A friend that I have not spoken to since high school and I found each other through Facebook – the power of social networking! I was happy to hear from him – he is the most talented comic artist I have seen in my life and I always wondered what became of him.  He wondered what became of me, and asked me if I remember 9/11.  I don’t usually talk about it, but after I emailed my recollections, I thought it was worthy of posting here.

I will never forget 9/11. It was a magnificent day – It was one of those beautiful crisp spring days that make you feel that all is right with the world. There was no haze (like there usually is with the smog and humidity of summer), and the sky was a rare gem color of blue.

I had spoken to my mom that morning – she was going into Manhattan for the 3rd time in her life and was very nervous. I had given her my 800 (toll free) number at work, and laughing, told her not to worry. After all, its not like Manhattan can swallow you up, right? I was on my way to work, driving to the Bronx. I heard Howard Stern talking about it on the radio – I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t a joke. By the time I got to the Triboro Bridge, I was sitting on the bridge with a view of the city. And the two towers were burning like trick candles on a maccabre birthday cake. My mom was about 8 blocks from there, and didn’t have a cell phone. I knew people that worked there, lived there, and there was a time that I used to religiously go to “Windows of the World Nightclub” twice a week.

It was horrific. You could smell the burning… Traffic was stopped. People were not getting out of their cars. In a historical moment – everyone just sat in stunned silence and wonder – not one honk of a car horn. It was eerie. You could see everybody was just staring in silence and disbelief. I finally made it to work after about 2 or 3 hours (usually a 25 minute drive). Nobody knew what to do. Phone lines were overloaded, and you couldn’t reach anyone. There just weren’t enogh phone lines available. They closed all the bridges, so I was stuck in the Bronx. I had no idea where my mom was – she was in Manhattan somewhere in that mess. Nobody worked – we all clustered around the radio listening to the radio and watchin it like we could see it.

Around 3pm, my sobbing traumatized and extraodinarily brave mom (who had run the length of Manhattan, all the way to upper Manhattan after being evacuated from Federal Plaza and not told why) was stuck in Manhattan and didn’t know where she was or where to go. People were running and walking everywhere – you could smell the burning – an acrid twisted smell of burning rubber, metal and charred flesh. My stomach flips every time I imagine the smell. Finally I managed to reach a friend and my mom went there and had to stay the night (as I said, all bridges tunnels and trains were closed). I got home late.

The smell stayed for ages. And the gap in the sky was noticeable. You would be walking/driving somewhere, and suddenly notice a hole in the skyline. It was like missing 2 friends who died and knowing you would never see them again. The absence of them was a constant reminder. I live only about 10 or 12 miles from the WTC, so the smell carried for months.

At that time, I used to frequent a dive-bar, whose main patrons were cops – they were doing 24-hour and 48 hour shifts. They never spoke to me or each other about what they saw (other than the usual “its terrible down there”, but their haunted expressions said everything.

I am friendly with hundreds of Resident Managers, many of whom worked down there. I can tell you that many of these men sent their families away and illegally stayed in the avacuated zone.  They risked their lives to protect their buildings and tenant’s possessions from looting and damage. I know one Resident Manger, Frank, who managed a building on West street. He used his Supers keys to get into every single apartment in that high-rise to check for animals and gave food and water to every pet until his tenants returned. Tenants were banned from their buildings and homes for weeks. Many people couldn’t get to their pets and they died, but Frank stayed to protect his building and his tenants, and their pets at the risk of his health. Many brave Resident Managers like him did the same. (I’m choking up thinking about it)

We waited for weeks. Hoping they would find something – perhaps some air pocket with hundreds of people nestled safely inside – but they found less than we had hoped… They were finding body parts scattered across the city for weeks. I know Resident Managers who were finding parts of fingers, hands feet and unidentified parts lodged in balcony balustrades, on Roofs, in gratings…

The irony was that it was in the weeks that are clearest, brightest and bluest in NY. The stark smell stayed probably for months – it just never left.  Every time a gentle breeze would play reminding us about impendng Winter, the stench of death and devastation would drift with it. For months, soot and dust would constantly settle on furniture, and when wiping it away, one could not help but ask oneself who or what those fine particles were made up of..

On that day, many people died… you start to really understand the 6 degrees of separation on a day like that because you know and know of so many people so deeply and personally affected. Thank God nobody close to me died, but there were so many who were personally affected… Grown men were openly sobbing – the experience is totally indescribable in that we were completely helpless…

My neighbor, Roberto, (who worked in the WTC) had arrived at work early that day, and was tired – he had been at Windows of the World the night before and had WAY too much to drink… So he went out of the building to get a cup of coffee at the deli. He was across the street when the first plane hit. He saw a piece of debris falling and grabbed a lady it was about to hit and pulled her under the eave of the building. (He is a trained Naval officer). He then caught a glimpse of the kids in the basement daycare through the windows, and started banging on the windows to get the kids out, which the teachers immediately did.

Every New Yorker present on that day was affected forever. People were martyred and became heroes – in the true sense, and not in the media hype. Every-day people I know died, and many reacted heroically and honorably – most. The men and women I know that sorted through the ashes and dug in 24 hour shifts to find people, parts, or some glimmer of hope became heroes in their giving to others. The incessant query of who lives, who dies, why and who decides is eternal.

There is no answer as to why something like this happened. The people who remain were immeasurably affected – either by their loss, or by seeing who they are and who they became in times like these. How powerful one becomes when one gives or is of service. Despite the loss and devastation, how much we can give and who we can be enlightens us more than we are scarred. Which reminds me of my new favorite quote from Ben Sweetland: We cannot hold a torch to light another’s path without brightening our own.”