The sad anniversary of September 11th is coming up next week, and while it is important to remember and acknowledge what happened, we want to warn readers that this story includes a graphic depiction of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, including references to the plane crashes, depictions of people in distress, and mention of death and loss.

At the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001
By Rosemary Marcuss

When strangers congregate in the business district of a city, most do so for routine reasons—they work there—or for regular, if not routine reasons—they have a meeting there. On September 11, 2001, I had a meeting at the Marriott World Trade Center Hotel. The hotel ran between the north and south towers of the Trade Center. I was fortunate, being only a witness to the horror of the terrorist attack that day and not being a victim. The events of that day were extraordinary. My story provides one small window into them.

When the airplane hit the north tower, I was in a room on the ground floor of the hotel. The building shook. The room emptied. The hotel lobby had a several-story-high glass wall along West Street, the street along the facade of the Trade Center. The sidewalk outside the lobby and the street were littered with twisted aluminum girders and long strips of what looked like cardboard but was probably insulation. The pieces were 40-50 feet long. They were so shockingly large and so close, waiting in the lobby seemed like a bad idea, so I went out onto West Street, to the median that ran down the middle. It was a brilliantly clear day. I was standing among strangers. The situation was anything but ordinary or routine.

Looking up at the south face of the north tower, you could see a black hole, 5 stories high, 90 stories up. People said a plane had hit the building. There was no sign of that, only a burned hole. The sense of proximity to the catastrophe was distorted by its being 90 stories up, even if only one half-block away. In that sense, it seemed far off.

Police cars and fire trucks poured down West Street. I was standing just north of the south tower when I heard a plane accelerate and saw a flash of silver as it flew into the building. I was facing the west side; the plane hit on the south side. We could see it was a commercial plane. It was clear something apocalyptic was happening, but because I didn't know what to do, I didn't do anything. The time lapse between the first and second plane was less than 20 minutes. As I remember that day, it seems that it was much longer.

We watched as many people jumped from the windows of the top stories of the north tower. When we saw people at the windows, we shouted to them, telling them not to jump. We did not know there was no way down inside the building.

People said more planes were expected, so it was time to get out of the area. Two of us headed for Penn Station, about an hour's walk north. We walked as fast as we could in high heels. There was no regular traffic. Motorcycles, cars, taxis, trucks, and busses filled with police and fire personnel were speeding down the street. Crowds were standing on the street looking south. We had gotten about 10 blocks when people screamed as the south tower collapsed. The building across from the tower was 40 stories tall. The "nuclear winter" cloud of debris rose above the top of that building.

Cell phones were not working, so we stopped at a phone booth to call our families. The lines at the booths were long. Each caller was given only a few minutes to talk: an enforcer was standing at the booth to prevent longer calls.

Buildings had emptied out. Every square inch of sidewalk, street, curb, and planter on the cross streets was occupied by people, sitting and standing. No one knew what was happening. It was unnerving to be among so many people, so tightly packed.

When we reached Penn Station, it was closed. It eventually opened after confusion about which entrance would open. A crowd pressed against each door. There was a train to Washington in the station. It pulled away quickly, barely half-full. (Once the trains left, the station closed.) From the Jersey meadows, southern Manhattan looked like a glowing inferno. I arrived at an empty Union Station and drove home through deserted streets. I did not learn about what else had happened until I got home.

This is part of an occasional series of Weekly Update articles by NNV Board Members on topics of interest. Rosemary Marcuss joined the NNV board in 2022 and currently serves as the treasurer. Click here to read more about Rosemary and all of our other Board Members.