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9/11 - one year on, Distant voices, still lives

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Jeannette Latoria
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« on: December 22, 2008, 03:33:37 am »

9/11 - one year on Distant voices, still lives,

08:00-09:35At first they phoned for help. Then they called in desperation or left promises of eternal love. This meticulous New York Times reconstruction, compiled from calls to families, is a memorial to the bravery of those trapped on the high floors of the Twin TowersNew York Times The Observer, Sunday 18 August 2002 Article history08:00 - North Tower, 107th floor, Windows on the World. 2 hours 28 minutes to collapse.
'Good morning, Ms Thompson.' Doris Eng's greeting was particularly sunny, like the day, as Liz Thompson rrived for breakfast atop the tallest building in the city, Thompson remembers thinking . Perhaps Eng had matched her mood to the glorious weather, the rich blue September sky that filled every window. Or perhaps it was the company.

Familiar faces occupied many of the tables in Wild Blue, the intimate eyrie to Windows that Eng helped to manage. As much as any one place, that single room captured the sweep of humanity who worked and played at the World Trade Centre.

Thompson, executive director of the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, was eating with Geoffrey Wharton, an executive with Silverstein Properties, which had just leased the towers. At the next table sat Michael Nestor, deputy inspector-general of the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, and one of his investigators, Richard Tierney.

At a third table were six stockbrokers, several of whom came every Tuesday. Eng had a treat for one of them, Emeric Harvey. The night before, one of the restaurant's managers, Jules Roinnel, had given Eng two impossibly hard-to-get Broadway tickets for The Producers. Roinnel says he asked Eng to give them to Harvey.

Sitting by himself at a window table overlooking the Statue of Liberty was a relative newcomer, Neil D Levin, executive director of the Port Authority. He had never joined them for breakfast before. But his secretary requested a table days earlier and now he sat waiting for a banker friend.

Every minute or so a waiter, Jan Maciejewski, swept through the room refilling coffee cups and taking orders, Nestor recalls. Maciejewski was one of several restaurant workers on the 107th floor. Most of the 72 Windows employees were on the 106th floor, where Risk Waters Group was holding a conference on information technology. Already 87 people had arrived, including top executives from Merrill Lynch and UBS Warburg. Many were enjoying coffee and sliced smoked salmon in the restaurant's ballroom. Some exhibitors were already tending to their booths, set up in the Horizon Suite just across the hallway.

A picture taken that morning showed two exhibitors, Peter Alderman and William Kelly, salesmen for Bloomberg LP, chatting with a colleague beside a table filled with a multi-screened computer display. Stuart Lee and Garth Feeney, two vice-presidents of Data Synapse, ran displays of their company's software.

In the lobby, 107 floors below, an assistant to Levin waited for his breakfast guest. But when the guest arrived, the two luckily boarded the wrong elevator, so they had to return to the lobby to wait for another one.

Upstairs, Levin read his newspaper, Nestor recalled. He and Tierney were a little curious to see whom Levin, their boss, was meeting for breakfast. But Nestor had a meeting downstairs, so they headed for the elevators, stopping at Levin's table to say goodbye. Behind them came Thompson and Wharton. Nestor held the elevator, so they hopped in quickly. The doors closed and the last people ever to leave Windows on the World began their descent. It was 8.44 am.

08:48 - North Tower, 91st floor, Bureau of Shipping, 1 hour 42 minutes to collapse.

The impact came at 8.46 and 26 seconds. American Airlines Flight 11, a Boeing 767 carrying 10,000 gallons of fuel was moving at 470mph. At that speed, it covered the final two blocks to the North Tower in 1.2 seconds.

The plane ripped a path across floors 94 to 98, directly into the office of Marsh & McLennan, shredding steel columns, wallboard, filing cabinets and computer-laden desks. Its fuel ignited and incinerated everything in its way. The plane's landing gear hurtled through the south side of the building, winding up on Rector Street, five blocks away.

Just three floors below the impact zone, not a thing budged in Steve McIntyre's office. Not the slate paperweight shaped like a sailing ship. Not the family snapshots propped up on a bookcase. McIntyre found himself in front of a computer that was still on.

Then came the whiplash. A powerful shock wave radiated from the impact zone. It bounced from the top to the bottom of the tower, three or four seconds one way and then back, rocking the building like a huge boat in a storm.

'We got to get the hell out of here!' yelled Greg Shark, an American Bureau of Shipping engineer, who was bracing himself in the swaying while he stood outside McIntyre's office. Somehow, they were alive. Only later would the two men realise the slender margin of their escape. In their accounts of hunting for a way out, they provide a survey of a border territory, an impregnable zone through which the people imprisoned above would never pass.

McIntyre, Shark and nine other employees, all uninjured, hustled out of the ABS reception area in the north-west corner and turned toward the elevators and stairways in the tower's core.

McIntyre recalls peering into a dim, shattered stairwell billowing with smoke. He heard nothing but water cascading down the stairs. It almost certainly came from severed sprinkler pipes. Seeing and hearing no one else in the stinking gloom, he looked up.

The stairwell was blocked from above - by huge pieces of the light gypsum drywall, often called Sheetrock, that had enclosed the stairwell to protect it. The Sheetrock formed a plug, sealing the passage from 92, the floor above. Going down the stairs, it made a slightly less formidable obstruction.

McIntyre didn't know it, but he stood at a critical boundary. Above him, across 19 floors, were 1,344 people, many of them alive, stunned, unhurt, calling for help. Not one would survive. Below, across 90 floors, thousands of others were also alive, stunned, unhurt, calling for help. Nearly all of them lived.

Bad as this staircase was, the two other emergency exits were worse, McIntyre later said. So he went back to that first staircase. He stepped inside and immediately slipped down two flights of grimy gypsum. Unhurt, he stood and noticed lights below. He remembers calling: 'This way!' His ABS colleagues joined the exodus from 91.

One flight above them, on the 92nd floor, employees of Carr Futures were doing what the ABS people had done: hunting for a way out. They did not realise they were on the wrong side of the rubble. Damian Meehan scrambled to a phone and dialled his brother Eugene, a firefighter in the Bronx. 'It's really bad here - the elevators are gone,' he said. 'Get to the front door, see if there's smoke there,' Eugene urged. He heard his brother put the phone down, then followed the sounds drifting into his ear. Commotion, but not panic.

A few minutes later, Damian reported that the front entrance was filled with smoke. 'Get to the stairs,' Eugene advised him. 'See where the smoke is coming from. Go the other way.' Then he heard Damian for the last time. 'He said "We've got to go" or "We're going". I've been racking my brains to remember. 'I know he said "We".'

09:00 - North Tower, 106th floor, Windows on the World, 1 hour 28 minutes to collapse.

'What do we do? What do we do?' Doris Eng, the restaurant manager, called the fire command centre in the lobby repeatedly with that question. Just minutes after the plane hit, the restaurant was filling with smoke and she was struggling to direct the 170 people in her charge. With thickening smoke, no power and little sense of what was going on, the restaurant was fast becoming an isolation zone, where people scrambled for bits of news.

'Watch CNN,' Stephen Tompsett, a computer scientist attending the IT conference, emailed his wife, Dorry, using his BlackBerry communicator. 'Need updates.'

Videos from two amateur photographers show that the smoke built up with terrifying speed at the top of the building, cascading more thickly from seams in windows there than from floors closer to the plane. Early on, Rajesh Mirpuri called his company, Data Synapse, coughing, and said he could not see more than 10 feet. Peter Alderman, the Bloomberg salesman, also told his sister about the smoke, using his BlackBerry to send the email: 'I'm scared.'

Eng and the Windows staff, following their emergency training, herded people from the 107th floor down to a corridor on the 106th near the stairs, where they used a special phone to call the fire command centre. The fire policy was immediately to evacuate the floor on fire and the one above it. People further away, like those in Windows on the World, were to leave only when directed by the centre 'or when conditions dictate such actions'.

Conditions were quickly deteriorating, though. Glenn Vogt, the restaurant's general manager, said that 20 minutes after the plane hit, his assistant, Christine Olender, called him at home. She got his wife instead, Vogt said, because he was on the street outside the World Trade Centre. Olender told Vogt they had heard nothing on how to leave. 'The ceilings are falling,' she said. 'The floors are buckling.'

Within 20 minutes of the crash, a police helicopter reported it could not land on the roof. Still, many put their hopes on a rescue by someone, some way. 'I can't go anywhere because they told us not to move,' Ivhan Luis Carpio, a Windows worker, said in a message on his cousin's answering machine. 'I have to wait for the firefighters.' But the firefighters were struggling to respond. No one in New York had ever seen a fire of this size - four, then five floors blazing within seconds. Commanders in the lobby had no way of knowing if any stairwells were passable. With most elevators ruined, firefighters were toting heavy gear up stairwells against a tide of evacuees. An hour after the plane crash, they would still be 50 floors below Windows.

Downstairs, the authorities fielded calls from the upper floors. 'There's not much you could do other than tell them to go wet a towel and keep it over your face,' said Alan Reiss, former director of the world trade department of the Port Authority. But the plane had severed the water line to the upper floors. Maciejewski, the waiter, told his wife in a mobile phone call that he could not find enough to wet a rag. He said he would check the flower vases.

The room had almost no water and not much air, but there was no shortage of mobiles or BlackBerries. Using them and a few intact phone lines, at least 41 people in the restaurant reached someone outside the building. Peter Mardikian of Imagine Software told his wife, Corine, he was heading for the roof and could not talk long.

The calm manner of the staff could not contain the strain. Laurie Kane, whose husband, Howard, was the restaurant's comptroller, said she could hear someone screaming 'We're trapped' as they finished their final conversation. Gabriela Waisman, a conference attendee, phoned her sister 10 times in 11 minutes, frantic to keep the connection.

09:01 - North Tower, 104th floor, Cantor Fitzgerald, 1 hour 27 minutes to collapse.

Two floors below Windows, the disaster marched at an eerily deliberate pace, the sense of emergency muted. The north-west conference room on the 104th floor held just one of many large knots of people in the five floors occupied by Cantor Fitzgerald. There the smoke did not become overwhelming as quickly as at Windows. And the crash and fires were not as immediately devastating as they had been a few floors below at Marsh & McLennan. Andrew Rosenblum, a Cantor stock trader, thought it would be a good idea to reassure the families. With his wife, Jill, listening on the phone from their home in Rockville Centre, NY, he announced to the room: 'Give me your home numbers.'

'Tim Betterly,' Rosenblum said into his mobile, reeling off a phone number. 'James Ladley.' Another number.

As the list grew, Rosenblum realised that 40 or 50 colleagues were in the room, having fled the smoke. 'Please call their spouses, tell them we're in this conference room and we're fine,' he told his wife.

Rosenblum's group, including Jimmy Smith, John Salamone and John Schwartz, sat on the eastern side of the bond trading area, in one of the open areas, according to John Sanacore, one of the group who was not at work that day. The spot offered expansive views of the Empire State Building.

At the opposite end of the bond area, overlooking the Hudson river, other traders were gathered. John Gaudioso, who normally worked in that section but was on a golf outing that morning, recalled that Ian Schneider sat at the head of a string of desks where he led a global finance group. Michael Wittenstein, John Casazza and Michael DeRienzo were all in that area, and, like Schneider, were using land lines at their desks to take calls from concerned customers and loved ones.

In the equities trading area in the southern part of the 104th floor was a third group. Here, Stephen Cherry and Marc Zeplin pushed a button at their desk to activate the squawk box, a nationwide intercom to other Cantor offices around the country. 'Can anybody hear us?' Cherry asked. A trader in Chicago who was listening in later said she managed to reach a firehouse near the World Trade Centre. 'They know you're there,' she told them.

Mike Pelletier, a commodities broker in a Cantor office on the 105th floor, reached his wife, Sophie, and was then in touch with a friend who told him that the plane crash had been a terrorist attack. Pelletier swore and shouted the information to those around him.

In Rockville Centre, on the front lawn of the Rosenblums' house, Debbie Cohen dialled the numbers she had been handed by Jill Rosenblum. 'Hello? You don't know me, but I was given your number by someone who is in the World Trade Centre,' she said. 'About 50 of them are in a corner conference room and they say they're OK right now.'

09:02 - South Tower, 98th floor, Aon Corp. 57 minutes to collapse.

Those in the South Tower were still spectators, if wary ones.

'Hey, Beverly, this is Sean, in case you get this message,' Sean Rooney said on a voicemail message left for his wife. 'There has been an explosion in World Trade One - that's the other building. It looks like a plane struck it. It's on fire at about the 90th floor. And it's, it's - it's horrible. Bye.'

Even in Rooney's tower, people could feel the heat from the fires raging in the other building and see bodies falling from the high floors. Many soon began to leave. The building's staff, however, announced that they should stay - judging that it was safer for the tenants to stay inside an undamaged building than to walk on to a street where fiery debris was falling.

That instruction would change at the very moment Rooney, who worked for the insurance company Aon, was leaving a second message for his wife, at 9.02 a.m. 'Honey, this is Sean again,' he said. 'Looks like we'll be in this tower for a while.' He paused, as a public announcement could be heard. 'It's secure here,' he continued. 'But_' He stopped again to listen: ' If the conditions warrant on your floor you may wish to start an orderly evacuation.' 'I'll talk to you later,' Rooney said. As he spoke, United Flight 175 was screaming across New York Harbour.

09:03 - South Tower, 81st floor, Fuji Bank, 56 minutes to collapse.

Yes, Stanley Praimnath told the caller from Chicago, he was fine. He had evacuated to the lobby of the South Tower, but a security guard told him to go back. Now he was again at his desk in Fuji Bank. 'I'm fine,' he repeated.

Those were his final words before he saw it. A grey shape on the horizon. An airplane, flying past the Statue of Liberty. The United Airlines jet grew larger until he could see a red stripe on the fuselage. Then it banked and headed directly towards him. 'Lord, you take over!' he remembers yelling, dropping under his metal desk.

At 9.02 and 54 seconds, the nose of the jetliner smashed directly into Praimnath's floor, about 130 feet from his desk. A fireball ignited. Steel furnishings and aluminum plane parts were torn into white-hot shrapnel. A blast wave hurled computers and desks through windows, and ripped out bundles of arcing electrical cables. Then the South Tower seemed to stoop, swinging gradually toward the Hudson River, ferociously testing the steel skeleton before snapping back. Throughout most of both towers, the staircases were tightly clustered, and in the North Tower they were all immediately severed or blocked by the blast. Along the impact zone of the South Tower, floors 78 to 84, however, the stairs had to divert around heavy elevator machinery. So instead of running close to the building core, two of the stairways serving those floors were built closer to the perimeter. One of them, on the north-west side, survived. This made all the difference to Praimnath, who, huddled under his desk, could see a shiny aluminium piece of the plane, lodged in the remains of his door.

The plane, entering at a tilt, raked across six floors. Three flights up was the office of Euro Brokers, on the 84th floor. Most of the company's trading floor was annihilated. Yet even there - at the bull's-eye of the airplane - other people were alive: Robert Coll, Dave Vera, Ronald DiFrancesco and Kevin York, among others. Within minutes, they headed to the closest stairwell, led by Brian Clark, a fire warden on the 84th floor, who had his flashlight and whistle. A fine powder mixed with light smoke floated through the stairwell. As they approached the 81st floor, they met a slim man and a heavy-set woman. 'You can't go down!' the woman screamed. 'You got to go up. There is too much smoke and flame below.'

This assessment changed every thing. Hundreds of people came to a similar conclusion, but the smoke and debris in the stairwell proved less of an obstacle than the fear of it. This very stairwell was the sole route out of the building, running from the top to the bottom of the South Tower. Anyone who found this stairwell early enough could have walked to freedom.

This opportunity hardly read that way to the survivors who stood on the 81st floor landing, moments after the crash. They argued the alternatives, with Clark shining his flashlight into his colleagues' faces, asking each: 'Up or down?' The debate was interrupted by shouts on the 81st floor. 'Help me! Help me!' Praimnath yelled. 'I'm trapped. Don't leave me here!' Without further discussion, the group in the stairs turned in different directions. As Clark recalls Coll, York and Vera headed upstairs, along with the heavy-set woman, the slim man and two others he recognised from Euro Brokers. York and Coll hooked arms to support the woman, Clark recalled. One of them said: 'Come on, you can do it. We're in this together.'

Clark and DiFrancesco headed towards the man yelling for help. Praimnath saw the flashlight beam and crawled toward it, over toppled desks and fallen ceiling tiles. Minutes earlier, this had been Fuji Bank's loan department, employee lounge and computer room. He reached a damaged wall that separated him from the man with the flashlight. From both sides, they ripped at the wall. A nail penetrated Praimnath's hand. He knocked it out against a hard surface in the darkness. Eventually, the two men could see each other, but were still separated.

'You must jump,' Clark told Praimnath, whose hand and left leg were now bleeding. 'There's no other choice.'

As Praimnath hopped up, Clark helped to get him over the obstacle. They ran to the stairwell and headed down. The steps were strewn with shattered wallboard. Flames licked through cracks in the walls. Water from severed pipes poured down, forming a treacherous slurry.

They moved past the spot with the heavy smoke that the woman had warned Clark against. Perhaps the draught had shifted; maybe the smoke had not been all that bad to begin with. In any case, the stairs were clear and would be clear as late as 30 minutes after the South Tower was hit.

Meanwhile, DiFrancesco took a detour in search of air, climbing about 10 floors, where he found the first group to go upstairs. They could not leave the stairwell; the doors would not open. Exhausted, in heavy smoke, people were lying down, DiFrancesco included. 'Everyone else was starting to go to sleep,' he said. Then he sat up, thinking, 'I've got to see my wife and kids again.' He ran down.

09:05 - South Tower, 78th floor, Elevator Lobby, 54 mins to collapse.


Mary Jos cannot say for sure how long she was lying there, unconscious, on the floor of the Sky Lobby outside the express elevator. Her first recollection of stirring is when she felt searing heat on her back and face. Maybe, she remembers thinking, she was on fire. Instinctively, she rolled over to smother the flames. She saw a blaze in the centre of the room and in the elevator shafts. Then, below the thick black smoke and through clouds of pulverised plaster, she gradually noticed something worse. The 78th floor Sky Lobby, which minutes before had been bustling with workers unsure whether to leave the building or go back to work, was filled with motionless bodies.

The ceilings, the walls, the windows, the information kiosk, even the marble that graced the elevator banks - everything had been smashed as the second hijacked plane dipped its left wingtip into the 78th floor.

In an instant, the witnesses say, they encountered a brilliant light, a blast of hot air and a shock wave that knocked over everything. Lying amid the deathly silence, burned and bleeding, Mary Jos had a single thought: her husband. 'I am not going to die,' she said.

In the 16 minutes between the attacks, those in the South Tower scarcely had time to absorb the horrors they could see across the plaza and decide what to do. To map their choices about movements is to see the geography of life and death. Before the second plane hit, survivors said, the mood in the Sky Lobby was awkward: relief at the announcements that their building was safer than walking on the street, and fear that it really wasn't. People milled about, trying to decide. Be at trading desks for the opening of the market, or grab a coffee downstairs? At Keefe, Bruyette & Woods, nearly the entire investment banking department left and survived. Nearly all the equities traders stayed and died.

One of them, Stephen Mulderry, spoke to his brother Peter, and described the blaze in the North Tower. Still, the word had come from the building management that his tower was 'secure' - and his soundless phone was blinking. 'He said, "I got to go - the market is going to open",' Peter recalled.

In the moments before the second impact, everyone in the 78th floor Sky Lobby was poised to go up or down. Kelly Reyher, who worked on the 100th floor at Aon Corp, stepped into an elevator headed up. He wanted to get his PalmPilot, figuring it might be a while before he could return to his office. Judy Wein and Gigi Singer, also both of Aon, debated whether to go back and get their wallets from their 103rd floor office. But Howard L. Kestenbaum, their colleague, told them to forget it. He would give them the cab fare home.

At the instant of impact, a busy lobby of people - witness estimates range from 50 to 200 - was struck silent, dark, all but lifeless. For a few, survival came from having leant into an alcove. Death could come from having stepped back from a crowded elevator door.

As Wein came to, she had her own battered body to deal with. Her right arm was broken, three ribs were cracked and her right lung had been punctured. All around her were people with horrific injuries, dead or close to it. Wein yelled out for her boss, Kestenbaum. When she found him, she said, he was expressionless, motionless, silent. Richard Gabrielle, another Aon colleague, was pinned to the ground, his legs apparently broken by marble that had fallen on them. Wein tried to move the stone. Gabrielle cried out from pain and told her to stop.

Gradually, those who could move, did. Wein found Vijayashanker Paramsothy and Singer, neither of whom had life-threatening injuries. Kelly Reyher, who had been on his way to get his PalmPilot, managed to prise open the elevator doors with his arms and his briefcase. He crawled out of the burning lift and found Donna Spira 50 feet away. Her arm fractured, her hair burnt, she could still walk.

A mysterious man appeared at one point, mouth and nose covered with a red handkerchief. He was looking for a fire extinguisher. As Judy Wein recalls, he pointed to the stairs and made an announcement that saved lives: Anyone who can, get up and walk now. Anyone who can help others, find someone who needs help and head down.

In groups of twos and threes, the survivors struggled to the stairs. A few flights down, they propped up debris blocking their way, leaving a small passageway to slip through.

A few minutes behind this group was Ling Young, who also survived the impact in the Sky Lobby. She too said she had been steered by the man in the red bandanna, hearing him call out: 'This way to the stairs.' He followed her down. Young said he was carrying a woman on his back. Once they reached clearer air, he put her down and went back up. Others never left.

The people who escaped said Paramsothy, who had only been scraped, remained behind. Young said that Sankara Velamuri and Diane Urban, colleagues of Jos from the state Department of Taxation and Finance, tried to help two more seriously injured friends, Dianne Gladstone and Yeshavant Tembe, both also state employees. All six would die.

Of the dozens of people waiting in the Sky Lobby when the second plane struck, 12 are known to have made it out alive.

09:35 - North Tower, 104th floor, Cantor Fitzgerald, 106th floor, Windows on the World, 53 mins to collapse.


So urgent was the need for air that people piled four and five high in window after window, upper bodies hanging out, 1,300 feet above the ground.

Elsewhere, two men stood on the windowsills, leaning so far outside that they could peer around a big intervening column and see each other. On the 103rd floor, a man stared straight out of a broken window toward the northwest, bracing himself against a window frame with one hand. He wrapped his other arm around a woman, seemingly to keep her from falling to the ground.

Behind the unbroken windows, the desperate had assembled. 'About five floors from the top you have about 50 people with their faces pressed against the window trying to breathe,' a police officer in a helicopter reported.

Now it was unmistakable. The office of Cantor Fitzgerald, and just above it Windows on the World, would become the landmark for this doomed moment. Nearly 900 would die on floors 101 through 107. In the restaurant, at least 70 people crowded near windows at the northwest corner of the 106th floor. 'Everywhere else is smoked out,' Stuart Lee, a Data Synapse vice president, emailed his office in Greenwich Village. 'An argument going on as to whether we should break a window,' he continued a few moments later. 'Consensus is no for the time being.'

Soon, though, a dozen people appeared through broken windows along the west face of the restaurant. Vogt, the general manager of Windows, could see them from the ground, silhouetted against grey smoke. By now, fires were rampaging through the impact floors, darting across the north face of the tower. Coils of smoke lashed the people braced around the broken windows.

In the north-west conference room on the 104th floor, Andrew Rosenblum and 50 others temporarily warded off the smoke and heat by plugging vents with jackets. 'We smashed the computers into the windows to get some air,' Rosenblum reported on his mobile to his golf partner, Barry Kornblum.

But there was no hiding. As people began falling from above the conference room, Rosenblum broke his preternatural calm, his wife Jill recalled. In the midst of speaking to her, he suddenly interjected, without elaboration, 'Oh my God!'
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September 11 2001 · United States · Global terrorism · September 11: one year on
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