I heard a dead silence as I walked into the firehouse about fifteen minutes earlier than usual. I searched around, wondering what had happened to the loud commotion from the men and women of the night shift that usually greets me. I turned the corner to find Anthony sitting by himself in front of the television in awe.
“What’s up? Where is every…” I asked.
I have never known Chief Sanders to leave only one man on guard.
Anthony put his hand up demonstrating for me to stop talking. He motioned me to come sit next to him. At this point I had no idea what was going on. For all 16 years of my working there, I have never felt so uncertain. The silence was almost deadly.
I sat down next to Anthony and watched. I could not believe what I saw. I didn’t know what to think…except for the fact that it was all a dream. The two of us sat there, paralyzed, as we watched the Twin Towers, only a good one and a half miles from the station, burn and smoke like the assemblage of torches of an angry mob. My mind was so vacant that I could not even hear the reporters on the television as I attempted to tune in.
“Yes folks, you are hearing correctly, the number two building of the Twin Towers, one of the major icons on New York City, has been struck by a commercial airliner. This could quite possibly be an act of absolute terrorism,” said the newscaster.
Tears swelled in my eyes as footage of the burning building and terrorized citizens in the streets running for their lives like some sort of Godzilla film played repeatedly on the screen. Before long, the newscaster stated another special report in an alarmed manner:
“Oh my goodness! The number one building has just been struck by yet another commercial airplane! Folks, this is unbelievable. This is clearly some sort of suicide attack. Here we go to Rick Johansson in the copter…”
An urge of antagonism rushed over me.
“Let’s go, Ant!! We have to go, we have to help! We…we…we got to…” I began to yell, shaking, not knowing where to start. Anthony, attempting to pacify me, put his hands on my shoulders, shook me, telling me that we had to stay at the station and wait to hear from the other men and women. I have never felt so vulnerable and out of control.
I finally started to think of those in the planes, those in the buildings, and even more, those accountable for such a feat. I have never felt so much anger and revulsion towards someone who I was not even sure of their identity. Anthony and I sat there, motionless, speechless, and worst of all, helpless.
Wednesday September 12, 2001
I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I stayed in the station along with most of the others. Watching my colleagues return in shifts throughout the night was terrifying. They told stories of the things that they had seen, the stench they smelled, the feeling of grief they felt and the dead silence they heard. The televisions and radios stayed on every minute of the night and it was confirmed that it has been a terrorist attack. Another commercial airliner had hit a side of the Pentagon, and yet another crashed in Pennsylvania yesterday morning. Its destination was unknown, but some say it was heading for the White House or the Capitol.
Although many tried to discourage me, I decided to help out today with permission from the chief. Everything was worse than I could have ever imagined; the sight, the smell, the silence, the feeling was atrocious.
The sights on the way to the area broke my heart, but lifted my spirits at the same time. Watching people on the streets, cheering us on with American flags gave me the biggest rush of confidence and pride I had ever felt. Yet, as we neared the scene, the sight of the debris brought me to an all time low. I knew as soon as we arrived that it was going to be a slow and lengthy few weeks and that I would have no time to rest.
God Bless America.
by MG age 15