I worked across the street from the WTC on Broadway. B/c I wanted to live close to work, I lived in the East Village, which is about 1 1/2 neighborhoods north on the east side. I was way uptown in a hospital that morning. It was primary day and I wanted my ballot. The Democratic Primary was heavily contested. As I made plans to call the Board of Elections, a patient ran in in utter disbelief that a plane had hit the WTC. She was young. I told her that in the 1930s a small plane hit the Empire State Building when the pilot had a heart attack. Everyone who knew the Empire State story felt a solo pilot lost control of a small plane. Yet I knew the blind sheik was being sentenced that day as well as I knew it was Primary Day. Indeed, the early newscast focused on his sentencing and the Primary.
We gathered in a lounge and watched GMA. Suddenly, Charlie Gibson announced that an ABC aviation expert concluded that a very large jet had hit the building. We could no longer be in denial. Almost everyone had a close friend or relative in the Towers or the immediate neigborhood. The doctors were in rounds. The nurses were so mesmerized watching TV that no one was watching the patients. When we heard that a plane hit the Pentagon and one went down near Pittsburgh, I knocked on the door so they would know. I feared they would lock me up. It was surreal.
You could see the WTC from the hospital. We watched the collapse on TV and then move to a lounge o verlooking the WTC way downtown. Some doctors started crying b/c there was no WTC to see.
My mom had asthma and was in my apt. downtown. I begged her to move uptown. One bad wind and she could die. The winds stayed away from building and blew right into the WT building in Brooklyn. Neighors were helping this massive exodus of people moving uptown. Within half an hour,NYC set up a place for relatives and stranded commuters who fled the WTC. Water ran. LIghts were available. My mom took water down, encouraged people, and offered our apartment so people could take a break and recoup. She invited total strangers to spend the night if they could not get the Long Island Railroad or back to Jersey rather than the city shelter.
We were primarily worried about the air quality. I recall people laughing when the EPA assured us it was safe. Half of my local firehouse died in the collapse. The WTC firehouse did not lose a single member. People were so calm. The politeness and concern for others were eerie and lasted for many months.
The TV set was our glue. Some neighbors annoyed me by slipping through security and seeing the site up close. My duty was to do what I would otherwise do and stay out of the way of the rescue efforts. There were vigils in my local park on Union Square, the closet public park to the site. My neighorhood was a staging area for the recovery. I needed to show proof of residence to the police to be allowed to walk south of 14th St. There was no one to cry to b/c most people had it worse than I did.
A constant theme for me was the disconnect between NY,NY and all the songs, politcal thrillers, and my home, where I dated, drank fine champagne, entertained clients, and where the dry cleaners ruined my Burberry coat. TV resembled NY, my home but it was exactly my home. One week after the attack, the city encouraged residents to cheer the rescue workers as they changed shifts. Words cannot describe what I saw. The intimacy of all the places freaked me. I was not close enough to smell decaying flesh. People I know who escorted govt. officails from DC said it was powering. Where I walked the stench of concrete and moldy something was overpowering. They encouraged people to bring Vicks Vap O rub and a a surgical mask.
I attended a special church service on the Upper East Side where the legendary regiment of NY, off Central Park, paraded with special flags. Very powerful men cried their souls away. Women cried but nothing like the men. No clergy or anyone offered them solace. It was seen as healing and very normal under the circumstances.
I visited the art museum on the upper East Side. It ;seemed as though ten visitors were in the entire museum. I forced myself to do things so the terrorists would not win. I might be afraid but I would die a full American citizen with my cherished rights. Weird body symptoms persisted. I would flinch before I heard a plane overhead. It brought out the best of New York which I was always thought was better than most places. No matter what I did the grief was so public. Wounded eyes met wounded eyes. I never noticed funeral homes. We have massive numbers of funeral homes.
My trip back from the hosptial downtown was eerie. I left home with normal NY and returned to a foreign film about military occupation. The National Guard was everywhere. It took about 2 1/2 hrs for a 20 minute trip b.c the state police were inspecting every vehicle. Pacifist me wanted Afghanistan nuked to the highest. The civilians deserved it for not fighting the Taliban, the way Americans would. As the taxi pulled to the curb, I noticed that NYU students across the street had taken their white sheets, written, "Imagine," and "Give Peace a Chance,: out their windows. They blasted IMagine, Across the Universive and Give Peace a Chance so loud you could hear it for blocks. I calmed down. A little itsy bit.
Eleven years later and I still cry sometimes. Sometimes it is a historical event and other times the merest reference will have me hysterical. I try ot be eternally vigilant. If someone leaves baggage or bags unattended, I am the jerk/nerd who calls the police's attention to it. The NYC subway scares me, as does Port Authority Bus Terminal.
I hate a fight with security at the Metropollitan Security b/c I wanted more thorough searches for myself. Everytime I go through "security" at a place, I want them to check more. I have time, I will wait.
Months later, I finally hailed a taxi and a Middle Eastern man was a driver. I had anxiety attacks aboiut when it would happen. It was a very pleasant drive. He was an Egyptian student and very literate. I wondered what it was like for him. Did he wonder if every New Yorker feared him as he drove? He was extraordinarily nice.
An exciting time but I would prefer utter boredom.