray, thinking again about the casualties and again hearing their screams as the building collapses around them. Later, Carol and I walk around the perimeter of the cathedral. I think it's her first visit, so we look at statues and side altars. The whole time, I drift in and out of prayer.
Returning to the street, we search for an open restaurant and find a buffet-style place in the upper 40s. Hardly anyone is there, so we select our dinner and pick a table. Eating quietly, largely keeping to ourselves, Carol and I finish dining still dazed by the day's events.
We eventually return to the hotel and finalize our plans with Brenda for the next day. I contact my brother Jeff, who is working in Princeton, NJ that week. He's got a pickup truck with a full tank of gas, so we plan to meet Wednesday morning at the ferry dock in Weehawken for the drive back to Cleveland. Brenda has reserved a rental car, so she and Carol will drive to New Jersey to meet up with Frank, working at North Jersey Media Group. Together, the three of them they will drive back to Florida. Steve and Pete, working at NJMG with Jamie, decide to remain.
Carol, Brenda and I exchange hugs and best wishes, as we will depart separately in the morning. I spend the remainder of the evening in my room, talking to Kathie and Jeff about our return home, surfing the web checking ferry schedules and getting news of the day, and attempting to reach my friend and former boss Frank, who lives on the upper east side.
Upon rising Sept. 12, I check out of the hotel quite early, taking an apple from the basket at the front desk, not knowing how easy or difficult it might be to get breakfast that day. I need to walk to a ferry terminal on the Hudson River near the Jacob Javits Center. It's a fairly straight shot, but it's a long walk nevertheless, especially since I'm wearing dress shoes and lugging a suitcase and briefcase.
Walking west from Times Square, the streets are mostly deserted. Passing a fire station, I see a small cluster of firefighters sitting in the open doorway, the weariness showing on their faces. I am tempted to visit and thank them for their efforts yesterday, but decide the men probably need their rest now and don't need to be reminded of the tough job they had faced with such great resolve.
Aboard the ferry nearly everyone is silent and, as the boat slips away from its moorings and moves into the river, passengers crowd the railings on the port side, facing southward. It's our first glimpse of the skyline of lower Manhattan. A tower of smoke still rises from the World Trade Center site. For me, it's the first time I've seen New York without the trade center since my first visit in eighth grade, back in the spring of 1969.
Landing in Weehawken, I buy copies of The New York Times, Newsday and The Star-Ledger, all with second-coming headlines screaming about the attacks. Jeff is on my cell phone saying he is at the top of the bluff overlooking the ferry dock, so we meet quickly, give each other a warm hug and depart for Cleveland.
Driving across New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Ohio gives us plenty of time for talking about the attacks, what each of us has heard (including the fact that the plane which crashed in rural Pennsylvania had turned over Cleveland airspace, causing panic at home), our mutual experiences and America's likely response. Just like yesterday, it's a beautiful sunny day. No jet contrails are in the sky today, though, and America is a different place.
* * *
Postscript: My colleagues and I returned to Manhattan several weeks later to finish our software installation at Fairchild Publications. We heard the stories of Anne and Debbie, Cheryl and Gil, Joanne and Keith. Some of them had walked all the way home, others had been diverted well out of their way. Their offices across the street from the Empire State Building had been evacuated several times since 9/11 because of false alarms. Life wasn't the same, but it was returning to some semblance of normalcy in a post-9/11 world.
To this day, whenever I speak with one of these friends from Fairchild, as well as Carol or Brenda, there's an unspoken bond...a personal warmth...that only seems to exist among people who have shared such a tragedy in each other's company.
posted by Joe Wollet at 9:17 PM
2 Comments:
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Working on a project in Princeton, NJ, I normally would have flown. This trip was fairly short notice and flights were quite expensive. Besides the fact that there was some small material that needed to be shipped to the site. I suggested to my boss that I rent a truck and drive. He agreed that my plan was a good one.
The first thing that I heard was from one of the electricians on site. He came running out of the building yelling, “a plane just hit the Pentagon”. I went over to my rental truck and turned on the radio. It wasn’t more that a few minutes later before I heard that the World trade Center had already been hit. One of the other electricians started to worry because his sister worked in the Trade Center. I’ll never forget what a helpless feeling that everyone had. Needless to say, the project shut down.
I thought that maybe I should head back toward Philly. The crew that I was supervising was from Philly and I wasn’t really sure where I was going. All I new was I wanted out of the East Coast. While driving on Route 1 it started backing up into a parking lot. I was getting a bit claustrophobic. I put the truck in 4-wheel drive and drove down the embankment and got off the highway. I think that my 4-wheeling experience was paying off.
I decided to find somewhere to pull over and call my dad to let him know that I was ok. He told me that Joe was in NYC and that Kathie was worried. I called Joe. It was good to hear his voice. We made plans later that evening to meet in Weehawken, NJ in the morning. I called by boss and him know what was going on. He backed up every decision I made.
I found another hotel that was off of Route 1 but closer than Princeton. I checked in and then went shopping. I found a Wal-Mart nearby. I had my shopping list made out.
Gas cans (2)
Maps (Somerset, Middlesex, Bergen, Essex, Hudson, Passaic Counties)
Ammo (9mm)
Water
Beef Jerky
I filled up the gas cans at one of the local full serve stations. The maps were just in case the interstates were closed. I was going to find my way one way or another with that truck. The ammo, well I usually don’t carry when I travel for work, but on the East Coast, it’s just another tool in the toolbox. Not that a handgun would hold up to a jet airplane or anything. I just wasn’t sure. The water and jerky, you can figure that out.
Now back at the hotel I tried to sleep. I barely slept a wink. I was up early and checked out. On my way to get my Bro. I felt like I was on a commando mission. Nothing was going to stop me and was taking no prisoners.
Getting closer to New York I saw plenty of helicopters and aircraft all of which were military. Driving up I95 I could see the smoke. Such a terrible feeling in my stomach. I could smell it before I could see it. I always did have a sense for smell. I used to tell my parents when I was a little kid that I could smell fire trucks. Now I knew why.
I finally get to Weehawken, I find my way down the hill and spot Joe right away. I stop the truck; jump out and we hug. It was good to hold him. I was there to bring him home.
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