This essay, published on Sunday, September 11, 2016, is exclusive to Notablog.
This essay has been translated into Portuguese by Artur Weber and Adelina Domingos, and into Spanish by Emfurn.com, with the assistance of Joanna Davies.
[REMEMBERING THE WORLD TRADE CENTER: 2001; 2002; 2003; 2004; 2005; 2006; 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016; 2017; 2018; 2019; 2020; 2021]
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO:
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS OF A VIDEO TIME MACHINE
By Chris Matthew Sciabarra
The Twin Towers, from the Staten Island Ferry, May 12, 2001
Fifteen years. It has been fifteen
years since my city, the city of my birth, the city I still call home, was
changed forever by an attack of unbearable madness.
New Yorkers were awakening
to a beautiful late summer day; the cicadas were particularly loud, as they
always are at this time of year, their songs
echoing throughout a tranquil urban landscape. It had rained the night before---I remember
that all too clearly, because I was scheduled to go to
Yankee
Stadium to see the
Yankees face off against the
Boston Red Sox. They
had already
won three straight games---Friday, Saturday, and Sunday---against their
celebrated rivals, and we were going for a four-game sweep. But
on September 10th, the Yankee game was rained out before it began. I had
last seen the Twin Towers up close, driving a visiting friend back to Penn
Station on the weekend before September 11th, as we craned our necks upward to
see the tops of those remarkable buildings. No other opportunities presented
themselves for me to drive passed the Towers again, for a week later, they would
be no more.
Like many New York dog owners, my first order of
business of the day was to walk my dog. When I walked outside with
Blondie, I was stunned by how such a rainy Monday
had given way to such a blazingly sunny, clear Tuesday morning, with a
breathtakingly beautiful, virtually cloudless, blue sky. It was a working day,
but also the day of highly contentious primary elections for the next mayor of
the Big Apple. A heavy voter turnout was expected, for
Rudy Giuliani was at
the end of his two-term limit, and a new mayor would be elected to run City
Hall, and to take over the political reins of a metropolis that had weathered
the storms of high crime and urban blight over a controversial eight-year period
of tumultuous social and cultural change across the political landscape. A
heated mayoral race was shaping up in both of the major political parties;
Michael Bloomberg
would ultimately win the Republican Party nomination over
Herman Badillo, and
Mark Green would
ultimately win the Democratic Party nomination over
Fernando Ferrer. But
because of the events that took place on the morning of September 11, 2001, the
primaries would be postponed till September 25th. None of the Democratic
candidates received a majority of the vote on that date, and it was not until
October 11th that Mark Green beat Ferrer in a run-off; on November 6th, Green
would be defeated by Bloomberg, who would eventually dispense with that two-term
limit (a "one-time only" agreement with the City Council) and reign over the
city for three terms.
Politics, politics, politics was on the minds of so
many voters that morning. And since the polls opened at 6 a.m., many went to
cast their votes before work. Some took their children to their first day of
school. It was
a godsend to be running late for those who worked in the Twin Towers, but
who arrived at their destination after their typical 9 a.m. start. If the planes
had struck an hour later, there may have been 50,000 people in the Towers. But
two of the most iconic buildings in the world had already been struck. There was
simply no workplace to enter anytime after 9:03 a.m.
Over the years, I had
developed a habit of taping news events, in case I'd want to write about them. I
remember especially taping the full twenty-four hours of coverage devoted to
the New Year's Eve
millennium celebration, welcoming the year 2000, as broadcast on ABC
television and hosted by
Peter Jennings. There was
no Y2K apocalypse;
the Berlin Wall had fallen;
the communist menace that was once the
Soviet Union was a
thing of the past. A new century, a new millennium, had arrived with a blast of
optimism.
Nobody ever dreamed that in less than two years, that
optimism would be crushed under the weight of domestic and foreign threats that
had been growing underground for decades, awaiting for the right moments to
spring forth.
As the early morning hours progressed, I was
communicating with a friend on email. And uncharacteristically, even though I
knew it was Primary Day, I was not watching "Good
Morning America," my morning show of choice on the ABC network. A little
after 8:45 a.m., my sister called me from work; she was serving as
Deputy Superintendent of High Schools at
110 Livingston
Street, the headquarters of the
New York City Board of Education (later renamed the
NYC Department of Education, under Bloomberg). She told me that a plane had
struck the North Tower of the Trade Center and I should turn on the TV. It must
have been a terrible accident, we both reasoned.
I turned the TV on, and
simultaneously grabbed the first VHS tape I could find. It was a tape that I had
used only five days before this sun-drenched morning: a recording of the
MTV Video
Music Awards that aired on September 6, 2001. It was a particularly
memorable night, held at the
Metropolitan Opera House in New York City, because
Michael Jackson made a
surprise appearance in performance with *NSYNC of their song "Pop" [YouTube
link]. Jackson was in town recording a special in honor of his
30th anniversary in the music industry, and that special, taped from
Madison Square
Garden on September 7th and September 10th, was
later aired by CBS in
November [full concert YouTube link], featuring
a performance of "Dancing
Machine" also with *NYSNC [YouTube link]. (MJ is
one
of the famous people who avoided death on 9/11; he was due to attend a WTC
meeting that morning, but had overslept.) On the same video tape was a
documentary feature that appeared a day or two after the MTV Video Music Awards.
It was "Backstory," a production of AMC---when that channel actually showed "American
Movie Classics." The feature told the story of the making of "An
Affair to Remember," a tear-jerker of a film, starring
Cary Grant and
Deborah Kerr. In
retrospect, little irony was lost on me as I reached for this tape in
preparation for this essay, for in that
1957 film, the
Empire State Building, then the tallest building in the world, plays a key
"role" in the unfolding plot events of the love story. The documentary reminds
us how "Sleepless
in Seattle" (1993) had countless references to
the Grant-Kerr classic.
In my reviewing of all the
video tapes that I recorded of the news events of 2001 and beyond, I decided
that, for the purposes of this year's fifteenth anniversary, I would focus only
on the September 11th coverage as it unfolded on my television, in the
minute-by-minute all-day taping that I had archived for future reference.
For this essay, then, I confine myself only to the television coverage that I
watched from 8:45 a.m. until midnight on that tragic day.
And so, when I popped in
that first tape of the dozens of tapes I own of the television coverage of the
tragedy and its aftermath, I saw that as soon as the AMC "Backstory" concluded,
a startling image suddenly appeared on the screen of a helicopter view of the
North Tower of the World Trade Center, which had eclipsed the Empire State
Building of "An Affair to Remember" as one of the two tallest buildings in the
world. The tower was billowing black smoke. I was immediately transported, as if
by a Time Machine, back to that tragic morning, and I can relate here my
thoughts, feelings, and actions throughout that day by following the timeline of
what I witnessed on TV and on the streets of my hometown.
One eyewitness was on the phone with the morning anchor of "Eyewitness
News," on Channel 7,
Steve Bartelstein, who told us that we were seeing "live pictures of the
World Trade Center where a . . . [relatively small] passenger plane" had slammed
into the North Tower of the Twins. The pictures were coming from NewsCopter 7,
where we typically heard the gentle voice of
John Del Giorno
giving us a not-so-gentle picture of the city's rush hour traffic woes. "Our
minds flashed back," Bartelstein said, to that day in
February
1993 when the WTC had been rocked by a truck bomb. But this was something
entirely different.
Another eyewitness, Sandra Rodriguez, came on the
air; she said she saw a small passenger plane, "definitely not a
Cessna," heading for the
North Tower.
Winston Mitchell,
News Director and Producer of the PBS show,
"Transit-Transit News,"
was watching too; he saw the plane smash right into One World Trade Trade
Center, on the North side. It looked like the plane went right into the building
and never came out. A few moments later, it appears that a second explosion has
occurred. The commentators remark that "people are running up the street," but
they suggest that this second explosion must have been the jet's fuselage
exploding within the North Tower. But from what I saw, it seemed as if another
plane had flown into the South Tower, though I was not entirely sure what I had
just seen. Was this indeed a second plane? Or a replay of the first plane
crash? I was utterly confused and totally dumbfounded when I first saw this. And
this was only compounded by the fact that my TV screen had suddenly frozen, nine
minutes into my video recording of the events. I switched to other stations, in
search of more information, but could not get Channel 7 back immediately; I
finally settled on CNN, whose reporters clarified, with a review of their
video footage, that a second plane had indeed flown into the South Tower, which
created much more debris than the first "accident."
CNN taps into local ABC
coverage and asks Dr. Jay Adlesberg,
a regular contributor to WABC broadcasts, to speculate on what could be
happening to create this kind of navigational or electronic equipment failure.
How else could two commuter planes within 18 minutes of each other, smash into
each one of the Twin Towers on such a clear day? That this could have been a
deliberate act was something that nobody wanted to contemplate as a reasonable
explanation. CNN switches to the local Fox-affiliate, WNYW, Channel 5; now,
reporters are confirming that the second plane---two planes, in fact---have
crashed "deliberately" into the Twin Towers. "That is a very hard thing to
watch," the WNYW reporter states. The crash is shown over and over again, as if
it is on a tape loop; first in real-time speed, then in slow motion, and in
ever-slower motion. Former NTSB spokesman,
Ira Furman, who is now on the phone, states emphatically that this cannot be
an accident. It is "inexplicable," Furman says. There is great visibility out
there and no pilot, and certainly no two pilots flying two different jet planes,
could possibly smash into those buildings accidentally or by navigational
failure. Furman reminds us that there are planes that might approach within a
mile or two of the Twin Towers, especially along the Hudson, en route to landing
at LaGuardia Airport
in Queens, but it is just not possible for a pilot during the daytime to
mistakenly hit such large objects. The second aircraft was clearly heading for
the South Tower, observes Furman. It is reported that the first aircraft seems
to have flown through Westchester and across uptown Manhattan straight to its
North Tower target. But the second plane went in a southwestern direction,
speeding up as it smashed into the South Tower.
We later learn that each of the
planes that hit the Twin Towers had departed from Boston's
Logan
International Airport en route to Los Angeles.
American
Airlines Flight 11, a Boeing 767, which departed Logan at 7:59 a.m., would
hit the North Tower at 8:46 a.m.
United
Airlines Flight 175, another Boeing 767, departed Logan at 8:14 a.m., and
would hit the South Tower at 9:03 a.m. Learning of this as the day's
events unfolded, I couldn't help to let a bit of gallows humor enter my
consciousness, perhaps the only way of computing such a nightmare: the Red Sox
fans must have been pissed off that the game was rained out last night, after
losing three straight to the Yankees, and decided to take decisive action
against New York, since the Yankees were vying for their fifth World Series
appearance in six years. Alas, those Red Sox fans would soon be singing "New
York, New York" in Fenway Park, in a show of solidarity with their New York
rivals; Yankee fans returned the honor when catastrophe hit the Boston Marathon
years later, singing "Sweet
Caroline" in unity at Yankee Stadium.
At 9:17 a.m., the Associated
Press reported that the FBI investigation had not yet determined if this was a
terrorist attack, but that the NYC field office would provide information if
planes had been hijacked, perhaps, and involved in this event. CNN reports that
"rescue operations are underway," as smoke is billowing out of both buildings.
There was "just pandemonium"
and total "panic," says one of those who had escaped the North Tower; debris was
falling all over, observes Rose Arce, a CNN producer. There is no traffic on the
West Side Highway. The clock ticks toward 9:25 a.m., and the Associated Press
now reports that U.S. officials have confirmed that this, indeed, is an act of
terrorism.
Meanwhile, CNN notes that President George W. Bush is in
Sarasota, Florida, at an event promoting education reform, being held at
Emma E.
Booker Elementary School. He is made aware of the attacks by his Chief of
Staff Andrew Card, but
the President, says one reporter, has a way of letting journalists know that he
was not going to interrupt a class full of elementary school children and scare
the hell out of them and their parents. Moments later, the event concludes, and
he appears outside the school and
announces to the crowd that he will be returning to Washington, D.C.,
for an "apparent terrorist" attack has occurred in New York City. He asks for a
"moment of silence," and departs.
At 9:29 a.m., CNN reports
that trading on the markets in New York has been postponed "indefinitely." The
scene switches to Aaron Brown, now reporting on the roof of a midtown building.
This was his first day on the air at CNN; at 9:36 a.m., he observes that the
West Side of New York is in an "extraordinarily chaotic" state and that what he
sees in downtown Manhattan is simply "grotesque." One minute later, the Pentagon
is hit, but it's not until 9:40 a.m. that CNN provides a flashing "Breaking
News" announcement that there are "Reports of Fire at Pentagon." The network
interrupts a joint appearance of First Lady Laura Bush with Senator Ted Kennedy,
to report that the Pentagon is indeed being evacuated, and that smoke is rising
hundreds of yards into the air. On the scene,
Greta van Susteren
reports that there was a huge noise, which could have been a plane or a bomb,
but a large plume of smoke had emerged from the Pentagon and the situation was
becoming chaotic.
By 9:43 a.m., the chaos is spreading throughout the
country. The growing fear is palpable among reporters, those they interview, and
viewers at home. At least this viewer.
The phone rings; it's my
sister again, I am reminded that she needs her asthma medication, and that I
have to get to the pharmacy, just a few blocks from our home. I kept the video
tape running, but I took my Sony
Walkman---remember those?---which was a compact cassette player with an
AM/FM transistor radio. I walked down the flight of stairs from our apartment,
the second floor of a two-family house. And as I neared Kings Highway, walking
toward our local pharmacy, I looked to the North sky. On a clear day, one could
sometimes actually see the top of the Twin Towers from this vantage point; but
the clear day was gone. Dark smoke was beginning to move toward Brooklyn like an
ominous cloud. Entering
Kingsway Pharmacy, I chatted with Alex, its owner, while I waited for the
prescription to be filled. We were both in shock over the events that had
transpired.
I tell him that the announcer on the all-news radio
station WINS 1010 AM
has just informed us that the FAA has grounded all air traffic nationwide. It
was 9:53 a.m. and the station is now confirming that a plane slammed into the
Pentagon (we later learn it was
American
Airlines Flight 77, a Boeing 757-223, having departed from Washington D.C.'s
Dulles Airport, that struck the Pentagon). The White House, the Capitol, the
Treasury and State Department buildings are all being evacuated since they have
been designated as credible targets of planes still unaccounted for. Alex and I
are both clearly shaken by the news. For the first time, I hear the name of
Osama bin Laden
uttered; he is known for funding and staging spectacular "coordinated" attacks
against the perceived enemies of Islam. When my sister's prescription was ready,
I left the pharmacy, gave Alex a hug, and started walking back toward my home.
I suddenly heard a horrific crashing, rumbling sound in my earphones, the WINS
reporter screaming at the top of her lungs that the South Tower was coming down,
creating an explosive cloud of debris. My heart began to race, and my legs took
me right back into the pharmacy, where I told Alex that the South Tower had
collapsed. Practically in tears, I regained my composure, and again began
walking slowly, listening to the radio, and not realizing that the pace at which
I was walking was increasing with each step. I was soon jogging, and then
running, back home. This gigantic black cloud was almost cascading toward
Brooklyn. I ran up the stairs into my apartment and by 10:05 am, I was back
behind closed doors. But the safety of home hardly provided me with any feeling
of security.
My VCR was still taping and CNN was reporting that
the Sears Tower in Chicago was being evacuated. Panic seemed to take over the
country; my only comfort was knowing that
my brother Carl and sister-in-law
Joanne were a few doors away, and that my dog Blondie was in my arms. I had
a feeling of overwhelming vulnerability, a feeling that I had not known before.
The TV screen was showing me
a picture of southern Manhattan completely engulfed in smoke. Rose Arce, the CNN
producer, summarizes the events she has just witnessed: the South Tower seemed
to buckle, people were jumping from the towers. And then the building just
collapsed, disappeared, creating a cloud of ever-growing debris that looked like
something out of a science fiction film.
It is in the nature of these
unfolding incidents that some reports will be erroneous. One such report came in
at 10:12 a.m., that some kind of explosion had occurred on Capitol Hill. Or
perhaps outside the State Department. Five minutes later, we learn there were no
explosions after all. But unbeknownst to us at this time,
United
Airlines Flight 93, a 757 that had departed from Newark International
Airport at 8:42 a.m., also Los Angeles-bound, had already crashed into a field
in Shanksville, Pennsylvania at 10:03 a.m., due to the heroic efforts of its
passengers, who knew they were doomed but would not go down without a fight to
retake the plane.
I switch back to Channel 7.
An Eyewitness News "Special Report" is in progress; I learn that all Hudson
River Bridges and tunnels are closed, all mass transit into and out of Manhattan
has been suspended. There is no bus service to Penn Station; over time, we learn
that a veritable fleet of boats operated voluntarily by complete strangers were
picking people up in lower Manhattan and getting them to their destinations in
the outer boroughs and in New Jersey. Three area high schools were evacuated;
some schools were identified as triage centers for the injured, and only parents
would be allowed to pick up their children from schools. But the anchors on the
air are now warning us that it "appears that the North Tower is leaning." John
DelGiorno, still in NewsCopter 7, can't confirm it. The fire is obviously
spreading upward, consuming all the floors---and the people---above the point of
impact.
The clock ticks to 10:28 a.m. and the North Tower
begins to collapse, pancaking down in front of my eyes. It is too horrible to
watch; "this is just so tragic . . . it is so horrific," the anchors say. What
else can they say? They don't know what to advise young children who might be
watching these scenes at home; indeed, they don't know what to advise adults who
are watching these scenes at home. And with the loss of the antenna on the North
Tower, they've now lost radio contact with DelGiorno. "It is just so surreal;
we're trying to talk, but words cannot describe what we are seeing." The
reporters are relying on cell phone hook-ups and walkie-talkies to communicate
with their studios.
At about 11:30 am, having urged my sister to come
home, I had to walk my dog
Blondie. Nature knows no restrictions. My brother had exited his home too,
just a few doors down, almost simultaneously. We could hear the roar of F-16s
flying above. And it was snowing heavily in
Brooklyn. On a warm, late summer day in September. My brother Carl said aloud,
"I don't know what this is, but it can't be good." It was in fact a mixture of
concrete, toxic debris, and pulverized human ash.
Blondie did her
thing, and we got back into the house swiftly.
I was beyond numb. My sister
worked with others at the Board of Education to connect with those schools in
lower Manhattan that were being evacuated. To the credit of hundreds of
administrators, teachers, and others, not a single student was lost, not even
those who were close to the carnage at the WTC. There were even reports (later
proved false) of a bomb in
Stuyvesant High School, on the periphery of the WTC site. My sister didn't
get home till well after 11 pm, more than twelve hours after I had started
watching this unfolding nightmare on television. Before dawn, she was back on
the job. She told me that she saw hundreds of people walking across the Brooklyn
Bridge, away from an area that appeared to be covered in the dust of a nuclear
winter. She saw thousands of papers flooding downtown Brooklyn, and whole,
thick, intact law books that had been explosively propelled across the East
River, perhaps from one of the law offices at the WTC.
Throughout the day and into
that night, I did my share of channel surfing, watching every channel from the
local networks to the cable news outlets to ESPN and TNT, which were streaming
local coverage. Everyone from Matt Lauer, Katie Couric, Tom Brokaw and the late
Tim Russert on NBC to Charlie Gibson, Diane Sawyer, and the late Peter Jennings
on ABC, all of whom were summarizing the day's events, were replaying those
shots of the second plane smashing into the South Tower, the two Towers afire,
the debris and people falling from the top floors, the incredible collapse of
the two buildings, and in the late afternoon,
the collapse of 7
World Trade Center. Around 8:30 p.m.,
the President addressed the nation from the Oval Office, pledging to bring
justice to those who were responsible for these atrocities, and to make "no
distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and those who harbor
them." By late night, footage is found showing the first plane
smashing into the North Tower. The overall emerging consensus was that these
attacks were the likely work of crazed Islamic fundamentalists, who had warned
the West just three weeks prior to September 11th, that an "unprecedented"
attack on U.S. interests would occur. Unfolding on the local ABC affiliate was
film of spontaneous gatherings in Palestinian territories in the Middle East,
where people were celebrating the deadly attacks.
James Wooley, former
head of the CIA, was already speculating that this could have been an amalgam of
two plots, involving, perhaps, Bin Laden, the Iraqis, or even the Iranians. By
September 14, 2001,
the President stood on the pile at Ground Zero, among rescue workers,
promising that "the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us
soon."
But what we saw over the next
hours, days, and weeks, was not invading armies seeking justice in foreign
lands, but an army of first responders assisted by hundreds of
volunteers who had joined the rescue and recovery efforts. So many people had
volunteered that the mayor was imploring prospective volunteers to stay home,
for there were more than enough people who had already come to Ground Zero to
assist their fellow New Yorkers. But the help offered among those who had
survived the tragedy went beyond the clean-up. Indeed, for days after the
tragedy, we would see the tears streaming down the face of
Howard Luttnick, the CEO of the financial services company
Cantor
Fitzgerald, which lost 658 of the 960 employees who worked at the firm;
on that day, Luttnick was given renewed purpose, and ultimately provided the victim's
families with 25% of the firm's profits for five years, and full health
insurance for the decade that followed.
In some respects, those 102
minutes from the first strike of the North Tower at 8:46 a.m. to the collapse of
that tower at 10:28 a.m., felt like 102 hours, as if everything were moving in
slow motion. But those 102 minutes also sped by. And the memories are still so
vivid, as if everything happened yesterday. There isn't a day that passes where
something does not remind me of 9/11. It could be a plane in the sky or
in the Hudson; it could
be news of other terrorist incidents at home and abroad. An out-of-town visitor
once asked me if New Yorkers will ever "get over it." Well, maybe in
places like Panama City, Florida,
Walmart can get away with Coca Cola store displays in the shape of the Twin
Towers. Or maybe in San Antonio, Texas, you can air "Miracle
Mattress" ads [YouTube link] for a "Twin Tower Sale" that spoofs the
collapse of the WTC. In both cases, you can soften the spoof with a 'we'll never
forget' message, but perhaps I'm just one of those arrogant (or overly
sentimental) New Yorkers who still sees this city as the center of the universe.
So I'm a little sensitive about people telling us to "get over it." The lack of
taste and commonsense on display in advertising never ceases to amaze me.
Nevertheless, you have to have a sense of humor if you live in this city. And
I've never lacked for a sense of humor. Even I can laugh to the point of tears
over Chris Rock's SNL
monologue [YouTube link] on the terror at the Boston marathon or the
potential problems with the new Freedom Tower. But no, New Yorkers have never
gotten over it (and at least that
Texas commercial sparked national outrage).
September 11th was the most horrific catastrophe
I've ever witnessed or experienced in my entire life.
Let us contemplate
a few statistics:
"The number of people believed to have been killed in the World Trade Center
attack hovers around 2,780, three years after the attack. [In
actuality, the attacks on September 11th "killed 2,996 people and injured
more than 6,000 people."] "No trace has been identified for about half the
victims, despite the use of advanced DNA techniques to identify individuals. Six
weeks after the attack only 425 people had been identified. A year after the
attack, only half of the victims had been identified. 19,906 remains were
recovered from Ground Zero, 4,735 of which were identified. Up to 200 remains
were linked to a single person. Of the 1,401 people identified, 673 of the IDs
were based on DNA alone. Only 293 intact bodies were found. Only twelve could be
identified by sight."
Among the 2,996 dead were 343 FDNY firefighters (including two paramedics
and chaplain
Mychal Judge), 37 police officers of the Port Authority of New York and New
Jersey Police Department, 23 NYPD police officers, and 8 emergency medical
technicians and paramedics. Included in that total of 2,996 are the 19 hijackers
who brought death and destruction to the other 2,977 people. Fortunately,
political correctness has not compelled us to include their names in the many
memorials that have been erected to honor the dead.
But
these numbers tell us only part of the 9/11 story. Among those who were injured
and who were first responders to the events of 9/11, more than 21,000 people
filed eligibility claims under the
September 11th Victims Compensation Fund by 2015; the bulk of the approved
claims were those of first responders, many of whom
contracted cancers most likely from Ground Zero toxic debris. In fact, we
can add
a confirmed 127 FDNY deaths to the total of the nearly 3,000 who were murdered,
and perhaps a total of 150 to 200 additional deaths among first responders who died of various respiratory
and lung diseases, and over 50 forms of cancer, all most likely the result of
sustained contact with poisonous toxins in the months of clean-up that followed
the attacks. Just this past week, 17 more names were added to the FDNY wall of
memory, 17 more lives now confirmed to have been snuffed out by the
after-effects of diseases caused by Ground Zero toxins.
It was a brave NYPD officer, James
Zadroga, for whom the Zadroga Act was named; he was the
first person to die of a respiratory disease attributed to his rescue and
recovery efforts at Ground Zero. Whatever one thinks of the Act or the
Compensation Fund is irrelevant to the fact that James Zadroga is the name of
a real individual who died due to his heroism as a first responder. Behind every one of those numbers is another real individual.
And statistics never provide us with the full picture. Which is why watching
these images from the television coverage on September 11th, as I did last week,
provides us with a more enriched snapshot in time. The old adage that a picture
tells a thousand words could never be truer for the carnage we witnessed on
9/11. I cannot begin to communicate to young teens who were just born or not yet
born when this attack took place just how horrific, how beyond terrifying it was
to see people jumping out of the upper floors of the Twin Towers; one cannot
begin to imagine the kind of inferno that was engulfing them within their former
offices, and how some made conscious decisions to jump because jumping was
preferable to dying in that inferno.
I have to say that the
closest I've ever come to a feeling of wanting to jump out a window was when a
fire broke out in my apartment on
October 10, 2013. Ironically, during the day's coverage of September 11th,
firefighters reported that the visibility in downtown Manhattan was like being
inside of a house fire, filled with blinding smoke, except you were outside. I
thought of exactly that analogy when my own apartment caught fire from an
overturned tea candle. On that night, I was watching a baseball playoff game in
my room, a tea candle flickering as the air conditioner cooled the area. I
walked out on a commercial break and heard something burst. I ran back into my
room, and saw that the tea candle had somehow tipped over, and a slim line of
fire was traveling up four cardboard file boxes several feet away. I screamed
out to my sister, who had just had surgery to repair a broken wrist. She quickly
ran to my room, and got on a ladder, as I ran back and forth from the tub,
filling pots of water to douse the fire. While I was on the phone with Emergency
911, I heard the FDNY fire engines approaching, the closest firehouse less than
10 blocks away from my home. I've never seen young men throwing their lives into
danger the way they did. I could have kissed every last one of them for saving
our apartment and saving our lives. The fire marshal later told us that fire
expands at the rate of five times its intensity every 20 to 30 seconds; we had
less than a minute before the fire would have hit my library, a veritable
tinderbox awaiting ignition. We would have lost our apartment, the lives of the
tenants below us, the house we lived in, and our own lives. The smoke was so
thick I could not see one quarter of an inch in front of my face; I was
convinced I would hear a thump---either my own body hitting the floor or the body
of my sister, just from smoke inhalation. When the marshal identified the tea
candle as the source of the fire, he looked at me, holding it in his hand, and
told me: "These things keep us in business." We sustained
enormous damage from that fire, but we were alive to talk about it. And I
must confess, I've never lit another candle in my home, except the kind you blow
out, right after singing "Happy Birthday."
If I had to jump from the
second story of a two-family house, I would have. I don't know how on earth to
place this in the context of buildings that were 110 stories high; I have no way
of computing in my mind the level of intense burning heat, heavy smoke, debris
and death all around, and contemplating a jump to certain death when one was
facing certain death by not jumping at all. Those pictures of people jumping to
their deaths, some of them holding hands as they leaped, are
seared into my
consciousness.
September 11, 2001 remains a date etched into our collective memory as New Yorkers, as human beings. And that is why what started as a report of events "As It Happened" has turned into an annual series in remembrance of those whose lives were snuffed out, those who perished in my hometown, in Washington, D. C., and in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.
September 11, 2001 left wounds that have scarred the human souls of those who have survived to pick up the literal pieces of the loved ones who were lost. In too many horrible cases, those who survived never had pieces of their loved ones to pick up, so-to-speak, to identify, or to touch. Some were lucky enough to have their loved ones identified by a single singed part of an esophagus. But there are pieces that remain entombed below Ground Zero, in the hopes that future generations with more accurate instruments of genetic discovery might be able to identify the remains of the dead. More than half of the bodies of nearly 3000 murdered people were pulverized by the collapsing towers; their screams were almost heard as a choral lamentation as the floors pancaked down. Their ashes rained over the East River and onto the streets of Brooklyn, as the winds swept southward. I will never forget this day. I will never forget those whose lives were lost. The people we knew. And the people we never had the chance to meet.
~~~~~~~~~~~
On September 1st of this year, I had the occasion to pick up yet another prescription from the same pharmacy I had gone to on September 11, 2001. There was Alex, still, this time with a huge lipstick mark on his right cheek, planted there by his wonderful wife, Lana, the greatest pharmacist one could ever hope to have, all in honor of his birthday. Alex, Lana, and their wonderful family have been dispensing health to my family for years now, and they have become like an extended family to all of us; so I kissed him on the other cheek, for his birthday, and I gave him a big Brooklyn hug, in honor of our friendship, the bonds of which first deepened on that dark day.
Perhaps that is the most beautiful thing to have emerged from such tragedy; that New Yorkers met one another on a field of battle, and showed the world what this city is made of, something that will outlast any attacks, any harm, any pain, any hatred that is thrown our way. I remain uplifted by the spirit of friendship, and the bonds that were forged among strangers on that day, something made all the more apparent by my viewing of those tapes I recorded on September 11, 2001 and its aftermath. It was an event that showed the world that New York will always be the center of the universe, at least any universe that honors courage, bravery, heroism, love, and life.