This piece by Jason Stein ran a couple of days after September 11, 2001, in the original When Falls the Coliseum.

My 9/11

Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, I leave my apartment around 7:45 a.m., as I am always very excited about going to the deli and ordering two eggs on a roll for $1.25 for breakfast, which I will eat when I get into the office. After breakfast is secured I head over to the A train in the Times Square area going downtown to 60 Wall Street. I take the elevator up to the 42nd floor, thinking I’m glad I don’t have to walk up 42 flights because by the time I get up to 42 it would be time for lunch and there goes my special breakfast.

It’s a little past 8:30 and I am getting into my computer waiting to log on and check all these e-mails which I may or may not have to reply to. As I’m doing this I take out my two eggs on a roll and a bottle of water. You can’t do this fast. To appreciate this it must be done with a little finesse.

As I’m waiting for the computer to fully start up for the day I walk to the window behind my desk to see if any helicopters are taking off or landing at the heliport which faces the East River. (This is one of my favorite things about work.) I then notice all these papers flying around outside like there’s a tickertape parade or something. They just came out of nowhere. Then I hear people at the other end of the floor milling around loudly, huddled together looking out the window. I run over to them because things don’t seem right. I see a large gash at the top of one of the Twin Towers (the one with the antenna) and flames and smoke billowing out of the building. The few people around me (including myself) are feeling a sense of silent helplessness. Some people scramble for a phone to call anyone they thought may be in the Tower at this time, but no calls are going through. Who may I know? Hopefully no one. We have the radio on to see if we could find out any information but there are conflicting reports.

The flames look like big hands grabbing the side of the building and climbing up one story at a time and then the smoke is gushing out of any nook and cranny it can find. The smoke is this dark gray ash sometimes looking black as night. We can’t believe our eyes. What a horrible accident this is. No plane should be flying this low, especially here. It doesn’t make sense. If the plane is going to make a crash landing, why not head towards the airport, or even the water? This makes more sense to me.

I walk back towards my desk. Not more than five minutes later I hear a loud sound and people in my office are now hysterical. Another plane has hit the other tower. This was no accident. I see more flames shooting out of the second Tower. At first I think the flames are from the first Tower ’cause I can’t believe this has happened a second time. It is at this very moment we all decide to get the hell out of here. I run to my desk, throw my egg sandwich and bottle of water in my bag, look out the window where I first saw all those papers flying around and can’t help but think of a possible third plane which could easily come through this window. I run to the stairwell quickly and proceed to walk down 42 flights with other people from other floors joining in. I say to myself just put one leg in front of the other and don’t panic. My adrenaline is pumping as I see other people sweating profusely. One guy walking down in front of me holds a rabbit’s foot in his hand, rubbing it feverishly.

Now we pass the 30th floor, not low enough, faster, I hear myself say, but I don’t want to cause a panic in the stairwell. Passing the 20th floor and that rabbit’s foot is speeding along, rub it for me will ya, whatever works. Passing the 11th floor and many women holding their shoes in their hands and barefooting it. “Keep it moving, Keep it moving.” Anything can still happen. My head is dizzy with possible scenarios. Passing the 3rd floor and we’re still too high and not safe yet. I can feel my legs a little shaky from stress and nerves. My breathing is OK, heartbeat is fast.

I get to the lobby and meet three co-workers outside waiting to see what to do next. I suggest we head over to South Street Seaport just a few blocks away since it is near water and away from all the buildings in case of falling glass from windows or debris from more attacks. As we go along there are lots of stunned people who seem somewhat frozen at each intersection just staring in disbelief, as they are fixated on the flames and smoke coming from the Twin Towers. It is spreading fast, keep moving till we get to the seaport. This whole time there is still no word on what is going on. I need to know information. We arrive at the seaport and I am trying to ask anyone with a cell phone if they heard anything. We go into this café-bar which has the front opened up and lots of people watching CNN. For the first time I finally see the gaping hole from the initial impact of the airplanes. It is also reported that The Pentagon was struck by another plane too. What the heck is going on here? In all this chaos I am feeling a little queasy and know I should eat something so now is as good a time as any to finish my egg on a roll. I now have more energy, which I have a feeling I’m going to need in a big way.

All of a sudden about 30-45 minutes after the attacks on the Towers all these people quickly dash outside the bar and then dash back inside the bar screaming. I don’t know what is going on. Now I have this heated feeling of adrenaline through my veins. I rush out of the bar where I almost literally run over this larger man in front of me who I quickly apologize to and then go to the back of the seaport the whole time looking up at the sky thinking another airplane attack is heading in our direction. Luckily I am wrong. Instead I hear screams of panic that one of the Towers just collapsed!

I feel trapped because the edge of the seaport is lined with guardrails and there’s nowhere to go. When I look up again I can only see a huge, and I mean a huge ball of dust and smoke heading right for us! I keep thinking, would the Tower topple over like a tree in the forest and if so could it reach the seaport? Can someone die from smoke inhalation outside? I tell myself to think of good thoughts, like running, now!

So I run to the front of the seaport and catch up to my three co-workers and we make a right turn and head north very quickly. As I look behind me, not too far away, what seems like a volcanic eruption, ash, dust, is heading right at us except the only difference was this wasn’t traveling 200 miles an hour like I’ve seen Mt. St. Helens do in the past on television. Probably no more than five minutes walking north up the FDR (about 100 yards), the seaport is completely engulfed in dust and smoke. I’m walking north the whole time looking up for other planes or dive-bombers. Then we hear of a fourth plane crashing in Pittsburgh. This reminds me of Red Dawn. What’s next to go, our satellites?

It is like a mass exodus or some religious experience with everyone walking north. At this point I still can’t get through to any family to tell them I am OK. I keep trying to call on my co-workers cell phone but can’t get through, all cell phones are out of commission. I figure my mom would be worried when she heard about the attack but not overly worried. That is until both Towers collapsed. Now I know any worry from the family just turned into mass hysteria. Everything up till this point feels surreal. I am waiting to wake up in a cold sweat with the worst nightmare I have ever had. Most faces I pass look in a daze and minor shock of disbelief. It all happened so fast to such a large part of the city’s population. As we are walking north up the FDR Drive I see and hear emergency vehicles speeding by with their sirens and more sirens screeching south on the FDR Drive to that huge dust ball we are all walking away from. What looks like mass confusion at first becomes ordered chaos for emergency response. We see people crossing the Brooklyn Bridge and I get nervous because if there are any more planes the bridge was an open target. We don’t go there!

The thing we are craving is information. Any open car radio is surrounded by a group of people listening to the latest news. We are looking to stop at a restaurant or bar to hear anything and to also sit down. We are careful not to go near any other landmark buildings just in case this nightmare isn’t over.

We walk up to the East 40s and settle in a bar where I finally reach my mom using the payphone at the back of the bar. It is more than three hours after the first attack and it feels like three days. The more I try to say to her the more choked up I get. I know I am OK and ask her if any other friends or relatives are possibly unaccounted for. I make it quick as other people are waiting to call their loved ones too.

This is my story. I feel very sad and the same time angry, like many Americans, that our country was left so vulnerable to such a heinous act, carried out so easily. It’s horrible knowing there are those who will never tell their story. My prayers are with those families.

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