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| September 11, 2001 |
The 9/11 Commission Report
National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) 9/11 Flight Path Studies
Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA)
Photos
Articles
9/11 Virtual Memorial
9/11 - September 11, 2001
by Susan L. Hurowitz (October 2, 1936 - September 28, 2004), ©Sept. 13, 2001
The phone rang at 8:57 A.M. I was drowsing in that twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness, as is my habit at that hour. The
first thing I saw was the sunlight streaming through my window, and the blue, nearly cloudless sky. The phone call was from my
youngest son, in Texas, reporting the first plane crash into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. I rushed to the window, and
saw the thick black smoke pouring from the upper floors of the tower. I returned to the phone and, as we were speaking, the second
plane crashed into the South Tower. A little while later, I went out on my terrace, to see this for myself, and was standing there,
staring in horror at the smoke and flames emanating from the Towers. Suddenly, with a great rumble, a thick gray cloud was falling,
cascading into itself, from the burning area of the South Tower, and behind the cloud, I could no longer see the building. Wild
thoughts of hallucination, sleepwalking, total denial flooded my mind, as my body shook, tears flowed from my eyes, and my throat
choked in sobs. The North Tower collapsed, soon after.
When the towers were first planned, many New Yorkers were outraged at the thought of two buildings surpassing the height of the
Empire State Building. But as we watched the construction, and saw the simple, elegant majesty of the towers as they rose to claim
their place in our beloved skyline, we fell in love with them. Over the three decades that they stood at the base of Manhattan, they
became the landmark that welcomed every
visitor, by land, sea and air to the grandeur of New York, seen right after the Statue of Liberty, in the harbor. They came to symbolize
the glory of the city, as the financial center of the world. They proclaimed to all that this was New York, come see the treasures, the
excitement, the enchantment, found nowhere else on earth, that awaits you in the vast shadows of these towers. Few people realize
that the towers were part of a very large complex of commercial and residential buildings, hotels, arching footbridges and malls, on
the bank of the Hudson River.
The views from our apartment, from the Atlantic Ocean, across Staten Island, past the Verrazano Bridge, to the shores of New
Jersey, culminated in the Twin Towers. We saw clouds shrouding the tops of the buildings in inclement weather, with the red beacon
lights always blinking through. We watched fireworks surrounding those towers on New Year's Eve and the Fourth of July. At dusk,
the windows captured the rays of the retiring sun and turned the towers into gleaming pillars of gold. Day and night, year after year,
they seemed to say that they were there, heralding, almost guarding over the greatest city on earth.
No one loves New York more than my youngest son. On his visit here, just a few days ago, he took his girl friend on a whirlwind tour
of all of his favorite places in the city, repeatedly and proudly showing her the Twin Towers; stressing that they could be seen from
almost any point in the city and the surrounding area.
These were some of the thoughts that flooded my mind as the towers fell to earth and the sky filled with thick, acrid black smoke
blocking out the sunlight and the blue sky, in a darkness that was symbolic of the terrible catastrophe that had just befallen my city.
It took a while to make the phone connections, but I was soon able to confirm that my immediate family was safe. We kept in touch
throughout that and ensuing days, sometimes by roundabout routes.
The local subway trains stopped running, and an eerie silence fell over my community. The sound of happy, giggling children at play
in the street below my windows was absent, and the street was deserted. The huge family of black birds that live in an ancient oak
tree two blocks away were silent and still. No horns honked in the streets, and no planes flew overhead. Later, F-16 fighter-planes
and helicopters took over the skies, and periodically, I could hear their ominous roar. Then, after many hours, the winds shifted, and
the sunlight and blue sky returned, but seemed so grossly incongruous.
Although in shock, I knew that the loss of life and the dimension of the destruction would be horrendous. It was impossible to
concentrate on anything else. I didn't want to watch the horror that was coming through my television set, but couldn't tear myself
away. And I was struck with the contrasts - the heroism of the rescuers, the evil of the terrorists – the sunlit blue sky and the black
clouds of disaster, mingling together, with the ugliness and death of the latter blocking out the serene, God-given beauty of the
former.
In the following hours and days, I heard many horror stories, and many of great fortune. I learned that my older son had been in the
Twin Towers the day before on business, in a building and a law office that no longer existed just a few hours later. There is no one
in this city, who does not know of someone who escaped unscathed, who was injured, or who is missing. A father burned beyond
recognition, his charred body struggling to live. A young wife, expecting the birth of her first child, whose husband is missing. A
friend, who did some shopping in the mall of the North Tower, as thousands of people did routinely, and was actually walking out of
the door when the first plane crashed into that very building. A cousin missed an appointment in the tower, because of a problem with
his car. Half the police force of my local precinct is working at great personal risk, at the crash site. And just this morning, the sad and
ironic news that an Israeli friend's son is among the missing in the Pentagon.
The winds have shifted, the air still reeks of smoke, and debris is strewn for miles around. The back of my terrace door is coated with
white ash, 7 miles from ground zero.
The trains are running sporadically, now, but my neighborhood is still unnaturally quiet. The city is struggling. It will be a very long
time before it gets back to a semblance of normalcy, and life will never be the same for any of us. That will be brought home to each
of us, every time we look out and see the empty space, where once the Twin Towers stood. Reality will not set in until the work force
resumes its normal routine, and then the magnitude of the lost friends, acquaintances and business associates will hit us all. And we
can't imagine how many of our freedoms will be lost in the wake of this attack on democracy. It is hoped that vengeance is not taken
against innocent people in the street, because of their religion or national heritage, for then, we will be reduced to the same level as
our enemies, and they will have won. The basest elements of society are crawling out from the woodwork and the bomb scares,
threats and hoaxes have begun, as they always do in time of crisis, further paralyzing the city, as is their intent.
I have thanked God a thousand times that my own family is safe, while praying for all the others, who are not. I have watched the
mayor of New York, who is not known for kindness and compassion, conduct the rescue and the business of this city in a manner
that is nothing less than his finest hour.
I pray that our President has the courage of his convictions, the strength to rise to the need, and the wisdom to lead America and the
rest of the democracy-loving world, to appropriately put an end to this evil warfare against civilians, and all who support and glorify in
it, once and for all.
Americans in general and New Yorkers in particular are universally viewed as cold, materialistic, selfish people who delight in being
nasty to one another. It will now be made clear that we are also strong, determined, and unconquerable. We will rise, united in
purpose, from this disaster, as will our towers, and our losses will be avenged. Then, and only then, will we be able to return to our
usual way of life.
by Susan L. Hurowitz (October 2, 1936 - September 28, 2004), ©Sept. 13, 2001
The phone rang at 8:57 A.M. I was drowsing in that twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness, as is my habit at that hour. The
first thing I saw was the sunlight streaming through my window, and the blue, nearly cloudless sky. The phone call was from my
youngest son, in Texas, reporting the first plane crash into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. I rushed to the window, and
saw the thick black smoke pouring from the upper floors of the tower. I returned to the phone and, as we were speaking, the second
plane crashed into the South Tower. A little while later, I went out on my terrace, to see this for myself, and was standing there,
staring in horror at the smoke and flames emanating from the Towers. Suddenly, with a great rumble, a thick gray cloud was falling,
cascading into itself, from the burning area of the South Tower, and behind the cloud, I could no longer see the building. Wild
thoughts of hallucination, sleepwalking, total denial flooded my mind, as my body shook, tears flowed from my eyes, and my throat
choked in sobs. The North Tower collapsed, soon after.
When the towers were first planned, many New Yorkers were outraged at the thought of two buildings surpassing the height of the
Empire State Building. But as we watched the construction, and saw the simple, elegant majesty of the towers as they rose to claim
their place in our beloved skyline, we fell in love with them. Over the three decades that they stood at the base of Manhattan, they
became the landmark that welcomed every
visitor, by land, sea and air to the grandeur of New York, seen right after the Statue of Liberty, in the harbor. They came to symbolize
the glory of the city, as the financial center of the world. They proclaimed to all that this was New York, come see the treasures, the
excitement, the enchantment, found nowhere else on earth, that awaits you in the vast shadows of these towers. Few people realize
that the towers were part of a very large complex of commercial and residential buildings, hotels, arching footbridges and malls, on
the bank of the Hudson River.
The views from our apartment, from the Atlantic Ocean, across Staten Island, past the Verrazano Bridge, to the shores of New
Jersey, culminated in the Twin Towers. We saw clouds shrouding the tops of the buildings in inclement weather, with the red beacon
lights always blinking through. We watched fireworks surrounding those towers on New Year's Eve and the Fourth of July. At dusk,
the windows captured the rays of the retiring sun and turned the towers into gleaming pillars of gold. Day and night, year after year,
they seemed to say that they were there, heralding, almost guarding over the greatest city on earth.
No one loves New York more than my youngest son. On his visit here, just a few days ago, he took his girl friend on a whirlwind tour
of all of his favorite places in the city, repeatedly and proudly showing her the Twin Towers; stressing that they could be seen from
almost any point in the city and the surrounding area.
These were some of the thoughts that flooded my mind as the towers fell to earth and the sky filled with thick, acrid black smoke
blocking out the sunlight and the blue sky, in a darkness that was symbolic of the terrible catastrophe that had just befallen my city.
It took a while to make the phone connections, but I was soon able to confirm that my immediate family was safe. We kept in touch
throughout that and ensuing days, sometimes by roundabout routes.
The local subway trains stopped running, and an eerie silence fell over my community. The sound of happy, giggling children at play
in the street below my windows was absent, and the street was deserted. The huge family of black birds that live in an ancient oak
tree two blocks away were silent and still. No horns honked in the streets, and no planes flew overhead. Later, F-16 fighter-planes
and helicopters took over the skies, and periodically, I could hear their ominous roar. Then, after many hours, the winds shifted, and
the sunlight and blue sky returned, but seemed so grossly incongruous.
Although in shock, I knew that the loss of life and the dimension of the destruction would be horrendous. It was impossible to
concentrate on anything else. I didn't want to watch the horror that was coming through my television set, but couldn't tear myself
away. And I was struck with the contrasts - the heroism of the rescuers, the evil of the terrorists – the sunlit blue sky and the black
clouds of disaster, mingling together, with the ugliness and death of the latter blocking out the serene, God-given beauty of the
former.
In the following hours and days, I heard many horror stories, and many of great fortune. I learned that my older son had been in the
Twin Towers the day before on business, in a building and a law office that no longer existed just a few hours later. There is no one
in this city, who does not know of someone who escaped unscathed, who was injured, or who is missing. A father burned beyond
recognition, his charred body struggling to live. A young wife, expecting the birth of her first child, whose husband is missing. A
friend, who did some shopping in the mall of the North Tower, as thousands of people did routinely, and was actually walking out of
the door when the first plane crashed into that very building. A cousin missed an appointment in the tower, because of a problem with
his car. Half the police force of my local precinct is working at great personal risk, at the crash site. And just this morning, the sad and
ironic news that an Israeli friend's son is among the missing in the Pentagon.
The winds have shifted, the air still reeks of smoke, and debris is strewn for miles around. The back of my terrace door is coated with
white ash, 7 miles from ground zero.
The trains are running sporadically, now, but my neighborhood is still unnaturally quiet. The city is struggling. It will be a very long
time before it gets back to a semblance of normalcy, and life will never be the same for any of us. That will be brought home to each
of us, every time we look out and see the empty space, where once the Twin Towers stood. Reality will not set in until the work force
resumes its normal routine, and then the magnitude of the lost friends, acquaintances and business associates will hit us all. And we
can't imagine how many of our freedoms will be lost in the wake of this attack on democracy. It is hoped that vengeance is not taken
against innocent people in the street, because of their religion or national heritage, for then, we will be reduced to the same level as
our enemies, and they will have won. The basest elements of society are crawling out from the woodwork and the bomb scares,
threats and hoaxes have begun, as they always do in time of crisis, further paralyzing the city, as is their intent.
I have thanked God a thousand times that my own family is safe, while praying for all the others, who are not. I have watched the
mayor of New York, who is not known for kindness and compassion, conduct the rescue and the business of this city in a manner
that is nothing less than his finest hour.
I pray that our President has the courage of his convictions, the strength to rise to the need, and the wisdom to lead America and the
rest of the democracy-loving world, to appropriately put an end to this evil warfare against civilians, and all who support and glorify in
it, once and for all.
Americans in general and New Yorkers in particular are universally viewed as cold, materialistic, selfish people who delight in being
nasty to one another. It will now be made clear that we are also strong, determined, and unconquerable. We will rise, united in
purpose, from this disaster, as will our towers, and our losses will be avenged. Then, and only then, will we be able to return to our
usual way of life.
