Snow
I was giving a presentation with my boss at a conference held in a Times Square hotel. The assistant to the president of our company came in and interrupted telling us all to take a break and check in with our families because there had been some kind of explosion downtown at the World Trade Center. Cell phones came out, and information came in. Someone said that a small plane had flown into one of the buildings.
“Wow”. I remarked. “I remember my mom telling me about the time that a small plane hit the Empire State Building but that was on a day with crappy weather, I think. It’s clear as a bell out today. How the hell did that happen?”
In relatively short order we found out that both towers had been damaged and one had already collapsed. Hotel security recommended that everyone at the conference stay in the building for their safety due to concerns about “panic and rioting in the streets”. The heads of my company decided to continue with the meeting since there was nothing else anyone could do. My boss and I finished our presentation and never, ever in my life have I been hit with so many questions. It seemed as though people were hyper-focusing on work to avoid thinking about what could be happening in the streets.
After we finished the presentation, the decision was made to let people take all the time they needed to contact their families. Some of us drifted toward televisions to see what was happening. The realization that it was a coordinated attack crept through our group leaving everyone feeling as though we’d been doused in Novocain.
I managed to reach the Mrs. who was in the basement of her school with the students. All those years of shelter drills finally paid off.
Lunch was served. I remember eating a Caesar salad as a co-worker said that “20 planes are unaccounted for, they could be anywhere, heading anywhere, even right here.” The decision was made to call off the rest of the conference for the day and let people get home if they could.
Heading downtown toward the ferry was out of the question. It was reported that all commuter ferries were being used for emergency personnel only. Any subway line that would get me to Bensonhurst or Bay Ridge where I could transfer to a Staten Island-bound bus was shut down because of the collapse of the towers. Fortunately my oldest sister worked in Queens. We got in touch and she told me a stop on the E line where I could meet her. I walked east in search of an open subway station. The streets were filled with people marching uptown. It looked like a mass migration, I thought, or like the part of a Japanese monster movie where they show all the locals trying to escape whatever creature was attacking their city. I looked south while crossing sixth avenue and saw the billowing black cloud they were fleeing.
I found that the Queens bound E line was still running, and it was packed with commuters in the middle of the afternoon. Some were silent, some made small talk. I got off the train and called my sister. She was still a ways away so I went to McDonald’s and bought a chocolate shake.
Eventually we connected. I climbed into my late father’s old green Mercury minivan and we tried to find our way home. The highways were closed to ordinary folks so we drove through the streets of Queens and Brooklyn trying to find our way to the V-N Bridge. I called my father-in-law and my wife for help but they were unfamiliar with the street layout of the areas we were driving through. No GPS in 2001. It got comical at points. One time we wound up on a recreation pier in Canarsie. Another time we were asking a cop for directions just as word of the collapse of 7 WTC came over her walkie talkie. We were gridlocked at various points, during one of those periods I spied a bodega with a Brooklyn beer sign in the window. I got out of the van, went and bought a six pack, carried it back to the van and cracked one open. My sister laughed as I said “I don’t think anyone’s going to bust me for open container on a day like this.” On that day and for several thereafter none of us in NY seemed to give a crap about the little stuff and we were willing to risk the odd ticket in pursuit of a good time (or relief from the bad) because we knew the cops weren’t going to worry about quality of life nonsense while the world was ending.
We were driving through one of the nicer, brownstone-filled residential areas of Brooklyn when it started falling. First a flake or two, and then a blizzard. Black and white flakes of various sizes. Many people were out on the street talking to neighbors and everyone froze and looked up. Kids ran to pick up the larger pieces. Adults weaved about as though they were hallucinating while staring into the sky. My sister had to turn on the wipers to knock some of the larger bits off the windshield. I thought about reaching out and grabbing one, but stopped. I cracked open another beer and we drove quietly through the gently falling documents. Sometimes I look at the papers on my desk and see that snow again.
Eventually we made it to the bridge. As we crossed I looked to my right and saw the billowing grey clouds spreading like a stain against the ice-blue sky. I thought I could still see bits of debris being blown to the southeast. We drove past the hospital near my house. Tents were set up outside waiting for the wounded.
It took 6 hours for us to get home. We made it to my apartment and ordered food. Chinese food from the corner I think. Calls were made, e-mails sent. One friend of mine wrote back “Made it home too. Nothing else to say I guess. Good night.”
Good night.
“Wow”. I remarked. “I remember my mom telling me about the time that a small plane hit the Empire State Building but that was on a day with crappy weather, I think. It’s clear as a bell out today. How the hell did that happen?”
In relatively short order we found out that both towers had been damaged and one had already collapsed. Hotel security recommended that everyone at the conference stay in the building for their safety due to concerns about “panic and rioting in the streets”. The heads of my company decided to continue with the meeting since there was nothing else anyone could do. My boss and I finished our presentation and never, ever in my life have I been hit with so many questions. It seemed as though people were hyper-focusing on work to avoid thinking about what could be happening in the streets.
After we finished the presentation, the decision was made to let people take all the time they needed to contact their families. Some of us drifted toward televisions to see what was happening. The realization that it was a coordinated attack crept through our group leaving everyone feeling as though we’d been doused in Novocain.
I managed to reach the Mrs. who was in the basement of her school with the students. All those years of shelter drills finally paid off.
Lunch was served. I remember eating a Caesar salad as a co-worker said that “20 planes are unaccounted for, they could be anywhere, heading anywhere, even right here.” The decision was made to call off the rest of the conference for the day and let people get home if they could.
Heading downtown toward the ferry was out of the question. It was reported that all commuter ferries were being used for emergency personnel only. Any subway line that would get me to Bensonhurst or Bay Ridge where I could transfer to a Staten Island-bound bus was shut down because of the collapse of the towers. Fortunately my oldest sister worked in Queens. We got in touch and she told me a stop on the E line where I could meet her. I walked east in search of an open subway station. The streets were filled with people marching uptown. It looked like a mass migration, I thought, or like the part of a Japanese monster movie where they show all the locals trying to escape whatever creature was attacking their city. I looked south while crossing sixth avenue and saw the billowing black cloud they were fleeing.
I found that the Queens bound E line was still running, and it was packed with commuters in the middle of the afternoon. Some were silent, some made small talk. I got off the train and called my sister. She was still a ways away so I went to McDonald’s and bought a chocolate shake.
Eventually we connected. I climbed into my late father’s old green Mercury minivan and we tried to find our way home. The highways were closed to ordinary folks so we drove through the streets of Queens and Brooklyn trying to find our way to the V-N Bridge. I called my father-in-law and my wife for help but they were unfamiliar with the street layout of the areas we were driving through. No GPS in 2001. It got comical at points. One time we wound up on a recreation pier in Canarsie. Another time we were asking a cop for directions just as word of the collapse of 7 WTC came over her walkie talkie. We were gridlocked at various points, during one of those periods I spied a bodega with a Brooklyn beer sign in the window. I got out of the van, went and bought a six pack, carried it back to the van and cracked one open. My sister laughed as I said “I don’t think anyone’s going to bust me for open container on a day like this.” On that day and for several thereafter none of us in NY seemed to give a crap about the little stuff and we were willing to risk the odd ticket in pursuit of a good time (or relief from the bad) because we knew the cops weren’t going to worry about quality of life nonsense while the world was ending.
We were driving through one of the nicer, brownstone-filled residential areas of Brooklyn when it started falling. First a flake or two, and then a blizzard. Black and white flakes of various sizes. Many people were out on the street talking to neighbors and everyone froze and looked up. Kids ran to pick up the larger pieces. Adults weaved about as though they were hallucinating while staring into the sky. My sister had to turn on the wipers to knock some of the larger bits off the windshield. I thought about reaching out and grabbing one, but stopped. I cracked open another beer and we drove quietly through the gently falling documents. Sometimes I look at the papers on my desk and see that snow again.
Eventually we made it to the bridge. As we crossed I looked to my right and saw the billowing grey clouds spreading like a stain against the ice-blue sky. I thought I could still see bits of debris being blown to the southeast. We drove past the hospital near my house. Tents were set up outside waiting for the wounded.
It took 6 hours for us to get home. We made it to my apartment and ordered food. Chinese food from the corner I think. Calls were made, e-mails sent. One friend of mine wrote back “Made it home too. Nothing else to say I guess. Good night.”
Good night.
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