Patch Reader Daniel Marcus Remembers Sept. 11

The following was submitted by East Brunswick Patch reader Daniel Marcus.

On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was working at Uno's Pizzeria at the South Street Seaport.  I was a 19-year-old college sophomore at the time at Pace University just blocks away from the trade center. The Seaport itself was only six blocks away from the towers.  What I remember about that day comes and goes in flashes.  I remember moments, voices, and scenes but their order is hard to place in sequence.  I have never before written or spoken publicly about my experiences that day, but I feel after 10 years it's time to put my experiences down on paper permanently.

When the first plane struck the towers, everyone laughed and gathered around the TV for a few moments before continuing our morning routine. The broadcasters were reporting that a small plane had accidentally struck one of the buildings and were comparing the incident to a similar plane crash into the Empire State Building years earlier.  Like most of America, a few minutes later we realized that this was far more serious than anyone originally thought.  All work at the restaurant stopped when the second tower was struck.  Cooks and dishwashers left the back of the house and us waiters stopped setting up tables as we stood glued to the image of the burning towers that we saw on TV.  Many people ask me why we didn't go out into the street and watch it with our own eyes, and the truth is that I'm not sure.  For one thing, the Seaport was positioned in such a way that we could not see the towers from outside our building because there were too many other large buildings in the way.  We were also still on morning duty, and feared retribution from the boss if we left our tasks. A few minutes after the second plane hit the boss instructed us to stop watching TV and return to our jobs.  

It was only once the first trade center fell that everything really stopped.  I don't remember hearing or feeling the impact of either plane crash, but I remember clearly feeling the floor shake and hearing people scream when the first tower fell.  We all ran outside when we felt the shaking begin, and I remember seeing hundreds of people running as fast as they could out of the huge office building on the corner of South Street and Maiden Lane as they screamed and panicked.  We all just stood on the front deck and watched in disbelief.  I remember watching middle eastern hotdog vendors quickly packing up their wares as young American men screamed at them "you *&^% knocked down our towers you *&^%!" and threw various items in their direction.  I remember seeing Wall Street workers in their green coats sitting on the seaport stage, desperately trying to get reception on their cell phones to no avail.  I remember hearing on the news that there were still other planes in the air and that more might be heading our way.  I stood up on the railing and screamed "they knocked down our towers!! I can't believe they knocked down our towers!!"  We were all in utter shock.  This couldn't happen in America!  Before long the air grew smoky and we were instructed to go back inside.  Right behind us were a few people taking refuge from the rubble and an important looking Army man looking to find a landline to call headquarters.  The boss instructed the cooks to make some appetizers and told the bartender to mix up some drinks to help everyone calm down.  We were still glued to the TV when the second tower fell.  

Things are a bit blurry for me after that.  The smoke outside grew so thick that we couldn't allow any more refugees in for fear of contaminating the air.  I don't remember hearing or feeling the second tower fall.  When the smoke cleared, we walked outside to behold the horrors first hand that the rest of the world saw only on their TV's. The first thing I saw was a sea of humanity walking up the FDR Drive covered in dust and rubble.  The seaport was surprisingly empty, because most people who found themselves outside when the smoke became really bad opted to head by foot uptown or over to Brooklyn via one of the three lower Manhattan East River bridges.  For some reason the image I have stuck in my head is the East River with shoes and paper floating in it.  Though we were not close enough to see the real devastation that most escaping the towers saw, the fact that an item like a shoe could travel to the East River when the towers bordered the Hudson was evidence enough to us of the vastness of the tragedy.

Two minutes or two hours could have passed after that before the police came to get us.  If I had to guess I'd say it was maybe 30 minutes but I can't be sure.  When the police finally came, they arrived by boat and instructed us to evacuate the island.  We were given the option of going to Brooklyn Heights or New Jersey.  Luckily for me my dorm was located in Brooklyn Heights, so I chose the first option with many of my coworkers.  We were given small masks for our face and led quickly onto the boats and off the island.  I will never ever, ever forget watching the island burn as I floated away across the East River.  I was stunned in disbelief as more and more of the scene unfolded to me as we grew further away from the buildings blocking our view.  Halfway across the river I felt like I was in a war zone, and thanked my lucky stars that I was being given this quick and efficient escape route.  To my left, planes and helicopters flew quickly over the Statute of Liberty and out south towards the narrows, presumably to prepare for military action.  In front of me the city burned and the FDR drive continued to push a river of dust covered terrified people uptown and away from danger.  Sirens sounded and lights flashed brightly everywhere.  To my right, the Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Williamsburg bridges stood covered in people lucky enough to be farther along their journey than those on the FDR.  And it was such a picture perfect beautiful day.  I remember thinking that at any moment the other hijacked planes would come flying up the East River and crash into the 3 bridges killing everyone on foot.  Thankfully, that didn't happen.

That night many of my classmates came to stay in our Brooklyn dorm because the main school building was evacuated in favor of an army post.  When we couldn't take the TV anymore, we all walked down to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade and watched the city burn in darkness together.  It was surreal, like something out of an end of the world movie.  The amazing thing about that night was that everyone was so friendly to each other in the midst of their shock and pain.  We were all strangers, but that night everyone staring at the horrors a few miles across the river spoke to each other, offered words of hope, encouragement and disbelief. We all shared information.  You could walk up to anyone and they would to talk to you like an old friend.  Many people were asking about lost loved ones.  Missing signs and flowers began to line the fence that protected us from the BQE below.  We all stood together trying to make sense of the life changing tragedy we were living through.  There was no political bickering, no anti-Bush rhetoric, no racial divides, and no class distinctions. It was an incredible thing to experience in such an aggressive city like New York; one I have yet to see duplicated.

Over the weeks and months that followed, our lives slowly got back to normal.  When work resumed again and we took our first subway rides back across the river we did so hesitantly.  As nervous as we were to return to the scene of the tragedy, we somehow instinctively knew that it was our duty as Americans to not be afraid and to keep moving forward and living our lives.  So we did.  Day after day we trudged through the smoke filled streets to class and work.  On weekends we attended countless candlelight vigils in multiple Manhattan parks, and wrote words of hope and encouragement on the banners that started appearing all over the city.  I remember carrying a piece of rubble high in my hand with an American Flag sporting a United We Stand T-shirt, as my buddies and I walked past firehouses thanking every firefighter we saw.  I remember taking over candle lighting duties at one vigil and having a firefighter with a "missing" picture in his hand of a fallen brother approach me and say that watching me keep the candles lit was the most moving thing he'd experienced all week.  I remember standing on the west side highway just blocks from where Ground Zero stood clapping and cheering the endless stream of fire trucks flowing in and out of the area, carrying hundreds of exhausted New York's Bravest.

One day I decided that I wanted to volunteer at Ground Zero to help with the cleanup.  The Javitz Center had become the place where cleanup crew administrators organized volunteers, so I went there and requested to go downtown with the next shift.  The lady there didn't know it at the time, but I am convinced that she saved my life.  She told me that I had to be a registered ironworker to be allowed past the checkpoint.  I remember being so mad that they wouldn't let me help out, but a few weeks later I found myself in the hospital with serious breathing problems.  The smoke in the air refused to go away and my asthma started kicking in like never before.  Hearing all the horror stories today about workers that still suffer and die from 9/11 related diseases breaks my heart.  And I know I could have easily been one of them.

The restaurant was empty until Halloween, around the time that the city raised the two blue lights to the heaven where the towers stood. When the smoke finally cleared, many of my classmates had dropped out of school and returned home, while many of those who stayed behind were still stuck in makeshift dorms uptown, unable to return to their rooms until an inspector said the building was safe again.  Less than a year later I moved out of the city myself and never returned.  I dropped out of Pace, moved back in with my parents, and eventually completed my degree from home at Kean University.  September 11 lives with me always. Those of us who were there on that day and experienced the hope, fear and courage displayed by those who came back to the city in the aftermath of the tragedy will always have a unique bond in time and place.  We were a part of history that will never be forgotten and we survive on to tell the tale.  

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to tell my story.

Daniel Marcus

East Brunswick