Dear Editor:
Things I will never forget: The smell of smoke as I exit the PATH train under the World Trade Center. The thought that I should find a PATH agent and let him know that a small track fire might be in progress. Wondering why the mezzanine was so empty, the smoke now visible. Going up the escalator still confused by the lack of people. The instant recognition that came once I reached the Mall concourse level, something was very wrong. Police are herding people southeast to the exists. Injured people are on the floor talking to police. A friend who is paralyzed by the commotion is nearby. I touched her shoulder, took hold of her hand and simply said, “It’s time to go.”
We walked due south through the mall, I started scanning the area fearing that gunmen were about to appear. Trying to help my friend navigate the as panicked people began screaming and running. Dropped coffee was everywhere, women’s lost shoes and briefcases. Trying to decide on the safest exit or nearest subway tunnel. Exiting the Building on the SE corner and seeing the debris fluttering down. Thinking that this might just be fire after all. Seeing The North Tower on fire about 80 floors up, 5 or 6 levels of exterior damage. My friend exclaiming that her office was on floor 101. Thanking God we were entering Trinity Park. Realizing the falling debris was loaded with dust, toxins, asbestos and people’s entire work lives. Discussing my friend’s plan for contacting her family, thinking I should do the same. I look back and advise her to get as far away as possible. The building fire looked bad, and the thing could collapse in the next three hours. We part, I look back again, and a loud “crack” sound erupts across the park, the South Tower’s skin bulges and suddenly explodes. A halo of fire erupts from the building about 1/3 from the top. The flames are red and black extending in all directions.
I am 300 feet away. The people in the park panic, running everywhere. I start to move down Broadway too. Nearby people are being trampled. I dive in to lift them. I still don’t know why, I am fighting to stay upright. I lift one woman and she runs away from the crowd; another man is near me also helping. We have lifted others or blocked the crowd from harming others. I pick up another woman but she can’t get her balance. I run with her, my arms under her shoulders, until she runs away to hide in an alcove. I exit the fleeing crowd to stand on Broadway. I look back at the building. A cloud of smoke is approaching. My only thought is that this is an attack of some kind. I fear choking on poison. I run for my life for the third time in 15 minutes.
At 2 Broadway I look for co-workers, but see only a few. The building is empty. I walk to Battery Park to look at the building from a safe distance. The crowd noise speaks of airplanes striking both buildings. That seems impossible to me. The South tower has a gaping hole on the south face; I can see several rows are exposed and multiple fires inside.The North tower is engulfed in flame; at least 10 floors are being consumed. I know in my heart that the buildings will both fall. I review what damage I can see and realize that anyone on the top floors of each building have no hope of egress. Despite this analysis I dismiss the statements of others claiming people are jumping from the top floors. I want to tell my wife I am ok. I return to my building and get coffee. If required to I may be tasked with emergency duties. I know I do not want to be outside when the buildings collapse. The mood of the staff is stunned disbelief.
I make several phone calls. My wife and brother confirm that two planes have struck the towers. The Pentagon has been hit too. My parents are relieved that I am ok. While on the phone a shockwave rattles the building, one tower has collapsed. Within five minutes a nighttime shroud of dust blacks out the area around the building. Ten minutes later the second tower collapses. We are being released to evacuate the area. Volunteers are assembling in the lobby. I am not prepared to help and decide to concentrate on getting home. Part of me is ashamed of this decision and will always feel so. Two staff members and I start scrounging through the office supplies for eyewear and respirators. An inch or more of ash is blanketing the area. Security is chasing us floor to floor as we gather supplies. Once we are ready we leave. We suit up. I am the only person with eye protection, but my mask is damaged. We repair it and start out. The dust and debris is everywhere, people are gathered in coffee shops staring at us. People are holding rags and kerchiefs. I am fine but think it’s unfair that I am one of the only people trained and equipped for this atmosphere.
The reality of loss is palpable. I see burned paper edited by someone possibly now dead. I have seen memorandums and day planners fall from the sky. I have come too close to dying today, and saying things will never be the same is only the beginning. I wrote this commentary the day after the attack on the World Trade Center complex. The attack started September 11, 2001 at 8:50 a.m. I still have a difficult time reconciling that I was there, surrounded by death and I am injured.
Stephen Rodgers
Hoboken