September 11, 2006

Spent much of the morning near the site, shuttling between press interviews for the book and looking down into that sacred, scarred space. Family members of the deceased were everywhere in the streets, walkways, lobbies: from firefighters and military men in their dress uniforms to two dozen "Friends of Emily," in matching T-shirts. The reading of the names, this year, seemed as painful as it had on that first anniversary. The A's then the H's then the M's and N's seemed to take up not minutes, but seasons. Every time I thought I heard the growl of a far-off aircraft, I would recoil a little.

And the sky, the morning, the air itself was as fresh and autumnal as they had been on that day long gone.

It is better, I think, to let others speak today. Here, then, are some messages from my in-box...

From John Yohalem, of New York City:
My recollection of that day, and of the first one or two that followed, is of a numbness all over New York. No one was terribly excited or ill-tempered. A daze; a holiday. I live in the West Village, about a half-mile north of Ground Zero, and I didn't see the planes hit because I was working the polls at a primary station on Fifth Street and the Bowery. Out the window: huge coils of smoke, huge crowds of office-clad people marching up Third Avenue. Someone said, "You can see the Trade Center from the roof of this building." I said nothing and sneaked to the elevator. Lots of smoke.

"I can't see the south tower," I said.

"That's cause it ain't there no more," said my neighbor. He pointed out the top 20 or so stories of the remaining tower were charred a different color than the rest.

Suddenly the floors began to liquefy, and the antenna changed direction, and the building descended into an enormous gladiolus of dark gray smoke.

"I've never seen anything like this before," a woman said, apologizing for her tears.

"There's never been anything like this before," I said, consolingly.

I got on my bike and rode all over town. A lot of cars with brimstone smoking on the roof. Mayor Giuliani in one of them, looking distracted… Everyone was helping everybody, making gentle jokes, dazed. Another guy on a bike glared at me wildly: "Is there gonna be a war?" he demanded.

…I walked the bike over the Manhattan Bridge amid thick crowds, impressively integrated, impressively orderly, calm, bewildered. The churches were all open, and full. The stench in Brooklyn was terrible. On a stone wall sat a dozen Middle Eastern looking men in a row. They were the only ones who didn't look dazed -- they looked depressed. They knew who was going to get blamed for all this.

Next day I went to visit my greataunt Lilian on East 86th. She was 101, still very much in possession of her considerable collection of marbles.

"What's the mood out there?" Aunt Lilian asked me.

"Pretty genial. Everyone's taking it easy. The park is full of people strolling, having picnics, playing games," I told her.

"Good."

But to her granddaughter in Kansas she said, "This will kill me. This will finish me off. I can never survive this."

She was right. She died in the city where she'd been born six days later.

From Julie Anne Fidler, no addres given:
I wanted to point you in the direction of something called the 2,996 Project. It's a writing project in which bloggers either pick or are assigned to write a tribute to a particular victim of 9-11. Hopefully, on Monday, every innocent life will have their story told by someone for all the world to read. I am writing about Daniel Suhr -- the first fireman confirmed dead at Ground Zero. He was rushing into one of the towers, when he was killed by a jumper. Father Mychal Judge administered last rites to him before he himself was killed. Anyway, the link for more information is: http://www.dcroe.com/2996/ [NOTE: The deaths of both Daniel Suhr and Father Judge are described in the book by individuals talking about photographs.] I admire you for the time, effort, and emotional turmoil it must have taken to write this book. Maybe I'll eventually do the same.

From Timothy, no address given:
On 9/11/01, I had just recently returned to work as a 411 operator [having been on] military deployment to Kosovo with the U.S. Navy Seabees. I had sustained injuries while deployed. On Sept 8, 2001 I requested six months off from the Reserves to get my life back in order. My request was approved. I returned to work the following week.

That Tuesday morning… I "plugged in.” As I was handling requests, I noticed some bustling going on across the room. As I took the next call, a woman said. "Send help quick! A plane just crashed into my building!" I asked if this was a joke, and she replied "Can't you see me?" I thought she was nuts. I asked where she was. She replied "The World Trade Center!" I jumped up and asked someone if the WTC had been hit by a plane. It had, and that was what the disruption was. I told the woman to evacuate, as we knew about the problem. "Oh, OK- Thank you!" she said.

The flood of calls was unbelievable. One guy called asking me for Shearson/Lehman on a specific road in Upstate NY. As I was checking, he said, "Boy! You guys must be hopping over there!" I replied [that] it was busy, and he said, "Well, I am in Tower 2." In an instant, I do not know why, but I hit the PRINT SCREEN key. I said, “Guy! Get out of there!” He told me that he was there in '93 and he had gone down a few flights but was given the ALL CLEAR and he just returned to his office. While we were conversing, Tower 2 was struck. I heard it all: the glass, the wind, the screaming. By some miracle, we were still connected. He found the phone and began to dial over me. When he realized I was there, he begged me to stay with him. I told him I would. He basically gave me his personal info, who his wife was, what number to call her at, and what he wanted to say. He was going to die. He knew it, I knew it.

I wrote it down and stayed with him ‘til the connection was lost. The tower fell just after.

It hadn't hit me yet. I knew what happened, but it hadn't registered yet. The worst part was talking to people in the coming weeks about how to locate lost loved ones. There was no number to give. It was havoc.