professional survivor

To all my co-workers at 142,

I’m afraid I am going to write about what we went through 20 years ago, but I’m not going to recount the moment to moment sequence in detail. You may recall I was the manager on duty and I had 372. I was on the Plaza level in the periodicals section when we heard and felt it. The sonic impact was followed by screaming and commotion on the street and all the stuff, mainly paper, falling like a snow storm. What the fuck was I supposed to do? I wanted to run away but if I did I could never face the other assistant managers again, let alone Melissa, so I held on to the phone. Herman came in the door, the Church Street entrance, and said a jet had hit the North Tower.

I said I wasn’t going to do a moment to moment recount. Sorry. 

Eugene called 372. I didn’t know he was in the store, but he’d arrived early. He said he’d clear people out of the bottom level and I’d do the third floor. It was a little bit like a frantic closing shift except for my being on the brink of panic. After making sure all the customers were gone I cleared the offices. Fatima had been praying and was holding a Quran. I fixed that image in my mind forever. The store was empty except for a few of us near the Church Street entrance. I was eager to get the hell out of there. Eugene wanted to get his bag out of the office and a couple of others went with him and we waited. A fireman came to the door and told us to evacuate the building. This was the first order I’d heard. Up to then, I wasn’t sure if we were safer staying in the store or leaving the store.

I said I wasn’t going to give a moment to moment.

Eugene and the others were upstairs so I got on 372 and yelled over the speakers the infamous everybody get the fuck out of the store page. They ran down the escalator. No bag check. Eugene and Herman were struggling with the rusty lock. My patience had run out so I said adios and crossed Vesey and stood at the corner near the Post Office and saw the North Tower and felt a change in my neurochemistry, an altered state. It didn’t look real but it was real. I needed to call my parents and tell them I was fine, so I hurried up Church with the throng of evacuees. I had gone about two blocks when the second plane hit.

I don’t know why I have to write this. The experience changed the way I felt about co-workers, including past and future co-workers. I was the least competent of the assistant managers at that store, I felt. Evacuating the place was the least I could do. The managers meeting we had two days later was celebratory.

I didn’t want to recount that sequence of moments, but I felt the effects of that sequence of moments in my face when I woke up this morning. We carry a record of trauma in our body, I’m told. I’m sure you do too. 

Love to all of you. 

Lars 9/11/2021