World Trade Center Attack

On the morning of September 11th, 2001, I awoke with a start, hearing the sound of a low flying plane flying over New York City. As it was just beginning to register how that was not something one likes to hear, a distant explosion made it suddenly clear what was happening. I leapt out of bed and turned on the news, where it wasn't long before the image of a smoking WTC appeared. I grabbed a camera and ran up to the roof. As I watched helplessly as the second plane hit, and both buildings went down, I thought how thankful I was to not have gone to a bookstore (no longer existing) next to WTC, as I had initially planned to do that morning. There were constant roars rising from the roofs of other buildings, where the entire East Village had assembled. From my roof, it wasn't long before I could see people making their way up the avenue, covered in dust and looking like stunned ghosts. I had the foresight to grab a piece of mail before I left the building to take photos, knowing that parts of the city would be closed off to non-residents, as is the case for emergency situations. I managed to photograph some of the mayhem, before neighborhoods began getting shut down, and using the mail as proof of address I was able to get home, which slowly began to look like a ghost town. Not wishing to stay idly home in front of the TV, I tried to volunteer at a local makeshift shelter, but was turned away. I live two miles from ground zero.
© 2001