Ten years ago this morning? We all remember. It seems so long ago, and yet paradoxically it feels like yesterday. Hard to believe that in 2016, there will be people voting for a President who do not remember 9-11. Because of the location and scope of the buildings it was intensely personal for the rest of us, something we’ll surely never forget.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in my local office, one branch of hundreds for a large Wall Street firm that leased over a million square feet in 2 World Trade Center, also known as the south tower. That building was our corporate headquarters. I knew it well, I’ll always remember it as it once was, two silver towers sprouting out of the tangle of lower Manhattan. In 1991, as part of my initial training, I had spent a month living in what was then called the Vista Hotel in between the two towers. By 2001 I knew hundreds of fellow employees who worked in the second tower. It was lucky for most of them that the first plane hit the other building and hit high.
That wasn’t the only stroke of luck. Back in 1993, when powerful explosions rocked the basement of the south tower, my new junior partner was finishing up the last day of his month-long training in the worst place possible, eating lunch at the Windows on the World restaurant at the tippy top. He and everyone else with him got out safely from the 107th floor that day. They had walked down a hundred flights of stairs, with cloth napkins held over their mouths. Later he told me it took over an hour to get down, with his hand stretched out touching the shoulder of the person in front for guidance, step, wait, then step again, in the dim emergency lights as smoke hung thicker with every floor.
In a way that earlier terrorist strike would be a life saver. As a direct result all companies with offices inside the buildings, both the South and North Tower developed and drilled on evacuating the massive structures. As my coworkers sat silent in our local office on Sep 11, we each hoped, and soon learned, that those drills initiated in 1993 would indeed save thousands of lives in 2001. Estimates of the loss of life in the towers alone ranged as high as 25,000 people. Due in large part to the preparations made after the 1993 attack, less than a tenth of that would perish. It will never seem like a miracle to the friends and family of those who fell, but a miracle it was: in less than one-hour tens of thousands would walk to safety, among them dozens of personal friends of mine who got out with minutes to spare.
When the second plane burned in, to our building, that’s when it crystalized, that’s when we all knew this was an attack. One veteran broker, an ex-military officer, turned and said “That looks like Osama bin Laden.” I had heard of the name, knew vaguely he was some sort of terrorist asshole hell-bent on killing Americans. I remembered a TV news magazine piece, perhaps 60 Minutes, where a terrorist expert had mentioned rumors that terrorists had considered hitting the World Trade Centers with hijacked airplanes. It seemed obvious now that those schemes had come to fruition.
Then it happened. The second tower to get hit would be the first to topple. The shock of what we were watching transformed from horror to apocalyptic. The scene of utter destruction, which is now etched into the national psyche like a diamond lithograph in hard glass.
Looking back on the whole horrible decade that followed, with the rare successes and serial blunders that ensued, I must confess, the one thing that gives me some grim satisfaction is the thought that Osama bin Laden was shot down by US Navy SEALS in the middle the night, in his own bedroom tucked away safely, he believed, in a yuppie military suburb of Pakistan. Call me shallow, call me vindictive. But as events unfold this anniversery, there is a new, final element in the tragedy that wasn’t there in years past. The thought of the terror in bin Laden’s eyes is my sole source of comfort when reflecting on that terrible dark day that changed America forever.