A Special Story….
WTC 09.20.01
By: John Riebow
© 2001 – All rights reserved
Like many, the view of the World Trade Center towers crumbling on television right before my eyes seemed like a surreal event; it couldn't possibly be true, and me, being the Doubting Thomas that I am, decided to venture to New York on Sunday to see the catastrophe with my own eyes, perhaps to gain some manner of insight, or at the least make it all somehow credible in my mind. Since my sincere intention was to lend any assistance possible to my fellow Americans, I picked up a bunch of supplies (water, goggles, gloves, masks) and shook the local hardware store down for more gloves and some really good respirators. I actually managed to fill the bed of my truck with donations.
I made the journey with my old friend, Tom. We left Hatfield about 6:30 on a crisp & clear morning and got into the NY area around 8:30. It was the perfect day for a road trip, and I wished we had been going under better circumstances. The first thing we saw, even before the Manhattan skyline came into view, was the curling wisps of smoke billowing over the Hudson. The smoke was so pale that it might have been a cloud, or a bank of fog settling down, but there was something different; this cloud was emanating from ground level. We knew the origin of the cloud, and it was chilling
We pulled into Liberty Park to get a view across the Hudson, and it became painfully obvious that the NY skyline had been irrevocably altered. Beyond the persistent plumes of smoke, the WTC towers were just GONE. What had once been magnificent was no more. We took a moment to reflect and then dared to move closer.
We took the Lincoln Tunnel (the only access available from the west) onto the island, and I was relieved to see the heavy police presence at the toll booths. Every vehicle (especially cabs, buses and trucks) were being scrutinized, so it took about twenty minutes to get onto Manhattan, but we were glad of the extra security. A few moment's inconvenience was a great peace of mind.
We headed south once we were in Manhattan, but all we really had to do was follow the trail of smoke, which hung over the entire lower portion of the island. It was easy enough to find the material drop off points--the areas were vast and seemingly everywhere, but to my great shock we had trouble giving away our supplies. The call for donations had been met with such an overwhelming response that our humble attempts at assistance were not required. We then offered to help, even if just to hand out food and water to the police and fire staff, but the offer was denied. Since the entire site was being treated as a crime scene, access in and around was being strictly controlled. We even offered to flip burgers for the Salvation Army, but they assured us that they had enough help. It was good to hear that so many like us had come to assist, but disheartening that we couldn't actually do something. (I just wanted to be connected to the event by doing something physical) We parked among a pack of construction workers and they gratefully received our masks and gloves, but would not take the food or goggles. They did thank us profusely for the gesture, which was somewhat comforting.
Since our offer of assistance was declined, Tom & I decided to walk the perimeter of the event, to see how far-reaching the damage had spread, and to probe the security. It was strange to see such a heavy police presence (at least six officers per intersection) and even more incongruous to see army reserve troops securing the perimeter and driving between the towering buildings in humvees. It was rumored that there is 100 MILLION dollars in gold in the WTC basement vault, but who knows. The police were firm about where we could and could not go, but there was a solemn sadness to their voices that was very atypical of New York.
We wound our way through the edge of China town, as far east as the Brooklyn Bridge, and then snaked into the financial district. The acrid smoke of burning building materials (and flesh?) was potent in the area, so we had to don our face masks. It was strange to walk the streets wearing masks (it really felt somehow like a weird movie set), but it was even stranger watching those that decided to venture out without any protection; to see little old women walking the smoky streets with canes. To our amazement, the area was remarkably clean. Beyond the smoke, there was little evidence of the dust and paper that had been so prevalent on the television coverage. The City had done an incredible clean up job in just four days. Beyond a few people hosing down buildings and cleaning windows, the Wall Street area was incredibly well preserved. The fact that many of the buildings within a few block radius of the WTC complex (especially the 50 + story NASDAQ facility which has a totally glass facade) stood seemingly unscathed was astounding.
We got all the way down to the Staten Island ferry terminal and had hoped to walk through Battery Park, but the park was closed. I later saw aerial photos that showed the debris field almost reached the river at some points. With nowhere further to go, we made our way back, and were able to get closer to the site because of the street configuration. The air remained heavy with smoke and I kept rounding corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of the twin towers. But they weren't there.
It was difficult to really see what was going on, for the most part, but we did make our way to the main access route into the site. The most dramatic view was down Church Street, where the fractured remains of the lower WTC 2 facade reached toward the sky line an agonized hand. We stood, with thousands of others, and gaped at the dazzling sight. We watched the convoy of dump trucks rolling in and out of the area, one ominously labeled "airplane parts;" saw demolished police cruisers and fire trucks pulled from the wreckage that were barely recognizable.
We also witnessed the human element in this event. It was impossible to overlook the missing persons postings on poles, phone booths, buildings; they seemed to be everywhere. We saw the yellow ribbons, the weary faces and the tears, We cheered the police and fire and construction crews going in and out, saw the grimness of the task on their faces, and raised our fists in solidarity at the wave of the red, white and blue. We stayed as long as we dared, as long as we could handle the emotional bombardment, and delivered the rest of our supplies to the Red Cross on the way back to Pennsylvania.
We had come to offer any assistance we could, but in the end, became like the thousands of others who were there to see how a handful of determined extremists could so easily undo what took so many to imagine and create, and thus make the world a different place.