Many of us Brooklyn Heights residents have vivid, often very sad but also sometimes inspiring, memories of what happened 25 years ago today. Andrew Porter has shared his here. Feel free to share yours in comments to this post. Here are mine:
I had just dropped Liz, my daughter, off at PS 150, located about 1/4 mile from the World Trade Center, where she was in second grade, and was walking across Reade Street to catch the subway to Midtown, where my office was located. I heard an airplane overhead, and thought it sounded very close. Then there was a moment of silence, followed by a loud explosion. People behind me on Greenwich Street were screaming. I ran back, looked up, and from the location of the gash in the side of One WTC, the North Tower, from which flame and smoke were coming, knew that if Charlie McCrann, a close friend of many years, had been in his office on the 100th floor, he had been killed. I called Martha, my wife, and told her what had happened. I thought of calling Charlie’s home, but didn’t want to perhaps needlessly alarm Michelle, his wife, and their two children. When I got to the subway station I took a look toward the burning tower just as the second plane crashed into the South Tower. I knew then that my city was under attack. The following day I called Michelle and got the devastating news that Charlie was among the “missing.”
I went back to the school, were many parents were huddled in horror. After a while the principal announced that the school would be evacuated and the students could go to another school further north in Greenwich Village or could go home with their parents. Marie, another Brooklyn Heights resident whose two sons were at the school, said she wanted to take them home and asked me what Liz and I would do. I had spoken with Martha on the phone and we agreed that Liz should come home. We were told the subways were shut down, and smoke was pouring onto the Brooklyn Bridge, so we would have to get there by a circuitous route.
The school was evacuated en masse, and as we were all walking up Greenwich Street a tower collapsed, sending dust and debris billowing up the street and causing us all to run. When we got to Canal Street I asked a cop if the Manhattan Bridge was open. He said it wasn’t, so Marie and I continued northward. When we got to the Tenement Museum a man was holding a sign, “Water and Restrooms Inside,” so we took a badly needed break. Shortly after we found our way to the Williamsburg Bridge and took the pedestrian walkway across to Brooklyn. While we were crossing, jet fighter planes were flying overhead. On the Brooklyn side of the bridge we were greeted by Orthodox Jews with jugs of water and cups. We got off the bridge and went to the front of the Peter Luger Steak House. The kitchen staff invited the kids in and gave them fries while we were able to phone Marie’s husband, Mark, who came and rode us home.
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