On September 11 at 8:45 a.m., I was having a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper when I heard a tremendous boom behind me. I live in Brooklyn, about three city blocks from New York Harbor, and directly across the Harbor from my neighborhood is New York City's financial district.
At first I thought nothing of it (things happen in a city this big without your ever knowing where or what they were). Then a few minutes later, a friend called from work to tell me that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I turned on the TV for a minute, leashed one of my dogs, and ran to the waterfront. I got there just in time to see the second plane hit the second tower. Flames and smoke were pouring from both towers, against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. About six other people--all strangers--stood watching with me, and everyone was in shock, some crying. Someone said, "This is terrorism," and one woman began sobbing. The wind was blowing in our direction, and the sky was filled with little bits of paper, like confetti in a ticker-tape parade; it was the paper from people's desks at the World Trade Center.
It was a terrible and frightening sight, and I could not stand to watch the flames, knowing that people were dying as I stood watching. I returned to my home and watched on TV. When the towers began collapsing an hour later, the sky--which had been so beautiful--began to darken with the heavy smoke. As the wind continued to blow east towards our neighborhood, ash rained down on the local streets all day and the air was acrid with the smell of fire and chemical odors that I could not identify.
The spirit of the people of this city, known for its toughness, was an amazing demonstration of civic cooperation. I went to the nearest hospital with two friends to donate blood; there we were sent to Metrotech Center, which is closer to the Brooklyn Bridge; and once we got to Metrotech, we ran into other neighbors, who told us that the lines to donate blood were so long that newcomers were turned away. My daughter-in-law, in upper Manhattan, was also turned away because so many people turned out to donate blood, overwhelming the capacity of the emergency centers.
With the subways shut down and the bridges and tunnels closed, people in the neighborhood walked home from their jobs in Manhattan. Some walked five, seven, ten miles. No one complained.
Like many other Americans, I have been glued to the television. Unlike others, I have gone occasionally to the harbor, to see what is happening. The most startling fact is that the towers are gone. Where they used to be is a huge plume of smoke. Tonight, I went to walk on "The Promenade," which looks directly at the lower Manhattan financial district. About 1,000 other people were there, sitting, walking, watching. I don't know what they were watching for; I don't know what I was watching for. Just to see the remarkably sad sight of the Manhattan skyline without the landmark twin towers.
There are no saving graces to this horror and devastation. But in its midst, I feel proud of my fellow New Yorkers. Of their self-discipline; their caring for others; and in the case of the hundreds of heroic rescue workers who sacrificed their lives while trying to find survivors, their incredible courage.
