On the morning of 9/11/01, my routine started normally.
Up, shower, dress, short drive to the Metro North train, and into my office on 26th street in Manhattan. I actually came in a little earlier than normal that day, since I had to attend a United Way "rah rah" meeting at 8:00am (I was the rep for our division that year).
As expected, the meeting started off slowly and crawled along as a well-intentioned leader droned to a sleepy audience on how to encourage employees to donate. About 8:40, we were done, so I and one of my staff took the elevator back up to our area on the 18th floor. I went into my office and started checking voice mails, when one of my employees interrupted me:
"My wife just called me, and said an airplane just hit the twin towers."
Like millions of others, my immediate reaction was "oh brother, some errant fool in a small plane went off-course." I and my staff member walked to the southern end of our floor, which has a clear view downtown.
We immediately knew this was not an errant small plane accident.
Huge amounts of smoke were pouring out of the south tower. Knowing that the local media would already be on top of this, I ran back to my office and switched on the TV (a luxury I have as one of the officers who manages ad tracking for the company). The image that immediately appeared on the local NBC affiliate was from a helicopter with a zoom lens, which showed ugly black smoke pouring out of a huge, gaping hole. The reporters were debating what sort of plane had hit the tower, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to tell it was not a single engine Cessna.
That was when the small but growing sickening feeling started in my stomach. Was this an accident - or intentional?
Confusion was now erupting all over the floor, and as the most senior person in at that hour, I felt the need to get on top of things, and fast. I walked back to the south windows (where most people were gathered), and was about to advise the crowd that we should be prepared to evacuate, when a loud roar passed us to the right. A large, dark commercial aircraft zoomed by (shaking the windows) at a low altitude. The entire crowd was frozen, as we watched the plan continue south, realizing it was heading directly for the smoke downtown.
The sickening feeling then exploded.
Gasps can't describe what I heard as the second plan yawed to the right and struck the south tower. What I heard was a massive groan -- one of fear -- as the concussion of the second impact shook our building.
Finally shocked into action, people immediately ran for their phones, wanting to contact family. Knowing one of my officers had a son who worked in the south tower, I ran down to his office, finding him frantically dialing. Alan couldn't reach his son or his wife back in New Jersey, and was losing it fast.
As were others, since the Manhattan phone system was being overloaded by thousands of people simultaneously trying to place calls. For the next several hours, it was literally impossible to get a line out of the island.
Some people were now crowding into my office, since the TV was the only source of objective information at the time. Within minutes, someone pointed out that many of the fluttering things falling out of the north tower weren't debris - they were live people.
Then, just as I was about to contact them, our corporate security area came over the P.A. system, advising us that the higher floors of our building were being evacuated. That forced me to herd people out of their offices and cubicles, problematic in that it took many people away from their phones (cell phones at this time were getting nothing but busy signals, so they were not a substitute).
The next several hours were honestly a blur. My core memory is of the continual sound of roaring jets over Manhattan (F-16s from the Air National Guard, but we didn't know that at the time, and the last thing one wanted to hear at the time was a roaring jet). I also remember rumors flying ("car bombs are going off all over Manhattan....a jet has crashed at Newark airport....air force one has left the country...").
But my strongest memory? The one I'll never forget?
How bright, clear and sunny it was in New York that day.
Odd? No. The wind was blowing to the southeast, so those north and west of the horror downtown didn't smell smoke, didn't see dust, didn't hear the screams as the buildings fell (although our windows rattled when they did). Pictures broadcast worldwide seemed to show the entire island of Manhattan in chaos, bathed in dust and smoke, but that was misleading, those shots were only of the very bottom end of the island.
No. I'll never forget that catharsis to the south, while frozen in a beautiful fall day less than a mile away.
Never.