My Escape from New York
Jason Pront
November 01, 2001
When I overheard a co-worker saying a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center, I initially dismissed it as nonsense. I had a television right in front of me, which was tuned to CNBC surely anything of this magnitude would have been picked up by now. However, as the rumors persisted I felt compelled to investigate. Switching to CNN, I saw the most distinctive part of the New York City skyline surrounded by a cloud of black smoke.
I ran downstairs and out the back entrance. The American Stock Exchange, located at 86 Trinity Place, is less than half a block from the World Trade Center. Upon reaching the street, several coworkers in tow, I gaped upwards at the flaming tower. Bits of charred paper blew lazily from the building down towards earth, and lightly covered the streets of lower Manhattan.
Responding to the urges of exchange security, I returned to work. Suddenly, selling 5000 shares of Vodafone did not seem so urgent. As I attempted to focus on my job, the building shook. At the exact same moment I saw on the television screen a fireball erupt from the other tower.
A feeling of panic seized the room. Immediately, announcements over the floor-wide PA system urged us to stay indoors, as debris was falling from the nearby towers and could be potentially lethal.
We immediately shut down all our trading systems. If the top of either tower were to fall off, my building was far too close for comfort. The PA continued to urge us to stay indoors, but the general sentiment was that it was time to leave. A quick poll of all employees of the firm was taken, and the unanimous decision was to leave at once. Apparently, we were not the only ones who felt it was time to leave. Nearly the entire exchange was rapidly moving towards the exits. As we made our way down the stairs, we were joined by several of the exchange security guards.
"This building is being evacuated. Please exit immediately and walk away from the World Trade Center."
As we were herded south and then east up to Broadway, I considered the prospects of the towers falling. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see the upper floors of the buildings shrouded in a thick, black smoke. Orange flames were visible in many of the upper windows. Who was to say the upper portion of one, or even both towers, couldnt come crashing down? Questioning the wisdom of the crowds who had gathered to gape at the flaming horror, I continued east towards the river. I was magnetized. The prospect of reaching the opposite side of Manhattan was unequivocally linked in my mind with the idea of safety. My pace quickened.
A low rumble started from behind me. The noise was loud, but not deafening. It was as if a thousand pots of water suddenly began to boil; a rolling sound which echoed through the caverns of lower Manhattan.
I ran. There was no need to look behind me; I knew well enough what was happening. My only fear was that the towers had toppled over and were falling towards me. Adrenaline surged through my body as I ran, seemingly in vain, away from the growing roar behind me. I allowed myself to glance back and saw pieces of rock and metal flying through the air. I ducked into a brick doorway and covered my head.
In a matter of seconds the flying debris had passed, yet the worst was to come. Behind the small rocks was an incredible cloud of blackness, which swallowed entire buildings as it tore effortlessly towards me. I ran again. I felt no fatigue. Not knowing if giant chunks of building were masked by the cloud of darkness, the goal of survival was preeminent in my brain. If I had any chance of survival, it would only come if I kept running.
However fast I am capable of running, the smoke ran faster. I could hear it approaching; a loud hiss began to fill the air. Just as I was about to be enveloped, I ducked around a corner. I pressed up against the brick wall and buried my head.
Night fell instantly. I felt the cloud of dust rush over me and coat my entire body like a strong wind. Then, silence. I could barely see more than a few inches, and it became difficult to breathe. I began to think of the dinosaurs, choked to death when a giant comet slammed to earth. I thought of the Roman city of Pompeii, choked and then buried under a cloud of volcanic ash. To choke to death after surviving the actual collapse of the World Trade Center seemed a tragedy of Sophoclean proportions.
My eyes focused on movement ahead of me. Two men were huddled in front of a bright rectangle of light. I raced over to see them tugging at a locked glass door. By pulling hard enough, a crack between the door and the wall large enough to breath some fresh air out of could be created. After sucking a few breaths, we considered the task of getting the door open. No matter how hard we tugged, we couldnt break the lock.
I debated kicking through the glass. While it was possible we could get indoors, it was just as likely the smoke would pour in, rendering the effort useless. Further, the potential for injury was high. Still, we needed to breathe somehow. So close to salvation, yet barred tauntingly by a sheet of plate glass.
Ducking over to the door for another breath of air, I looked into the room. Staring back at me was a row of ATMs. I jumped back and examined the door frame. Sure enough, a small black slotted plastic panel was affixed to the wall just above the door handle. I motioned for the small group of men tugging at the door to stand back, pulled my bank card from my wallet, and shoved it into the slot. A soft buzz signaled my victory, as I pulled open the door and we rushed inside the small pocket of breathable air.
Once the air had cleared outside I was able to walk a few blocks to a deli, where I drank some water and cleaned myself off. The phone lines were still working, and I was able to call home and report that I had survived. I waited inside until the air had finally cleared after both towers collapsed, and eventually made my way up to 49th street, where I caught a ferry back into New Jersey.
Having survived the worst terrorist attack in the history of the United States, I have mixed emotions about the future. While the majority of the country wants revenge, I do not feel any vengeance. Nor do I insist upon bringing the perpetrators "to justice," as so many have advocated; I definitely see the validity in having justice served, but the almost vigilantism I have heard espoused on most television news programs does not interest me. What I do demand is that the United States, along with every other country in the world, take whatever steps necessary such that this horrible event can never happen again. Retribution will not bring back the Twin Towers; justice will not bring back those who perished. Only vigilance can protect those of us who have survived.
