On the morning of September 11, 2001, I arrived at the World Trade Center earlier than usual. A coworker had the day off, so I began work at 8 a.m. instead of my usual 9 a.m. start time. The thunderstorm the day before gave way to a beautiful morning. I had been with the agency for eight years by then, starting just after the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. I worked in the Office of the Secretary at 67 West, where the official files of Port Authority were housed.
That morning started like any other. After my brief walk from the Fulton Street station, I headed up to the 67th floor of the North Tower. Coworkers were settling into their routines, chatting about the primary election that day. Port Authority’s Executive Director, Neil Levin, had gone upstairs to Windows on the World for a morning meeting. It was 8:46 am when we heard a tremendous noise and felt the building begin to sway.
No one knew what had happened. A man in the office directed us to the stairwell and we started down two at a time. We suddenly heard and felt another terrible rumbling at 9:03 a.m., which we later learned was the second plane hitting the South Tower. As firefighters began walking up the stairs with their equipment, we moved to single file. I remember the smell of smoke, but most of all, I remember making eye contact with those brave firefighters as we passed in the stairwell.
Finally making it to the lower level, the sight of blood and pieces of broken concrete scattered across the floor was my first indication of just how serious the situation was. In the chaos, a man kindly handed me a container of orange juice as I walked. I exited the building and saw thousands of people in a state of panic and confusion, many frantically looking for a phone to call loved ones.
Looking up, I could see fire and smoke billowing from the upper floors. I somehow managed to make the last train out of the Fulton Street station. As the train headed toward Marcy Avenue, the other passengers and I watched the unbelievable sight of the South Tower collapsing in the distance.
It is still hard to make sense of how and why I made it out that day while others did not. I escaped without injury, but many people I knew never made it home. Neil Levin was lost that day, as was Dan Bergstein and so many others.
I returned to work within a week at a Port Authority office on the New Jersey side of the Holland Tunnel. Every day seemed to bring another funeral for a Port Authority police officer. Throughout it all, however, coworkers supported one another. People came back, helped each other, and found the strength to continue on.
I kept the things I had with me that day—the clothes I was wearing, the two crumpled dollar bills I held in my hand that morning, the orange juice container, and the survivor’s flag Port Authority gave me afterward. As these tangible items hold great significance to me, I hope PARA retirees’ recollections will also hold significance for current and future Port Authority employees. It is part of our organization’s shared history and a testament to our resilience that must never be forgotten.
