OC Alum Witnesses Tragedy, Aftermath Firsthand

To the Editors:

Tuesday morning my father called me at 9:03 a.m. I was checking my e-mail and eating Cheerios, almost ready to leave for my sixth day at my new job. He was crying and asking me if I had heard the explosions. What? No? I didn’t understand. A plane has crashed into the World Trade Center. He told me to turn on the news. This must have been right after the second plane hit Tower 2 as my father still did not know about it. I looked out the window of my apartment and saw people running towards the water. I live in Brooklyn Heights, a neighborhood with a well-known promenade that overlooks the skyline of downtown Manhattan.
As soon as I looked down the street after leaving my building I could see black smoke rising across the water. What must have been paper or glass debris were glittering in the sky juxtaposed upon the column of smoke rising up and traveling towards Brooklyn. I walked quickly to the Promenade where groups of people had gathered and were coming in great numbers, gaping and crying and praying and hoping…but mostly we just stared in disbelief. The two towers burning — some scene from Independence Day or Armageddon — was more than we were able to understand.
I stood on the Promenade for over an hour. At first I could not decide whether I should go to work or not. It was not immediately clear the severity of what was happening. It was disbelief that reminded me of that of Jews 60 years ago who climbed into cattle cars without revolting against their capturers. It was hard to understand what was happening, how it would end or how our daily lives fit into what was going on.
I decided not to go to work in downtown SoHo when I heard the trains weren’t running and that emergency workers needed civilians to stay out of the way. I tried to call work but the line for the pay phones was at least 15 people. The site on the Promenade was something the likes of which I’ve never seen before. People spoke to strangers, helped those crying, gathered around radios. We were business men and women, early-morning runners, the homeless, tourists…. We all watched together as the symbols of our city burned before our eyes.
I was gathered around a radio leaning in towards it when I heard everyone gasp and shriek at once. This is a sound I have rarely heard except in films of disasters caught on tape when you can hear the witnesses’ reactions. It was an awful sound. I turned around and saw the top of one of the towers start to fall. That moment was more than I could bear. I watched as it started to fall and then realized I could no longer watch. I was not able to comprehend what this meant. Only ten minutes before I had tried to let myself imagine a skyline the next day that would be burnt and unfamiliar. I could not begin to conceive of the complete destruction of a World Trade Center tower. More than that, I could not imagine what could possibly survive below. I have seen buildings collapse on TV, usually on purpose and I know well the way it looks. To watch one of the tallest buildings in the world just collapse in the same way was more than I could watch. I screamed upon first looking and then began the two and a half block walk back to my building. I thought I would throw up. I was crying, as were many people. Eyes were glued to the skyline, but I couldn’t look. Even now I just have the imprint of the building beginning to fall imprinted on my mind. There is no sound, none of the reported loud rumbles or explosions…just the sound of terrible fear in peoples’ screams and the sight of a god falling from the heavens.
I made my way back to my building slowly. I was crying and hyperventilating and I could hardly walk. I was saying over and over to myself, “oh god, oh god.” I thought a war was beginning and I could not stand the thought of dying unprepared. I hurried (as quickly as I could) past people on the street running towards the water who tried to stop and see if I was alright. I have never seen such kindness in this city.
I was not able to find my father when I got home. My mother was at work at a nearby hospital and none of my roommates were home either. I was not able to get through to anyone’s cell phone, page or anyone who lived outside my area code. I left my building again to at least be with people but the smoke from the first collapse had reached our neighborhood and was drifting in with the northwest wind. By now the smoke above had reached far-away Coney Island. In Brooklyn Heights it was hard to breathe outside and the falling bits of paper and ash reminded me of films I have seen of the aftermath of Hiroshima. I quickly returned to my apartment, closed all the windows and turned on the TV.
The rest of the day was pandemonium and hysteria as well, as the second tower collapsed, the Pentagon hit was announced, as family and friends slowly contacted each other, fathers and mothers returned home in the mass exodus over the Brooklyn Bridge and we ran to give blood at the nearest hospitals. The eastern sky was a terrific and beautiful shade of blue, while the west was grey, clouds of smoke blocking out the sun.
Now everyone here in the city has their own story: when was the first time you heard what happened, where were you, what did you think it was, where did you go, what did you actually see, what have you heard, what will happen tomorrow…. Everyone wants to tell their story, to talk about what happened. On the streets, any given piece of a conversation is of words spoken of the disaster. There is nothing else to talk of.
Last night, before I went to bed, my roommate and I walked down to the Promenade where many people, though less than this morning and yet still more than usual, stood and stared out at Manhattan. By this time there was not much to see. The smoke still stood white against the dark of the sky where only last night the hundreds of thousands of windows shone from the great buildings. I had, in only a couple of hours, I realized, unlearned the reality and horror of the morning. I stood there and began to cry once again. I saw again the first tower collapse and had to look away from the darkness in order to not remember. I don’t know what will happen now. I’m not sure anyone does. I am tempted to say that at least we can see our human kindness in times of such tragedy, that our hearts and hands really do reach out to others in need. And while this is comforting to some degree it is not quite enough to know right now in this city whose physical and emotional self has been shattered.

–Laura Paley
OC ’01