A Remembrance

The first thing that struck me upon my arrival in New York in late November 2001 was all the flyers/posters that lined the buildings, telephone poles and fences. Pictures of anonymous people, lost to their families, seemed to crowd every inch of wall space in sections of the subway tunnels.

The next day, December 1, 2001, we took a taxi downtown and, as we approached ground zero, traffic became more and more congested from people flocking to glimpse the wreckage. We exited the taxi a few blocks from the site and walked to a building across from St. Paul's Chapel where I was to be introducd to a friend of a friend, who would be our tour guide for the day. I was surprised that there was still dust and ash everywhere.

My new friend and tour guide, Kevin, worked for Merrill Lynch on that awful day (and still does, as far as I know) and was able to get us access to areas around ground zero that were off limits to anyone without a security clearance. He took us up to his office in Four World Financial Center, which overlooked the New York Harbor (with a perfect view of the Statue of Liberty) and, on the other side, ground zero. As I looked out upon the devastation from high within the building and tried to soak in the enormity of it, Kevin began telling me how he witnessed the second plane hit the tower and how massive the resulting fireball was (he estimated it was at least 20 stories high).

He told me how the Twin Towers titled so far that he was incredulous that they didn't topple sideways. From his vantage point he said he could see the fear on the faces of people descending dozens of flights of stairs to escape. But, he was more amazed by the orderliness of the evacuation.

He tried to describe the surreal, nightmarish feeling that enveloped him as he attempted to evacuate his own building through an all-white hallway with no visible signage, and his confusion as he opened door after unmarked door desparate to find an exit. Once he finally got downstairs, he opened another door--this one into a world that looked as though it was coming to an end. Panic and confusion were everywhere as people ran in all directions to get away. He followed hundreds of people to a dock nearby, which was for the ferry to New Jersey. He watched in panic as the dock began to sink under the weight of all the people, causing many to jump into the water to save themselves.

Meanwhile, the pastor of my church was sitting in an airplane on the tarmack at Newark Airport, noticing smoke coming from the Twin Towers while awaiting flight clearance that would never come. He later told me the story of his former secretary, who had taken a job at the World Trade Center, as she rode the subway to work that morning, just like every other morning. I still recoil when I recall her story and try to imagine the horror she must have experienced emerging from underground to see people falling out of the sky, some of whom were on fire. I won't report what Kevin said it sounded like when they hit the ground.

I remember feeling so many emotions walking around downtown that day: incredible sadness for those who died, a sense of loss for the families of the deceased and those still desparately clinging to hope of finding their loved ones, tenderness for the makeshift memorials of stuffed animals, candles, notes of sympathy and prayers, which lined the chain-link fence around the perimeter of ground zero. And I remember the Anger. A slow, burning Anger that ebbed and flowed throughout the day...and sometimes still does.

Kevin told me that, until 9/11, he had kept a journal. Because he was still in shock from the traumatic events he witnessed that day, he hadn't been able to write a word since. Although I had never met him before, I could tell he was distant--emotionally detached. Because words failed him, he documented what he saw at ground zero by taking hundreds of pictures (35mm film). He couldn't explain why, but it was the only thing that seemed to help him cope. He had so many photographs in his office that he gave me a stack of dozens, which I still possess today. I appreciated Kevin's candor as he recounted the horrors that haunted him to me--someone he hardly knew. I told him I was thankful for his first-hand insight into an historic event, which I will one day recount to my children.

I got back to my hotel room late that night, physically and emotionally exhausted. I just wanted to zone out, so I turned on the TV. That night the news was covering a vigil in Central Park being held in remembrance of George Harrison, who had died earlier that day. One of my musical heroes was dead. I couldn't escape sadness.

So much has transpired since then, but it's important for me to remember what I learned that day. Tonight I found this website that shows some pictures from 9/11, which reminded me of Kevin and his photos. These are just small reminders of a few more of the thousands of stories like Kevin's that I will never know in detail. I am keenly aware that my feeble attempt at relating some of the stories I heard that day in New York is totally inadequate. I just wanted to blog in honor of him and all those who lived through the terrible events of 9/11.