I was at my desk, in my office in Midtown Manhattan (6th Ave. and 44th St.). My office-mate had been in my boss’s office, where he had the TV on, and came in to tell me that the news was reporting that a plane had hit the WTC. I thought it was probably a small plane, like the one that once hit the Empire State Building, and didn’t think much of it. I surfed the Web a little to see if there was any news on it, but only found small blurbs on the major news sites.
Eventually, though, as the fire and smoke from that first tower grew more intense, many people began to congregate around the TV in my boss’s office, and I joined them. I was standing there with about 6 or 8 other people when we saw the second plane hit, making clear that it was a terrorist act. We then watched in horror as the towers collapsed. We all deliberated for about a half an hour as to what to do. Our office is only one block from Times Square, and we figured that might be a potential target, so a bunch of us decided to walk north, just to get away from Midtown and any known monuments, famous places, etc. (Meanwhile, I was trying frantically to reach a good friend of mine on his cell phone, as I knew he was down near City Hall that day, right near the WTC, but cell phone service wasn’t working. Not a good feeling). I and 2 others walked to one of the guys’ apartments, which is on the Upper East Side of Manhattan (79th and 1st), about a 3 mile walk from the office. In dress shoes. We watched the news in his apartment for an hour or 2, and I finally got impatient and figured that I would go outside to try to catch a cab home (I live in Brooklyn Heights, which is far south, and over a bridge, from where we were). I realized that traffic was a disaster and that it might take a while to get a cab, nevermind for the traffic to move all the way to Brooklyn, but I figured I’d try. Bad move. I ended up wandering southward, in the direction I was headed, as I looked for vacant cabs, but traffic wasn’t moving ANYWHERE. It was a complete standstill, and all the cabs had their off-duty lights on anyway, so I eventually ended up WALKING from 79th and 1st, over the Brooklyn Bridge, to Brooklyn Heights. About 8 miles. In DRESS SHOES.
All the cars, windowsills, etc. in my neighborhood were covered in a fine, gray dust, and the entire area reeked of burning rubber. Before going inside my apartment I walked out onto the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, which is just a few yards from my place and which overlooks lower Manhattan from a very close vantage point. Almost ALL of lower Manhattan was shrouded in a gigantic cloud of gray smoke; only the very tops of some buildings were visible. I went inside, FINALLY took off my shoes, got out of my suit, and sat down. My feet were so blistered and in such pain that I literally had trouble walking around my apartment the next morning. I had to kind of hop around on my tip-toes.
Some people were overcome with sadness, some with fear, some with confusion as to what might happen next. My one and only emotion was unmistakable: I have never felt such unrelenting rage in my life. It has yet to subside, and probably won’t for many years. Thank God my gym was open in the days immediately following, as the only thing that kept me same was pushing around big iron and blasting metal tunes into my ears.
PS: When the blackout happened I was in my office, and I immediately said to myself, “NO fucking WAY am I WALKING HOME again – in DRESS SHOES!!!” But I finally realized that there WAS no other way home. My saving grace was a colleague of mine who lent me his sneakers, which he just happened to have in the office, as he sometimes goes straight to the gym after work. God bless him!