I’m a creature of habit. And that morning 10 years ago started just like most of my mornings did then.
I watched the first segment of the Today show, left for work at 7:25 a.m., parked in the lot behind the administration building, and bounded up the back stairs with the newspaper under one arm and coffee in the other. I was always there around 7:40-7:45 a.m.
I can’t remember what I had to do that day. I’m sure I thought it was important.
At the time, I was working in public affairs for Texas Tech. I was responsible for generating publicity for things ranging from architecture to engineering. And to be honest, there aren’t many days that those topics are all that interesting to the masses. But it was a good job, and I was always amazed at the incredible connections our professors in Lubbock, Texas, had to projects around the world.
One of the perks was a little television that sat right next to my computer. It was fully loaded with cable channels, and I’ll admit now to occasionally watching more than just the news. But at the time, I was a big Matt & Katie fan, and I turned on the television that morning. Just like always.
I was still getting settled at my desk when I heard Matt and Katie interrupt with breaking news that a small plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I watched for a minute or two, picked up the phone and I left messages for the architecture and engineering deans to call me. At the very least, I thought one of the local affiliates, maybe even one of the large state dailies, would need an expert for a story they would file.
I was glued to the television by then, and I remember seeing the next plane crash into the second tower. It was clear then something was happening.
My friend Jarret had just moved to New York a few months earlier, and I think I called him. He didn’t answer his cell phone. I called the phone in the apartment and woke up his roommate Matt. He had no idea what was going on. Jarret had left for work.
As my coworkers and I scrambled to understand what was happening, so did the rest of the world. The phone started ringing. My mom called. My dad called separately. Jarret’s mom and aunt both called me when they couldn’t get through to Jarret. Friends called, too.
Almost an hour had passed by now. I was on the phone with a university professor, one of the leading civil engineers in the country. We were talking about what would happen to the structure. He said there was no way that the entire building would collapse.
And in that very moment it did. I said “Dr. Mehta, the building just collapsed.” His reply: “Oh my god.” We hung up the phone.
There were no more calls for press opportunities that day. Instead, I went back to phone lines with those mentioned before. No one had heard from Jarret. And with every call, I tried to explain where he was working in relation to the World Trade Center.
I think it must have been early to mid afternoon before I heard that familiar voice on the other end of the line. “Gosh, I really looked cute when I went to work today,” he said. That was Jarret’s way of telling me he was okay. He went on to explain that he had just exited the subway when the first plane crashed, and from Union Square he could see the smoke. He’d gone inside ABC Carpet & Home and watched the events unfold on television with the other sales people. Later, he decided to walk home to East 63rd Street not knowing if it was safe to pass the United Nations. He stopped to get cash, and I remember him telling me that he and a strange lady had hugged at the ATM. It was necessary.
I remember being completely consumed by the story for days. Weeks. I had already planned a trip to New York for that Thanksgiving. I went.
I broke away from my friends and went down to the WTC site. I had to go. It was the quietest place I’ve ever been. The streets literally had erupted. There were very few people down there.
There were no barriers preventing me from seeing the rubble. Crews were hauling debris out by the truckload. Signs for the missing were still posted everywhere. Chilling.
Ten years ago, I had no idea New York City would become my home. I could not be happier that it is. My 9|11 story pales in comparison to anyone who lived in New York at the time. Anytime a local talks about 9|11, my response is the same: I can’t imagine. I really can’t.
Any time I’ve ever gone for a run and looked at the downtown skyline where the towers would’ve been, I’ve thought of that day and all that was lost. I stepped up my pace to go a little harder. To make it count.
Now as I crisscross the village and look south, that new building - One World Trade Center - gets taller seemingly everyday. (That’s a view from Sullivan Street above.)
I’m proud to see it rise. And it reminds me how as tourist in this city I used those twin towers as a guide.
Later this morning I’m heading to spend the day with friends. We’re going to Soul Cycle, probably brunch, and then whatever feels good. More will join throughout the day. Ten years ago, I didn’t know any of these people, and today I include them on the short list of important people in my life.
I’m sure we’ll talk about that day. There may be sadness, fear, reflection. But I’m positive we’ll laugh. We’ll enjoy. We’ll make it count.
That’s my 9|11.