I didn't even know that anything was wrong when I got to the office (on 42nd and Park) around 9:15 a.m. I remember an announcement on the subway that
there was no service to the World Trade Center, but I didn't think anything of it. At work, everyone was talking excitedly in the aisles. I thought
they were just chatty because it was Fashion Week and there were a number of hot shows that day so I just started working-- completely oblivious to what
had happened. I finally asked this fact checker, and he told me that a plane had struck the World Trade Center. I pictured a low-flying plane striking
an antenna, so I just kept working.
The fashion and beauty director ran up to me and told me that there was a
television in the conference room and everyone was watching in there. I
went to the conference room-- the whole staff was in there, eyes fixated on the television screen. I saw what you all saw-- two
gouged towers. We just sat there and watched. My boss, the associate fashion editor, was weeping--
I didn't want to ask who she knew in there. Then the first building went down and everyone started crying hysterically. One girl screamed, "My God,
my father's in there!" We all tried to call our families and friends, but the phone lines were so barraged with calls that no one could reach any
outside lines. Then the reporter said that people were jumping out of windows, and a few people ran out of the room and got sick.
At that point, the editor-in-chief told people to leave the building-- we were on the 15th
floor and directly across a major structure- Grand Central Station. All the bridges and tunnels leading out of Manhattan were closed, so I didn't know
what to do. I stayed for a while longer, watching the coverage and trying to get in touch with people. I finally reached my mother, and let her know
I was okay. I couldn't get in touch with my brother, and I was really nervous because I knew he worked downtown.
We finally got in touch with each other, and arranged to meet on 59th and
1st. There were literally thousands of people outside Grand Central Station when I left-- the police had evacuated it. There was a sea of people
flooding the sidewalks and streets, all moving uptown in an effort to escape to Brooklyn, Queens or the Bronx. Many women were barefoot-- some had been
walking for hours and couldn't make the trek in pumps (I ditched the pony heels after 12 blocks). I walked 50 blocks north with my brother and stayed
at his friend's place. We watched the news and I fell asleep. When I woke up, the streets were deserted. A few low-flying planes roared overhead, and
I was genuinely frightened because I was under the impression that all air traffic was grounded. I started walking uptown-- I was 80 blocks from the
George Washington Bridge. It was all so quiet-- a few people roamed the streets, but only intermittent sirens broke the silence.
I finally caught a bus, but it was heading towards an unsavory neighborhood so I caught the train instead. The train I was on kept losing power, and
Metropolitan Transit Authority guys in orange vests kept running through the cars, so all the
passengers just sat there nervously. I finally got to the George Washington Bridge Port
Authority Terminal, which was evacuated because of bomb threats. They wouldn't let anyone walk across the bridge. A few blocks away, the police
were filling up shuttle buses to Jersey. Everyone was tired and frightened, and some arguments broke out on the bus I was on. But once I got to the
Jersey side, I was stranded-- there were no buses running. It was 9 p.m.,
and I was about 10 miles from home. One bus finally came, and luckily, it
was going to the Garden State Plaza Mall (a five-minute walk from my house).
When we got to the mall, I called cabs for stranded people on my cell
phone and went home. The whole journey took over three hours.
I watched the news most of the night. My office (in midtown, on Broadway)
was closed today, so I just took my mom to work (Roosevelt Hospital on 59th and 10th). There were many people just sitting or walking along Route 4,
trying to get to work. We picked up two gentlemen trying to get to work-- one guy was trying to get to Beth Israel and the other was going to
Citibank. About a mile from the George Washington Bridge, the police made us turn around. My mom showed them her hospital ID, and they let us through
without searching the car or patting us down.
The bridge was empty. In the city, everything was quiet, and everyone
walked slowly, looking dazed. No one even honked at me for my bad driving-- unheard of.
So that was my brush with disaster. It's therapeutic to get this all out.
©2001 by Thea Palad
Thea Palad, an alumna of The College of New Jersey, works for a magazine
in Manhattan.
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