by Tom Triumph, Featured Contributor
[su_dropcap style=”flat”]I[/su_dropcap] WAS IN THE WORLD TRADE CENTER less than a dozen hours before the attack on September 11th, 2001.
For years I commuted in and out of New York City, and each day I’d be in the World Trade Center in the morning and evening. Usually my commute would have me driving partway, and then taking the PATH train into the World Trade Center. Occasionally, I’d drive partway and take the ferry across the Hudson River, which would let off its passengers adjacent to the World Trade Center.
On several occasions, either heading into the city or coming home in the evening, I would cross paths with a fellow neighbor from the small New Jersey town where we both lived. He was very much admired by my family and me. When my daughter was a young girl, he was her first soccer coach, and set the watermark for what a coach should be. She played for probably another ten years on traveling and high school teams, yet his name was always invoked as the best example of patience, encouragement and kindness. My son, who was a little boy at the time, was enamored with the coach’s Land Rover, and in fact my boy had his own Land Rover matchbox version.
Normally, I was content to commute into the city in silence, probably thinking about (sometimes dreading) the work to be done. But on the days my neighbor and I crossed paths, we always enjoyed each other’s company, and would spend the time talking about life and family. Occassionally, we drove together from our town.
There is one occasion that I often think about. Despite it being a cold and blustery New Jersey day, we thought it’d be fun to take the ferry. After boarding, we climbed the stairs to the open-air upper deck. The morning air was freezing. There was just one other person outside with us, though he stood close to the wheelhouse to shield himself from the harsh wind.
We walked to the stern of the ferry where we’d get a better view of the skyline, and stood alongside the white railing. Squinting from the morning light reflecting off the choppy water, we stood quietly in the cutting wind and watched the city grow closer. Our eyes watering from the wind. I was wearing a knit hat, and remember thinking maybe his head wasn’t cold because of all his hair.
We walked into the World Trade Center before going our separate ways. For me, it meant heading outside to continue walking to an office a few blocks down the street on Broadway, while my friend would make his way to the bank of elevators to head up.
The night of September 10th, I worked late and was the last person to leave the office. It was approaching 11pm and the World Trade Center was nearly empty as I made my way down the stairs and escalators to catch the PATH train to Harrison, NJ, where my car was parked.
The next morning, on September 11th, rather than immediately heading out into the city, for some reason I grabbed my guitar and sat down to play. Perhaps subconsciously, I felt like taking some time in light of the previous late night in the office. An hour later, I was still playing when the phone rang. It was a panicked call from a friend checking on my whereabouts. What he told me didn’t make sense. I remember thinking how in the world could a pilot fly into the tower?
Like millions of people around the world, I turned on the TV and stood in slack-jawed disbelief. Later that morning, I walked through the woods in town, and up to the top of a hill to look the twenty some miles towards the city. I watched the smoke rising.
It would be impossible to express how sad I was about the loss of my friend, and the heartbreak his family had to endure.
We weren’t allowed to go back to our offices for several weeks, instead I worked from client offices in midtown. Eventually, we had a police escort into our building so we could retrieve our laptops and such. Several weeks later, we were allowed to return to the building, and for the next several months I watched the reclamation of ground zero. Endless trips of trucks taking twisted metal and concrete.
For years, 9-11 was on my mind. The evil that caused the event bewildered me. There was a lot of sorrow, melancholy and confusion. Many of my friends expressed feeling the same way, and I suspect millions of others did too.
In the end, I try to think about:
The great everyday heroes that made their presence known. The NYPD, FDNY, PAPD, emergency responders, local folks and everyone else.
The good lives lost and remembered.
The millions of people around the world that showed their support.
The belief that wisdom and love inevitably triumph over ignorance and hate.
In the end, and in no small way, what eventually began to displace my anger and sadness, was the image of my neighbor coaching the little kids on the soccer field, smiling and offering shouts of encouragement. And the image of him standing in the cold air on the top deck of the ferry; the sun lighting up the city, and him facing into the wind.
