Open Thread Wednesday 9/11/13

I didn’t live in NYC on 9/11, but would love to hear stories of those Brooklyn Heights residence who did.

I lived in Manhattan then and every day, on my way to work, after 9/11, I would walk past St Patrick’s Cathedral and every day there was a funeral for months on end. Usually a fire fighter. The fire truck would be there and behind it usually someone walking with just a small box.

Everyone would stop on their way to work as the funeral procession went by headed to the Cathedral.

And the bagpipes were always playing. I cannot listen to the bagpipes anymore without getting choked up.

It was the clearest, bluest, end of summer day. It was terrifying and confusing. I remember the ashes and paper that made its way to BH, and the burning, chemical smell that lasted for months. To quote a friend, ” I didnt lose one person I knew or care about. I am reminded how fortunate I am….when so many lost so much. I am humbled and forever grateful for my life”.

It was a crisp fall day. Blue sky. Gentle breeze. Back to the ho-hum routine after the summer. I was listening to 1010wins, about to leave the house for work when they announced a plane had hit the tower. I watched, frozen, fearful, tearful, for most of the day. Hours later when the dust cleared, I headed out to the promenade to look at the new skyline. The dust cloud had left and the blue sky returned. But the gentle breeze now carried the rancid scent of what was left and would do so for months. It felt like a different world, we all felt different. It was chilling, days and weeks later, to see a parade of garbage trucks driving along the BQE holding the remnants of what once was out to be sorted through. I will always remember, the day after 9/11, the NY newspapers all ran ads from other countries that said, “We are all American.”

After seeing the towers burning from the Promenade, I made my way to ground zero and worked there as a civilian volunteer till the next day.

I wrote the following, which appeared in The New York Times’s “Lede”:

All the reports seemed to imply that the smoke, smell and dust stopped abruptly at the East River, when in reality all that horror drifted across Brooklyn Heights. The smell, the smoke, lasted for months, forcing those of us downwind from Ground Zero to close our windows and turn on our air conditioners for months after 9/11 itself.

On the day itself, thousands, covered in dust, walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and were aided by residents of Brooklyn Heights, who came out with bottles of water, opened hydrants and otherwise attempted to help the refugees from the Financial District.

Dust and debris from the WTC fell on our streets and houses. Paint chips fell from the cloud, which had started out white and—as carpets, office equipment, the very people themselves caught fire and burned—turned black.

To this day, there’s a memorial painted on the doors of the fire house company on Middagh Street, who lost an entire crew and equipment when they selflessly drove across the Brooklyn Bridge to their doom.

I’d give it an hour and a half to be on the safe side. If you just miss an Air Train connection, that can add a little to your travel time. Also, with the TA, it’s like the guy in the lottery ads says, “Hey, you never know….”