My September Vacation in New York City
Cheryl Frank, MBA2
Issue date: 10/1/01 Section: Perspectives
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Tuesday morning, September 11th, I had an appointment to get my haircut. I’d sent my boyfriend, Mike, off to work on the 48th floor of 9 West 57th Street. I was just emerging from the shower when NPR announced there had been an explosion at the World Trade Center. I listened for more information, but the signal disappeared into static. Minutes later a frantic phone call from Mike informed me that a plane had hit the north tower, and while we were speaking a second plane hit the south tower. I heard an enormous explosion outside. I decided not to leave Brooklyn Heights.
Without NPR, I tried the television -- only to discover that all of the local TV stations had disappeared as well. With no information, I walked four blocks to the Brooklyn promenade, which overlooks downtown Manhattan less than a mile away, to see if I could figure out what was happening. I joined a group of people gazing in shock as flames licked the upper floors of the World Trade Center towers. Smoke frothed from puncture wounds, rising in thick plumes headed southeast to sea.
I craved news and hustled home to find my portable radio. As soon as it became clear that this was a terrorist plot, I grew more fearful. Mike’s office building was evacuated and he phoned to tell me to buy food and water as he headed for a co-worker’s apartment. I hurried to a grocery store and when I re-emerged, the sun had disappeared. Flakes of ash and paper filled the smoky cloud engulfing Brooklyn. People hustled away from the promenade, covering their faces, breathing through their shirts. Nobody wanted to watch – it wasn’t safe. The collapse of the buildings was quickly obscured by the cloud that swept into Brooklyn Heights. First one, then another. We were in the cloud of the maelstrom. There was no way to escape the smoke and unsettling smell of charred office building.
The roads were closed. The bridges and tunnels were closed. The subways were closed. Unmarked cars with sirens sped across the empty arteries. Neither my cell phone or landline could get outside the city. The Internet lines were all busy. Local TV towers on top of the WTC had been destroyed. I felt cut off from everything and trapped. I listened to Jazz 88.3, which picked up NPR, for 8 hours straight.
Without NPR, I tried the television -- only to discover that all of the local TV stations had disappeared as well. With no information, I walked four blocks to the Brooklyn promenade, which overlooks downtown Manhattan less than a mile away, to see if I could figure out what was happening. I joined a group of people gazing in shock as flames licked the upper floors of the World Trade Center towers. Smoke frothed from puncture wounds, rising in thick plumes headed southeast to sea.
I craved news and hustled home to find my portable radio. As soon as it became clear that this was a terrorist plot, I grew more fearful. Mike’s office building was evacuated and he phoned to tell me to buy food and water as he headed for a co-worker’s apartment. I hurried to a grocery store and when I re-emerged, the sun had disappeared. Flakes of ash and paper filled the smoky cloud engulfing Brooklyn. People hustled away from the promenade, covering their faces, breathing through their shirts. Nobody wanted to watch – it wasn’t safe. The collapse of the buildings was quickly obscured by the cloud that swept into Brooklyn Heights. First one, then another. We were in the cloud of the maelstrom. There was no way to escape the smoke and unsettling smell of charred office building.
The roads were closed. The bridges and tunnels were closed. The subways were closed. Unmarked cars with sirens sped across the empty arteries. Neither my cell phone or landline could get outside the city. The Internet lines were all busy. Local TV towers on top of the WTC had been destroyed. I felt cut off from everything and trapped. I listened to Jazz 88.3, which picked up NPR, for 8 hours straight.