Report from Ground Zero
Sarah P. Rubinstein
My alarm went off, and I lay in bed listening to the weather and news. It was September 11, 2001—an ordinary day, a workday, one of those early fall days that Minnesotans look back at longingly from winter’s chill. I went downstairs, switched on the radio in the kitchen, and sat down to breakfast with the newspaper. Shortly before eight, the newscaster said that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center in New York. The pilot must have had a heart attack, I thought, and finished eating. Then came the second report. A plane had flown into the other tower. This was more than an accident; this was deliberate. I turned on the television and went upstairs to wake my daughter. Whatever was going on, Rebecca would want to know about it—and I wanted her near me.
We watched until about 8:30, when I decided that I should get in to the office. I took a small battery-operated radio with me, pressing it to my ear as I walked. They reported a plane hitting the Pentagon. No one knew how many planes had been hijacked or what other targets might be. At the office, the atmosphere was subdued. Everyone knew about the attacks, as we were now calling them, and was listening to the radio. Someone turned on a television in a conference room and let us know we could go over there to watch the coverage. I watched for a while and then went back to my office. I heard someone say that a tower had collapsed. No, I thought, a building like that couldn’t fall. Maybe the top had caved in. I soon learned how wrong I was. By noon, I knew that the towers were gone. I wanted to be with my family, so, pleading a headache, I took a half day of sick time.
My husband was home by then. Mitch works in the St. Paul World Trade Center. Management felt the building could be a target and sent everyone home. We sat in the family room, together with Rebecca, none of us able to take our eyes from the television. Finally, Rebecca and I had to do something, so we went over to the Red Cross and joined the people waiting to give blood. The line moved slowly. Everyone was trading whatever information they had heard. One man arrived with the extra edition of the St. Paul Pioneer Press with photos of the towers engulfed in smoke. Rebecca and I were among the last to be accepted that day before the center closed. They were overwhelmed.
We watched until about 8:30, when I decided that I should get in to the office. I took a small battery-operated radio with me, pressing it to my ear as I walked. They reported a plane hitting the Pentagon. No one knew how many planes had been hijacked or what other targets might be. At the office, the atmosphere was subdued. Everyone knew about the attacks, as we were now calling them, and was listening to the radio. Someone turned on a television in a conference room and let us know we could go over there to watch the coverage. I watched for a while and then went back to my office. I heard someone say that a tower had collapsed. No, I thought, a building like that couldn’t fall. Maybe the top had caved in. I soon learned how wrong I was. By noon, I knew that the towers were gone. I wanted to be with my family, so, pleading a headache, I took a half day of sick time.
My husband was home by then. Mitch works in the St. Paul World Trade Center. Management felt the building could be a target and sent everyone home. We sat in the family room, together with Rebecca, none of us able to take our eyes from the television. Finally, Rebecca and I had to do something, so we went over to the Red Cross and joined the people waiting to give blood. The line moved slowly. Everyone was trading whatever information they had heard. One man arrived with the extra edition of the St. Paul Pioneer Press with photos of the towers engulfed in smoke. Rebecca and I were among the last to be accepted that day before the center closed. They were overwhelmed.
