Never Forget...

I debated whether to do a post about 9/11.  I mean, what could I really add to the conversation?  What could I say that hasn't already been said or written about a million times over?

I ultimately decided to post because, like others I am sure who have come before me, in reference to major events like Pearl Harbor, I worry I'm starting to see signs of people forgetting.  I see it in the people I work with, some of whom are fifteen or more years younger.  Some were 10 or 11 when it happened, and their memories are fuzzy and sheltered by their parents.  If they grew up outside NYC, it's even more distant a memory to them, as incomprehensible as it should be.

I treat 9/11 as a sacred day -- and I impose rules at work.  I don't want any of my team fundraising -- no calls to anyone around fundraising, even to thank them for donating.  You don't know who might be on the other end of the line and what this day means to them.

I don't claim to have had the worst 9/11 experience.  On the contrary, I was very fortunate.  But what I have is my own, and it affects me to this day.  I can't watch any programming about 9/11, or I'll start to cry and shake.  I can't explain it and I can't control it.  It's a part of me and my experience and has colored who I am.

The morning of 9/11, I had arrived at work at NASDAQ in Times Square, as I usually did, between 7 and 7:30.  My colleagues and I were responsible for the daily opening bell ceremony, which meant that our guests would be arriving and we needed to be there to welcome them and make the day a special celebration.

9.11.01 the company scheduled to ring the opening bell was Thoratec Corporation, a California based medical device company.  We were gathered in the studio on the street level of Times Square when the news broke on the broadcast studio monitors that a plane had hit the North Tower.  At first, it seemed like a horrible accident.  Then, the second plane hits and it's clear that this is intentional.

We all stand riveted, not quite sure what to do.  They make the decision with the NYSE not to open the stock markets that day, so we're really just standing there with our guests, honestly in shock, no one saying much at all, but fear palpable in the air.  I remember looking outside into Times Square.  Traffic has stopped, pedestrians are standing hysterically crying, everyone watching the monitors in Times Square carrying the coverage.  One of the most surreal moments of my life.

When the news stations announce that a plane out of Newark en route to San Francisco has been hijacked, our guests start to panic.  Their COO was on a flight out of Newark that morning returning to San Francisco.  They all jump on their cell phones desperately seeking information.

At that point, it's too much for me to bear, so I head upstairs nervously to my desk to watch CNN.

We later find out that their COO was indeed on that plane, Flight 93.  His name was Tom Burnett and he was one of the three men who tried to overthrow the hijackers, ultimately deciding to bring the plane down in Shanksville, PA.  I always have felt awful that I fled the room and didn't stay to support them as they tried to find him.  I have no idea what happened to them that day, where they went, what they did.

Upstairs at my desk, one of our senior executives, who I have always loved and respected, comes racing into my shared office, affectionately called the "bullpen," because it's a space that several of us share, and on many levels, is a hub of activity.  He tells us that we all need to get out -- he actually says, "Get the f**k out now."  It's believed that, as a major tourist landmark and a representative of the financial industry, we may well be a target.

I don't want to leave.  I'm unsure this is the best move, to be out in the streets wandering.  We've heard that no transportation is running.  How will I make it back to Brooklyn from midtown?  Even more oddly, I'm concerned about chemical warfare and convinced we're going to be gassed outside.  I'm not sure why I thought that.  Too much movie watching I guess.  It sounds insane, but it was a day for the unthinkable to happen.

My friends at work won't let me stay.  They literally won't leave me behind.  I leave with a group and head to Bryant Park, where we sit confused, and unsure what to do next.  We see a tower fall, I think it's the first one, but honestly, I have lost track of time at this point.  Each of us are from different parts of the city, but we all want to get home.  We hear that trains may be running out of Grand Central, so we decide to head there to see if we can get part of our group on a train.  On the way, a splinter group heading to Brooklyn, where I need to go, asks me if I want to walk to Brooklyn with them.  I'm concerned about the larger group and so I hem and haw, ultimately telling them to go without me.  My friend MaryD tells me I have to go with them, that it's my best shot to get home, so I run after them.  By doing so, I lose my original group and now can't find either group in the crowd.  With cell phones not working, I'm now alone.  Great.

I decide to head south in the direction of Brooklyn.  I'm wearing a dress and high heels and just keep putting one foot in front of the other.  By some miracle, my boss Riina, who was off that day having surgery, gets through on my cell phone.  She helps me contact a good college friend I haven't seen in years, but who still lives in Manhattan, in the Village.

On my walk downtown, I get hit by a bicycle.  It's almost funny.  I'm not hurt, it's just more evidence of how insane the day was.  It was mayhem, everyone like pinballs bouncing here and there.  I keep asking cops what I should do and they tell me to keep walking.  It's not their fault, they have no information and are just as stunned as we are.

I end up at my friend's apartment, joined by other orphans.  We go to the grocery store to try to get food for everyone.  How much do we need?  How long will people be there?  The lines are long and we are confused.  I can't remember what we purchased, or if we even ate at all.

For some reason, my friend's boyfriend will not let us watch any of the coverage of what is happening in the world.  Instead, we watch C-SPAN, which is airing some debate on the house floor.  I want to jump out of my skin not being able to access information.

Around 5, I decide that, if I have any chance of making it to Brooklyn walking before daylight is totally gone, I need to go now.  With ballet slippers provided by my friend, I set out for the walk back to Park Slope.

On the way, a fellow journeywoman tells me the subways are now running.  The platforms are jammed, but everyone is silent.  As we cross from Manhattan into Brooklyn, someone says, "Thank God" and the whole train erupts into applause.

As I exit the station at my stop, I am never so happy to see Brooklyn.  Manhattan has become a godforsaken, terrifying place.  I cry on the 15 block walk home but I am not alone in my crying.

***
The stock market was closed the rest of that week and I stayed home until that Friday, when I was asked to go in to help get everything in shape to reopen that following Monday, 9/17.  I held my breath the whole ride in on the subway.  I came in to dozens of voicemails from concerned work contacts -- people who I barely knew but who were concerned about my well-being.

When we reopened the market, we welcomed first responders and government officials.  It's decided that one of my new job responsibilities is to lead everyone in singing "The Star Spangled Banner" each morning.  I am now the unofficial "voice" of NASDAQ -- having had to sing "Happy Birthday" to Michael Jackson just a month earlier.   I sing the Hell out of the national anthem that first day, and every day after that.

It continued like this for weeks -- with each day the market welcoming a different group related to terrorist attacks.  At first it was people who had lost loved ones and were putting out urgent pleas to find them alive.  As the days went by, we were presenting bouquets to widows and mothers who had lost their children.  It felt like an important job -- publicly commemorating what had happened and mourning those who were lost.  I was pulled down by the weight of it all.  It was heartbreaking.

They sent us all to group grief counseling at work -- many people in the financial services industry had been lost.  Our main location was downtown right opposite the WTC.  My colleagues there had seen unspeakable things happen.  They moved some of our downtown colleagues into our offices; we became one unhappy grieving family.

At counseling, in typical fashion, I announced publicly that we don't need grief counseling, we need to be able to move on.  As the weeks wore on, instead of getting better, it was getting worse.  I felt like I was being held hostage.  Each day we had to go into work with a stiff upper lip and not show any emotion.  Who was I to break down while I was holding a mother grieving her lost son?  What did my experience matter?

As October came in and moved on, we returned to relative normal.  Relative normal meant that we were evacuated pretty often due to potential threats.  Like many people did after that day, I kept sneakers in my desk and wouldn't even go to the bathroom without bringing my entire purse in case we had to leave the building in a hurry.

I will never forget the colleagues I spent that time with.  We are forever bonded.  I worked at NASDAQ for four years after that, and I can honestly say one reason I stayed so long is that I felt such a kinship to my colleagues, largely because of 9/11.  We had been through the worst together, and I had found people that were more than colleagues, I had found friends, friends who did their best to help each other during a horrible time.  When we evacuated that day, we looked out for one another, we stuck together, and that was something that I didn't want to give up. I was afraid I would never find it again.

Along with the sadness, I try to remember those feelings of love, support, and friendship on 9/11.  Remembering them reminds me to be sure to let people know how I really feel - something I am not very good at -- as life is so uncertain and fragile.  And it leads me to a 9/12 where I can feel truly blessed and grateful.