September 11, 2001 (2:40pm)

September 11, 2001

8:00 am: I walk five blocks to get on the subway for work. The Atmosphere is bustling and energetic. Half the town seems to be populated by interns less than 25 years of age, en-rout from my neighborhood anyway. People are excited to get to work and generally satisfied that they are a small piece of the center of the free world.  

8:30 am: I arrive at work in the Ronald Reagan building that houses the U.S. Department of Commerce and the U.S. Centers Department for Trade. The World Bank is a few blocks away, and the White House is a few more blocks away. It is my second day at the Trade Information Center of the Department Of Commerce and am still in the process of being trained. Just before I'm assigned to create the United State's policy for future fiscal financing, my immediate assistance was requested at the coffee machine, copy machine, and morning mailbox. (I’m obviously kidding about the U.S. fiscal financing)    

8:45 am: I'm going over some budget numbers with one of the employees and some one yells, "the World Trade Center has been hit." The information didn't really register in my brain. I figured it was a rumor or some kind of suitcase bomb in the basement. I figured my co-workers would update me later. In fact, no one really paid much attention to the person screaming the tidbit of information; it was still business as usual. 

9:00 am: The booming co-worker erupts that the "World Trade Center was hit again, by a plain." He screams this as he rolls in a 38 inch TV. At this point EVERYONE stops what they're doing and runs to see what's going on. People are asking questions and all we can see is the live footage of the crippled Twin Towers. The entire office is now surrounding the TV. in disbelief and speculation.  

9:05 am: The news reports the local mall as being on fire. Live overhead camera's are on the screen and smoke appears to be billowing out the roof of the mall as we are watching.  

9:07 am: The news reports a bomb exploding outside the state department and shows live pictures of what appears to be smoke protruding from the top of the building. Everyone is confused in the office and people are talking about leaving work to find their families.

9:15 am:  Although we didn't hear the plane go over, the news shows the Pentagon engulfed in flames and smoke. The broadcasters report that a plane had crashed into the building intentionally. At this point people were running out of every office trying to get home. Since I had no family in D.C., I figured I would just stay by the television and catch the scoop.  

9:25 am: My boss, colleague, and I are the only ones left in the office and she gets a call to evacuate EVEYONE from the building immediately. People are fleeing from the building in disarray, thinking the capitol is under siege. Women are taking off their shoes and running in bare feet. Rumors outside were rapid. Some people told us the subways were shut down because of the car bombs and that we would have to walk home. The black billows of oily smoke were evidently visible in 180 degrees of vision.

 9:30 am: A very large explosion rocks everyone around us. The sound was illicitly distinguishable and the shock was concussious. There was no doubt that another large explosion had ripped through the area. The city was a disorientating combination of police, pagers, and cell phones. Everyone was trying to make calls or borrow your cell phone. The sound of Jets going overhead puts people in a panic. Curious eyes peep through the top corners of suitcases, purses, and forearms as to protect their heads from the threat of yet another flying bomb in direct descent. Worse yet, nobody really knows what's going on. All shops, stores, bars, buildings and restaurants are closed. You hear a different rumor at every corner. The people were civil; I saw no evidence of violence or looting.

 9:45 am: My co-worker lives several miles away and many of the streets in the city are shut down, so he flees with me in the direction of my house. People drive through traffic lights in civil disobedience and parking structures are in chaos. The streets are packed bumper-to-bumper and wit-to-wit. Sirens and choppers are now a permanent backdrop of the atmosphere. 

 I have to admit, I was lost as hell trying to get home. We didn't even attempt the sub-way because we heard it was shut down. The sidewalks looked like a scene from "The Running Of The Bulls" in Mexico, except these bulls were dressed in thousand dollar suits and 500-dollar shoes, unless you were an intern of course. We were re-routed several times on my journey home. My coworker and I were tired and many cell phones wouldn't work at all. My co-worker's Mom worked in the Trade Center and was frantically trying to reach her.  

10:45 am: I bump into a Metro (subway) and find out that they are not closed after all. Simon, my co-worker, decides to split up with me and go home to a hard line and check on his Mom. I was so relieved to find a Metro to take me home. Rumors in the subway ran wild. I heard that one of the towers of the Trade Center collapsed. I later heard, among other things, that both World Trade Center towers collapsed. All I could think of was Simon. 

11:15 am: I've never seen so many people in the subway before. I put my valuables in my suitcase and held it like a football as I charged my way through the mobs of people trying to enter the underground train cars. I didn't want to be rude, but I didn't want to be bombed, mugged, or pick pocketed either. My stop is at Union Station where Amtrak’s city hub s located. Amtrak was shut down and litters of people with luggage and families were left waiting outside. I could still see the smoke from the Pentagon, even from where I lived. I offered for some nice people to take refuge at my place, but was cordially denied. 

11:30 am: Arrived at my house and immediately called my parents from a hard line. They told me to "stay inside' and "don’t be stupid." I assured them that I would be OK and watched the news for what was going on because I didn't see anything since 9:25 that morning. I knew one plane was still missing, but my Dad said that he heard it landed in Cleveland. After I heard that the planes were commercial and hijacked, I knew it wasn't any kind of military surgical strike. At that point, an irreversible compulsion took over. I knew that history was in the process of unfolding right before my very eyes. I absolutely could not lock myself in an apartment as the most significant event in my adult life was transpiring. 

12:00 pm: I put my running shoes on, took off my suit, and settled up my bag of supplies and camera. I knew I had to get to the Pentagon and White House with my camera. I figured my best bet was to act like a reporter. I put on my Department of Commerce ID badge and wore my briefcase around my torso like so many reporters carry their equipment. I asked all my roommates and intern associates if they wanted to come with me. They responded with an enthusiastic, NO! They all told me I was being stupid, but I thought they were over reacting. The police presence was overwhelming and I felt that that was a reason the streets would be safe.  

I walked by the White House, but police quarantined off the streets. The streets we flowing with only the sediment of sorrow and solitude. Reporters and International tourists armed with a slew of recording equipment were generally the only civilians on site. I walked, and walked, and walked, all the while following the dark clouds of billowing smoke. While walking, I noticed a hide out for prominent Senators and staff members just outside of the Supreme Court. The police quickly shoed me out and told me to go home. I walked out of his sight and then took an alternate rout. This process was repeated three or four times by different policemen in different locations. I found another subway and proceeded to the nearest location near the Pentagon. At this time, the sub way looked like a cooler on Labor Day, empty and stinky. Military officials, some stragglers, and myself were the only ones heading towards the Pentagon. I got off the subway and accelerated to the nearest rest room. The Ritz Carlton was the nearest building with an open bathroom. Because of it's location being so close to the Pentagon, it had been transformed into a haven for Pentagon officials, dignitaries, and prominent heads of the U.S. Military. I just had to go to the bathroom. I had no time for small talk with any of the Generals or Senators; I had pictures to take and places to be. 

The highway blocked access to the Pentagon on two of four sides. Of the two accessible sides, one was directly facing the point of impact. Secret service men, FBI, Policemen, CIA, and those damn rent-a-cops were all re-routing me from my target, the burning Pentagon. I ran into a young reporter from FOX and we exchanged accessibility information. The comradery was instantaneous with this particular reporter. He asked, "Who are you reporting for." I told him I was freelance.

 2:00 pm:  I finally found an unpatrolled section of the police lines. I got under and managed to locate myself next to all the international press. I was ecstatic. All my work had finally paid off! I was witnessing what only a select few could see with a live direct optical feed straight to my brain. Although the smoke was massive and flames were still out of control, I was upwind and could not smell jet fuel or burning materials. American Airline plane debris could be seen directly in front of me. The Pentagon was blackened for a 200-yard stretch. You could hear only choppers over head and Hummers over shoulder.

Eye witnesses where all over and being interviewed in masses as to patch the feed up faster than their counterparts. I can tell you, behind the cameras, most of the top reporters are pompous assholes!! If you mixed Dion Sanders, Val Kilmer, Madonna, and Donald Trump into one person, you'd probably get your typical "big time" media correspondent.    

I wasn't even bashful while the reporters all swarmed to interview eyewitnesses. I had a notepad and had written down details and names like every one else playing Twister with video camera’s and microphones around me. I even asked a very intelligent question regarding the flight path of the American Air craft. In fact, later I saw the news reporters asking my question to the other eyewitnesses.

 3:00 pm: Press was continuing to be in. It was obvious that I was too young to be assigned that story and I had taken all the pictures I could get, so I tracked home and had time to reflect on the awful devastation and destruction that I had just documented. I feel like I'm closer to my country for being a part of it, and would do it all over again.

 Adam Crysler

 

September 11, 2001 (8:10pm) - Washington D.C.

September 11, 2001 (2:30pm)

 

 

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