How I Escaped My Certain Fate -- Poster "Mjulian" Posted on 8/24/2002
On the morning of September 11th, 2002, I did what I always do: woke up late, rushed through a shower and cup of coffee, and raced four blocks to make the 7:59 Metro North express to Grand Central. From there I got on the 4/5 express subway to Fulton Steet Station. It was as crowded as always, nothing unusual, so far so good. As I got off at Fulton Street Station, I glanced at my watch to make sure I’d make a 9:00 conference call. Sure enough it was 8:45. The walk from Fulton and Broadway, through the WTC Plaza, across the West St. overpass, into WFC and up to my office was roughly 10 minutes. All was good.
Since Fulton St. was the stop for green liners who worked at the WTC and WFC, I was one of many who shuffled up the stairs to Broadway/Dey and the only thing different that morning was the distinct smell of burning paper. I remember thinking to myself “What the hell is that smell? Maybe my building is on fire and I can have a few days off.”
For those who’ve never ridden this subway to this particular stop, you come up the stairs to a picture postcard view, due east, of the WTC. It is a particularly spectacular view and on this morning it was the most spectacular thing I had ever seen because two to three floors of the top fifth of the North Tower were fully engulfed in raging flames. I stood there dumbfounded, staring at this from Dey Street between Broadway and Church for a couple of minutes not knowing what exactly I should do. The following thoughts went through my head:
“Wow, the WTC is on fire.”
“I don’t think a fire sprinkler system is going to be able to put that out.”
“Jesus, I hope everyone above the fireline is able to get out of there.”
“F*ck! John Doe works up there, I hope he was able to get out.”
There were a few hundred of us at least watching the fire from that particular vantage point. It was an amazingly clear day and a mesmerizing spectacle to see: deep orange flames, intense black smoke, sparkly silver sprinkles trickling out at the fire line (paper being sucked out and blasted by sunlight), all against a gorgeous blue sky. And dead silence. No sirens, no screaming, no panic, just me and others staring blankly at this towering inferno.
I don’t know what I was thinking, but since I figured it was just a fire, I began to postulate on alternative routes to get to my building, which was immediately north of the North Tower. I walked up the half-block to Church Street, which gave me a full view of the Plaza. I could see some debris there and decided definitely not to go that way. I figured I’d go north on Church and bang a left on Vesey which would take me to the north entrance of my building.
As I was standing there at Church and Fulton deciding my route, the sounds of approaching sirens grew louder. Suddenly I heard my name. It was Sean McS., a buddy of mine from an old job. He worked for a firm with offices right on Church directly across from the plaza. The conversation went something like this:
“This is f*cking something, huh?
“Unbelievable”
He went back into his building. He had paged his brother Mike, a NYFD fireman and cell phones weren’t working, so he went back in to wait for the call. Sean is an intellectual who hides behind the veneer of an Irish Catholic Joe from Long Island.
I stood and watched some more. It was truly hypnotic staring at that scene; watching that silvery paper trickle down. Then I saw something heavy fall from the fireline. It fell much faster than paper although it didn’t look that much larger. As it approached the ground however it grew in size and in the millisecond before it hit the pavement I realized with horror that it was a person. A male. A guy in a suit who had gone to work that day so that he could earn a living to provide for himself and maybe his family if he had one.
Before I could fully grasp what had just happened, two more people jumped, one was guy waving his arms as if he was saying goodbye, the other looked like she was dogpaddling in midair. Boom. Boom. I will not describe the sight of impact but to say that thank God I was as far away as I was, as the images I still can’t shake are bad enough. Then two more jumpers, holding hands as if to share the last few moments of life. All of this transpired in a span of maybe 30 seconds. After those two I decided I was done. I was going home because this was a lot worse than I thought. I had just witnessed 5 suicides and there was no way in hell I could function. I turned around and headed back east towards the subway. I stopped about halfway up the block, unable to resist the urge to watch some more.
KABOOM!! The south tower exploded. A huge fireball rained down inciting utter and complete pandemonium. We all ran as fast as we could towards away from the WTC towards Broadway. People running frantically; in the street, on the sidewalks, into stores, coffee shops, bodega’s. I ducked into a basement barbershop, the stairs of which led down from the sidewalk. I could not see the towers from there and waited a minute until those running past slowed or stopped altogether. I came up and looked to see the south tower now fully engaged in flames at a point a good fifteen stories lower than the north tower.
At that point my heart was absolutely racing. I knew now that it was not simply an unfortunate fire, but something sinister. I thought we were being bombed, either from within the towers or that perhaps missiles were being fired at the towers. Either way I felt in immediate jeopardy and quickly got to Broadway and started walking north. The sirens were blaring now and seemingly coming from all directions. I am not a picture of health and I smoke so I kept thinking to myself “Whatever you do, DO NOT have a heart attack. Because there will be no one to save you today.” I am not a very religious man, my faith being more of a personal relationship where I only bother Him (whoever he may be) in times of desperate need and in exchange for me being good and trying never to hurt anybody. For reason’s unknown I didn’t make that call that day. I have no idea why, it was the perfect situation. I think I was just so freaked out that I forgot.
I paced myself as I made my way north on Broadway, fully expecting to be blown off the planet at any moment. A block north, there was a crowd surrounding a boom box. I stopped and listened. It was newsradio WINS and the woman was saying that the north tower had been hit by a hijacked plane. She also mentioned that the Pentagon had was on fire in a similar attack. She didn’t mention what had caused the south tower to explode but I had heard enough and continued up Broadway. I knew then that we (NYC, DC, USA, The World) were under attack and that was all I needed to know.
All I could think about at that point were my children. Had my town just north of the city been blown up? If not, would I escape from this mayhem and ever see them again? Cell phones were still out so I couldn’t even call my ex-wife to find out what the hell was going on. I continued north on Broadway, people were out in the street everywhere, transfixed by the sight of the two towers burning uncontrollably.
I reached City Hall and checked out grabbing he subway from there. I was naively thinking: get back to Grand Central and get on a train home. No such luck, subways were down. I suddenly realized that City Hall would be a perfect target for whoever was attacking us and ran north two blocks before I slowed down to look back at the towers again. Still burning. I heard people talking stuff about “they have seven other planes and nobody knows where any of them are.” I freaked, certain that seven additional bombs were headed my way.
From that point on it was a mad dash out of Manhattan. I avoided anything that might be a target including the federal courthouse and any other federal building. At this point, every possible type of city service vehicle imaginable was racing full speed towards ground zero. NYPD, NYFD, Transit Police, Ambulances, NYC Parks Rangers, and a slew of unmarked cars from who knows what department. I can’t help but think know how most of those men and women were racing headlong to their deaths in the name of public service while I was only concerned with getting the hell away from there. These men and women really were hero’s; I was concerned with nothing but self-preservation.
Just before I got to Canal Street, I stopped to have a cigarette and watch the towers burn some more. As was the norm, there was a crowd of people in the middle of the street watching. Suddenly, in a matter of seconds, a huge ball of smoke was billowing at ground level. “The towers just collapsed!” someone yelled and everybody turned and ran, even though we were almost a mile from the towers and in no danger whatsoever.
I continued north and my cell phone finally got a signal around 20th Street. I called my ex-wife and she was absolutely hysterical, crying and screaming. I could hardly make out what she was saying. But apparently it was “Thank God you’re alive” a bunch of times, “”They’re blowing up everything” and “Please come home.” All I remember saying was “I’m OK. I’m OK” and “Are he kids OK? Are you okay? and “Please get them from school and keep them safe.” I remember crying on the phone and telling her I’d get home even if I had to walk all the way.
I continued north, reaching 33rd Street. I think I was east of Broadway but am not sure. Madison maybe. I called my ex again. She was calmer as was I. I told her I was headed towards Grand Central to see if I could catch a train home but she pleaded with me to stay away from GC as the hijackers had other planes and that GC could be a target. I caught an incredible break at that moment as a bus pulled up to a stop near where I was standing. It was an express to Pelham Bay. There was a line to get on but it was not too long and the b was empty as this was it’s fir (and only) stop. My ex begged me to get on and since Pelham Bay was close enough, I did.
That trip took 2 and a half hours. Inching forward through gridlock at least 30 blocks until things finally loosened up. When we crossed the bridge into the south Bronx the whole bus cheered and I thought to myself I never thought I’d be so happy to be in the south Bronx. My wife picked me up at Pelham Bay and I was safe a sound at home by 1:00. I picked my kids up at school and cannot tell you the sense of pure joy I felt hugging and kissing them.
That is my story.
My buddy Sean got out of there too but unfortunately his brother Mike died in the line of duty. His funeral was one of the saddest gatherings I have ever attended. To this day I cannot talk to Sean without crying. I hope that passes because I really like Sean and would like to talk Jets with him; he is a huge Jets fan.
I still see the sparkling paper trickling down, still see the jumpers, I still smell the burning paper from the subway platform.
And the fact is, I don’t want to ever forget any of it.
--MJulian
On the morning of September 11th, 2002, I did what I always do: woke up late, rushed through a shower and cup of coffee, and raced four blocks to make the 7:59 Metro North express to Grand Central. From there I got on the 4/5 express subway to Fulton Steet Station. It was as crowded as always, nothing unusual, so far so good. As I got off at Fulton Street Station, I glanced at my watch to make sure I’d make a 9:00 conference call. Sure enough it was 8:45. The walk from Fulton and Broadway, through the WTC Plaza, across the West St. overpass, into WFC and up to my office was roughly 10 minutes. All was good.
Since Fulton St. was the stop for green liners who worked at the WTC and WFC, I was one of many who shuffled up the stairs to Broadway/Dey and the only thing different that morning was the distinct smell of burning paper. I remember thinking to myself “What the hell is that smell? Maybe my building is on fire and I can have a few days off.”
For those who’ve never ridden this subway to this particular stop, you come up the stairs to a picture postcard view, due east, of the WTC. It is a particularly spectacular view and on this morning it was the most spectacular thing I had ever seen because two to three floors of the top fifth of the North Tower were fully engulfed in raging flames. I stood there dumbfounded, staring at this from Dey Street between Broadway and Church for a couple of minutes not knowing what exactly I should do. The following thoughts went through my head:
“Wow, the WTC is on fire.”
“I don’t think a fire sprinkler system is going to be able to put that out.”
“Jesus, I hope everyone above the fireline is able to get out of there.”
“F*ck! John Doe works up there, I hope he was able to get out.”
There were a few hundred of us at least watching the fire from that particular vantage point. It was an amazingly clear day and a mesmerizing spectacle to see: deep orange flames, intense black smoke, sparkly silver sprinkles trickling out at the fire line (paper being sucked out and blasted by sunlight), all against a gorgeous blue sky. And dead silence. No sirens, no screaming, no panic, just me and others staring blankly at this towering inferno.
I don’t know what I was thinking, but since I figured it was just a fire, I began to postulate on alternative routes to get to my building, which was immediately north of the North Tower. I walked up the half-block to Church Street, which gave me a full view of the Plaza. I could see some debris there and decided definitely not to go that way. I figured I’d go north on Church and bang a left on Vesey which would take me to the north entrance of my building.
As I was standing there at Church and Fulton deciding my route, the sounds of approaching sirens grew louder. Suddenly I heard my name. It was Sean McS., a buddy of mine from an old job. He worked for a firm with offices right on Church directly across from the plaza. The conversation went something like this:
“This is f*cking something, huh?
“Unbelievable”
He went back into his building. He had paged his brother Mike, a NYFD fireman and cell phones weren’t working, so he went back in to wait for the call. Sean is an intellectual who hides behind the veneer of an Irish Catholic Joe from Long Island.
I stood and watched some more. It was truly hypnotic staring at that scene; watching that silvery paper trickle down. Then I saw something heavy fall from the fireline. It fell much faster than paper although it didn’t look that much larger. As it approached the ground however it grew in size and in the millisecond before it hit the pavement I realized with horror that it was a person. A male. A guy in a suit who had gone to work that day so that he could earn a living to provide for himself and maybe his family if he had one.
Before I could fully grasp what had just happened, two more people jumped, one was guy waving his arms as if he was saying goodbye, the other looked like she was dogpaddling in midair. Boom. Boom. I will not describe the sight of impact but to say that thank God I was as far away as I was, as the images I still can’t shake are bad enough. Then two more jumpers, holding hands as if to share the last few moments of life. All of this transpired in a span of maybe 30 seconds. After those two I decided I was done. I was going home because this was a lot worse than I thought. I had just witnessed 5 suicides and there was no way in hell I could function. I turned around and headed back east towards the subway. I stopped about halfway up the block, unable to resist the urge to watch some more.
KABOOM!! The south tower exploded. A huge fireball rained down inciting utter and complete pandemonium. We all ran as fast as we could towards away from the WTC towards Broadway. People running frantically; in the street, on the sidewalks, into stores, coffee shops, bodega’s. I ducked into a basement barbershop, the stairs of which led down from the sidewalk. I could not see the towers from there and waited a minute until those running past slowed or stopped altogether. I came up and looked to see the south tower now fully engaged in flames at a point a good fifteen stories lower than the north tower.
At that point my heart was absolutely racing. I knew now that it was not simply an unfortunate fire, but something sinister. I thought we were being bombed, either from within the towers or that perhaps missiles were being fired at the towers. Either way I felt in immediate jeopardy and quickly got to Broadway and started walking north. The sirens were blaring now and seemingly coming from all directions. I am not a picture of health and I smoke so I kept thinking to myself “Whatever you do, DO NOT have a heart attack. Because there will be no one to save you today.” I am not a very religious man, my faith being more of a personal relationship where I only bother Him (whoever he may be) in times of desperate need and in exchange for me being good and trying never to hurt anybody. For reason’s unknown I didn’t make that call that day. I have no idea why, it was the perfect situation. I think I was just so freaked out that I forgot.
I paced myself as I made my way north on Broadway, fully expecting to be blown off the planet at any moment. A block north, there was a crowd surrounding a boom box. I stopped and listened. It was newsradio WINS and the woman was saying that the north tower had been hit by a hijacked plane. She also mentioned that the Pentagon had was on fire in a similar attack. She didn’t mention what had caused the south tower to explode but I had heard enough and continued up Broadway. I knew then that we (NYC, DC, USA, The World) were under attack and that was all I needed to know.
All I could think about at that point were my children. Had my town just north of the city been blown up? If not, would I escape from this mayhem and ever see them again? Cell phones were still out so I couldn’t even call my ex-wife to find out what the hell was going on. I continued north on Broadway, people were out in the street everywhere, transfixed by the sight of the two towers burning uncontrollably.
I reached City Hall and checked out grabbing he subway from there. I was naively thinking: get back to Grand Central and get on a train home. No such luck, subways were down. I suddenly realized that City Hall would be a perfect target for whoever was attacking us and ran north two blocks before I slowed down to look back at the towers again. Still burning. I heard people talking stuff about “they have seven other planes and nobody knows where any of them are.” I freaked, certain that seven additional bombs were headed my way.
From that point on it was a mad dash out of Manhattan. I avoided anything that might be a target including the federal courthouse and any other federal building. At this point, every possible type of city service vehicle imaginable was racing full speed towards ground zero. NYPD, NYFD, Transit Police, Ambulances, NYC Parks Rangers, and a slew of unmarked cars from who knows what department. I can’t help but think know how most of those men and women were racing headlong to their deaths in the name of public service while I was only concerned with getting the hell away from there. These men and women really were hero’s; I was concerned with nothing but self-preservation.
Just before I got to Canal Street, I stopped to have a cigarette and watch the towers burn some more. As was the norm, there was a crowd of people in the middle of the street watching. Suddenly, in a matter of seconds, a huge ball of smoke was billowing at ground level. “The towers just collapsed!” someone yelled and everybody turned and ran, even though we were almost a mile from the towers and in no danger whatsoever.
I continued north and my cell phone finally got a signal around 20th Street. I called my ex-wife and she was absolutely hysterical, crying and screaming. I could hardly make out what she was saying. But apparently it was “Thank God you’re alive” a bunch of times, “”They’re blowing up everything” and “Please come home.” All I remember saying was “I’m OK. I’m OK” and “Are he kids OK? Are you okay? and “Please get them from school and keep them safe.” I remember crying on the phone and telling her I’d get home even if I had to walk all the way.
I continued north, reaching 33rd Street. I think I was east of Broadway but am not sure. Madison maybe. I called my ex again. She was calmer as was I. I told her I was headed towards Grand Central to see if I could catch a train home but she pleaded with me to stay away from GC as the hijackers had other planes and that GC could be a target. I caught an incredible break at that moment as a bus pulled up to a stop near where I was standing. It was an express to Pelham Bay. There was a line to get on but it was not too long and the b was empty as this was it’s fir (and only) stop. My ex begged me to get on and since Pelham Bay was close enough, I did.
That trip took 2 and a half hours. Inching forward through gridlock at least 30 blocks until things finally loosened up. When we crossed the bridge into the south Bronx the whole bus cheered and I thought to myself I never thought I’d be so happy to be in the south Bronx. My wife picked me up at Pelham Bay and I was safe a sound at home by 1:00. I picked my kids up at school and cannot tell you the sense of pure joy I felt hugging and kissing them.
That is my story.
My buddy Sean got out of there too but unfortunately his brother Mike died in the line of duty. His funeral was one of the saddest gatherings I have ever attended. To this day I cannot talk to Sean without crying. I hope that passes because I really like Sean and would like to talk Jets with him; he is a huge Jets fan.
I still see the sparkling paper trickling down, still see the jumpers, I still smell the burning paper from the subway platform.
And the fact is, I don’t want to ever forget any of it.
--MJulian