Part 1 of 3 RE 9/11: my nyc nde

I have hesitated to share my experience because of survivor’s guilt. My first-ever visit to nyc ny was... whoa.

This post is dedicated to

Shanna Sukhnanan

and the many very fucking brave people who suffered and continue to suffer, first-hand. I was not in the financial district that morning, but had planned to be. I was further north. This is a super-condensed 3-part story of my first-ever visit to new york city, and how the september 11 2001 “near death experience” fucked me up forever - and gave me hope for humanity.

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The firefighting men of Engine 54, Ladder 4, Batallion 9, at the firehouse on 59th and 9th in manhattan, ARE PHYSICALLY BEAUTIFUL.

A woman I went to high school with in arizona, had moved to the big apple in-hopes of becoming a model. At 6-feet tall with exotic white girl facial features and a toned build, maybe she had a chance. Her life there in manhattan was post-college, and alongside 4 roommates who were in the entertainment industry, they crammed together in a 2-bedroom apartment in harlem, somewhere above the 100 block.

One of the roommates, Claudine, was dating a firefighter from that famous firehouse. On september 10 2001, we went with Claudine to meet her hottie boyfriend at the famous “Firehouse” bar, where all the firefighting hotties went. In 2001, I was 23 years old, and always excited for social experiences.

That Monday night september 10 was my final night in town; I was to leave the next evening back to phoenix az, where I had a big-girl job and a daughter who had just turned four years old waiting for me. I had spent the last six nights and seven days on manhattan island. I was happily exhausted from all the exploring and partying we had done. And on that monday night, I was having SO much fun because we were treated like family by Claudine’s hottie firefighter boyfriend and all his colleague brothers.

At about 1 am, which is early by nyc social standards, we left the bar and went back to harlem. That next morning which was going to be my final morning in the city, my friend and I had planned to visit the financial district and do some of the tours. I was stoked. We made it back to the apartment near 2 am. Damn! I was going to miss nyc - but already knew that I was NOT cut-out for the rock star lifestyle - like my friend and her roommates seemed to be.

What an unforgettable vacation I had experienced during the last week! Fabric district, underground poker bars, BDSM club, the famous nyc pizza, and now the firefighter bar… I felt fulfilled. My friend crept in her room, and that night september 10, I was going to be sleeping on the sofa. We each set our alarms for 6 am - who needs sleep when you’re 23? - and hit the hay.

I was stoked to play tourist in the financial district the next morning. My flight was in the mid-afternoon the next day. But we were going to use all the time we had; we were going to see a few architectural sites, including the world trade center. I fell asleep within moments; no doubt dreaming of big apple magic.

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The fire station at 59th Street and 9th Avenue in New York City is Engine 54, Ladder 4, and Battalion 9. This firehouse, located in Midtown Manhattan, is known for having lost more members on 9/11 than any other firehouse, with 15 firefighters from that shift perishing at the World Trade Center.

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WAKE UP WAKE UP THERE IS SOMETHING HAPPENING

We were each very accustomed to waking-up to alarms. She was a hard-worker, and I was a young mom. We each had the skills to beat morning exhaustion. But the morning of september 11, NEITHER of us had heard our respective alarms, which was uncanny.

My first memory that morning was her voice. “What? WHAT?! No!” I heard her running down the short hallway. My brain was hearing her talk, but I was not listening. My brain was still trying to sleep. The boards of the hallway floor sounded hollow, and suddenly she was shaking me completely awake and frantically yelling toward me:

“LISH! (which is one of my ‘nicknames’) Wayne is on the phone! Turn on the TV! Hurry! Something is happening!”

Wayne was her ex-boyfriend. They were still friends. Wayne lived in St. Louis, and was known to be an early riser. Wayne had been watching his morning newscast when the first plane hit. He immediately called her phone, which had woken her up.

The North Tower of the World Trade Center (1 WTC) was the first building to be hit on 9/11. American Airlines Flight 11 struck the North Tower at 8:46 a.m. The attack on the North Tower, followed by the attack on the South Tower 17 minutes later, marked the beginning of the deadliest terrorist attacks in US history.

I found the TV remote and turned it on. An emergency newscast had taken the place of whatever regular programming was normally on. Barely awake, my eyes are staring at the TV screen; registering that one of the world trade center buildings is on fire. Supposedly a plane had hit it, but I could not see any of the plane sticking out of the skyscraper or anything. Wayne told us to stay inside. And as my friend hung up her cell phone from Wayne’s ‘good morning’ phone call, of course we did not listen to him.

We decided to run upstairs to the roof, to see what we could with our own eyes. We are standing on the roof. Sure as shit, even from a mile+ away, there is a giant skyscraper on fire with ugly black smoke billowing up. That would be the first time that I noticed the sound of sirens. And consequently, those sirens would be sounding-off, non-stop, 24 hours a day, for the next three days.

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My Friend, His Roommate, and My Cousin Work Downtown

After a few minutes, we went back into the apartment. Just in time to see the second plane hit the second tower, live on television. WHAT. THE. FUCK. This was too surreal. I was not sober yet from doing shots and drinking beer with the firefighters the night before, but I felt a disembodied sobriety take-over me.

The news was telling everyone that the phone systems were fucked up, jammed, and overloaded; that unless we had an absolute emergency, we should stay off the phone lines and let others use the system. My pea brain had not yet registered this reality in an order that made any sense. Instead, these thoughts started on a reel:

• Oh no! Dave (my friend from AZ who had moved to NYC for finance, and who I had just seen a few nights before) works downtown! Which building does he work at? Is he okay?

• Oh no! My cousin (2nd cousin from AZ who had moved to NYC for finance, and who I had just seen a few nights before) works downtown! Which building does he work at? Is he okay?

• Oh no! I was supposed to go home today! I was going to be back with my daughter tonight!

• Oh no! I was supposed to be working a late-shift at my corporate job this afternoon! My boss is not going to believe me!

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Explosions. Subway bomb threats. Mass hysteria. Calling my ex-husband. Calling my boss.

Burned into my memory are the local reports of explosions at a building that had nothing to do with the planes. Burned into my memory are the local reports of bombs that had been found on the subway; and how nyc’s entire transportation system was to be shut-down until further notice. And those sirens. Everything that had a siren, was sounding-off. More than what is normal for manhattan, there was zero silence available to anyone inhabiting the city.

I decided to use the phone lines for two calls. First to my daughter’s father. Next, to my boss. After all, at that point there was a big chance that I was never coming home. I do not recall the phone call with my ex. But, I do recall the call with my boss, Jon Kelley. He was the coolest manager I’d ever had. (I had been in the workforce since age 14, so his kindness and fairness was meaningful to me. R.I.P. to Jon, who later took his life by suicide for an unrelated reason.)

I dialed Jon’s cell phone number. He picked up right away. It was almost 7 am in Arizona. The morning was just getting started there for him.

“Hi, Alisha! Good morning to you!”

I could tell Jon had not seen the news yet. He sounded too happy.

“Hi, Jon. Thank you. Did you see the news?”

He was concerned by my abruptness.

“No, I haven’t,” he replied, “Why, what’s up?”

I had already began to disassociate, and I heard myself say:

“I don’t think that I’m coming home today. There has been an attack here in new york involving airplanes and buildings. They have shut-down transportation. I am not going to be able to come-in to work today.”

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The buildings fall and life imitates horror

The next several hours were very confusing for everyone left alive. I recall sitting on the well-used couch for hours. We all watched the TV in horror as several of the buildings downtown were destroyed.

Etched into the “Life Horrors” folder in my brain, are my memories of watching live on the news, men and women in professional clothing, jumping from the buildings to escape smoke and fires.

My friend and all of her roommates were desperately trying to track down everyone they knew that worked in the financial district. Meanwhile, Wayne had called back and said he was already driving up from Missouri to be with us.

Thankfully, I had been able to verify that my cousin was safe. But still, I had not yet heard from my friend Dave, who worked in the American Express building. I had tried calling him, and had left a message asking him to call me back please. There was a good chance that Dave had been headed into work, right when the madness began.

200 Vesey Street, formerly known as Three World Financial Center and also known as the American Express Tower, is one of four towers that comprise the Brookfield Place complex in the Battery Park City, directly adjacent to the Financial District of Lower Manhattan in New York City. Rising 51 floors and 739 feet (225 m), it is situated between the Hudson River and the World Trade Center. The building opened in 1986 as part of the World Financial Center and was designed by Haines Lundberg Waehler and Cesar Pelli & Associates. ~Wikipedia

By that evening, the phones were not ringing anymore. Everything was going to voicemail. I was truly relieved to see a voicemail notification suddenly pop-up on my cell phone. I called my voicemailbox, and gratefully heard Dave’s voice. He was sobbing.

“Lish! I am okay. I am out okay! But I can’t find my roommate! I am trying to find him! I am going to walk across the bridge to try and find him! I have to go and will try to call later!”

I had only met Dave’s roommate several nights before, when my friend and his friend all hooked up for some social times. Hearing Dave sobbing was very unsettling, to say the least.

I called Dave back; straight to voicemail. I left him another message, telling him that I love him, and that would come see him soon as he got back home. That I hoped he could find his roommate fast. Like everyone else left in the city that moment, I felt alone, but was keenly aware that I was not dead. That my cousin and my friend were alive. And therefore, I was very lucky.

Long Live Beautiful Firemen

That night, Claudine was beside herself. Her firefighter boyfriend was safe. But MANY of the beautiful men from Engine 54, Ladder 4, Batallion 9, at the firehouse on 59th and 9th in manhattan, whom we had socialized with the night before at their “Firehouse” bar, were now DEAD. After learning about their perishing, the sirens would not stop reminding me of them.

We were all on lock-down until further notice. There was to be no transportation. The only open building in the area was literally a McDonalds fast-food restaurant. I recall that late that same night, another voicemail appeared. Dave’s roommate had still not been located.

It was at that point which I realized that, there was a good chance I would die in new york city, without my daughter. I do not recall sleeping that night.

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PART 2 COMING SOON AS POSSIBLE. <3

P.S. Be aware that, all things considered, I do believe 9/11 was an inside job.

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From the screenshot image above, you can CLICK HERE to read the piece, “How the day unfolded” by Alexander Gladstone at WSJ.