<nettime> WTC-Surviversreport from Scott (Fwrded)

[Diana Ozon <ozon@Desk.nl>]

I want to thank all the people that have called, e-mailed or even thought
about me and my brother during these trying times.  We are ok.  We are
safe at are apartment on Canal Street.

You know, usually I write in order to collect my thoughts, but I feel like
my thoughts were blown to pieces in the last day, and there's just no way
I'll be able to collect them all.  Of the fragments that are left, I can't
keep repeating them, I can't keep re-living them.  So I'm writing this and
sending it to everyone I can think of and if I missed anyone, please
forward it, and if you want to forward this to anyone, please do.

September 11, 2001 started off like any other day for me.  I awoke, put on
my work clothes and started my journey to the World Financial Center.  My
journey takes me southwest along the bottom of Chinatown, through Police
Plaza, City Hall, along the World Trade Center, between buildings 1 (the
north tower which is no more) and Building 7 (which collapsed the next
evening) and then to my building, number 3 of the World Financial Center.  
We call our building WFC3 and I'm sure many of you are now familiar with
it, at least by the sight of the pyramid shape on the top.

To enter the building I went through turnstiles by passing my employee
card through a notch and waiting for the green light to flash.  These are
our daily security measures.  Then I went to the 26-40 elevator bank and
took the high speed trip up to the 26th floor.  From there I walked down
to the 24th floor using the stairwells, which is a faster route than using
the 15-24 elevator bank, and time is of the essence at my place of
employment, an investment bank.  When I reached the 24th floor, I went to
the Computer Graphics Center, also known Creative Services, which is the
base for my department's operations.  At that point I signed into the
jobtrack computer, at exactly 8:01 a.m. to officially begin my workday.

My job is to help prepare print and electronic media for presentations,
pitch books and other types of memos that are constantly sent out and
prepared by the banking community.  I do everything from straight typing
to technical excel graphs to creating graphics to anything else that is
needed with respect to these electronic presentations.  The center is open
24 hours a day, we support not only New York offices, but offices
worldwide.  A month ago, I was even calling a man in Hong Kong to clarify
changes he wanted made in a document.  Most of us work 12-hour shifts.  
Mine is from 8am to 8pm.  I work Monday, TUESDAY and Wednesday.

We work with the rest of the company from our center on the 24th floor,
but we also send individual workers to the different floors to support the
different departments that are scattered from the 5th floor all the way up
to the 24th floor.  The Creative Service / Computer Graphics department
had recently let go of all the temporary employees, which had left us
rather understaffed.  I had been asked to cover one of the departments,
Financial Services, on the 19th floor every Tuesday on a permanent basis,
and this was my first day of starting that coverage.  As I left the
center, one of my co-workers, a friend named Winston, gave me a job that
had been submitted to the center.  When working offsite, on a different
floor than the center, the mornings usually have a low workload, and so
Winston, a work flow coordinator, was giving me a center job to take down.

I went down to the 19th floor and found my work station so I could begin
this first job.  But before I go on let me just say a few things about my
job.  I'm not very proud of my job.  The work is easy enough for me and
the pay is good enough to support my lifestyle in New York, but the
business itself makes me less than comfortable.  Mainly, this is because
the business puts profit before just about everything, well actually not
just about, it is before everything.  I guess I feel a little guilty for
knowing some of the things I know.  I've overheard conversations where
bankers talk about where they can dump sour investments onto unknowing
investors.  And I don't think those unknowing investors are their
wealthier customers whose business they really value.  I've seen
paragraphs that promote going into certain countries and states because
they have lax environmental laws and thus the company can make more money
since they won't have spend money hedging the damage they are causing to
the earth.  Many people might just say that's business, you have to make a
profit, there is a bottom line.  To me, the bottom line is preserving the
earth and providing love, nourishment and wealth to all, not just some.  
The international market is cut-throat, the banks fight against each other
and merge and try to gather more and more of the market share.  As some
people get extremely rich, and I work along millionaires, others in the
world are living in debt, working at the poverty level.  There is just
such a disproportionate distribution of wealth that I don't think anyone
should be satisfied with how the system works.  BUT despite all this, no
on deserves to be killed, murdered or attacked.  We deserve to be educated
and must strive to improve the system, not become complacent with it.

So I'm not proud of my job and the heartless money game, but I chose to
work there.  So I'm not complaining, I'm just being honest about my
feelings towards this particular industry and this type of economy and
after what I've been through, I feel the need to get everything out of my
head and onto the page.  So many people, I fear, will give America and
it's ways a blank check of approval, because of this tragedy, and I think
it's always better to be honest and heal ourselves with the rest of the
world.  Many of these companies down here aren't innocent, people-loving
enterprises, they are ruthless money-making operations that work on an
international level.

With that said about the business, I have to stress that the people I work
with are all beautiful people.  Sure, we can all get on each other's
nerves, but we'd never harm each other.  One woman, Janet, and I are at
the exact opposite ends of some sort of personality spectrum, yet if I had
the chance, I would save her life without question.  It's because I know
we are all trying to do the best we can.  We all have dreams and fears and
good intentions.  No one wants to harm anyone or pollute anything.  No one
wants to abuse anyone or anything in order to make another dollar.  We
basically do our jobs and don't think about all the other gears that are
turning in the machinery.  We only see the immediate faces and not the far
reaching effects that this business has on the rest of the community.  
And I believe everyone in the company up to the CEO lives and believes
this.

So back to the job Winston had handed me.  It was for a man named Victor.  
The job had been submitted last night, and was scheduled to be completed
by 8am.  Last night, the server that this document was located had crashed
and the job had been put aside.  Now the server was up.  I gave Victor a
call and it turned out Victor was sitting to the corner behind me.  Funny
how sometimes you're calling the cube right behind you and you don't even
know it.  I wasn't familiar with Victor, as he briskly introduced himself
and started talking quickly and with irritation.  He was really concerned
because the document needed be finished immediately and he knew the server
went down, and now his boss was going to be furious, and now it had to be
done as quickly as possible.  I told him I would work as fast as I could,
which is what I told everyone that tried to hurry me, but I wasn't lying,
I would do the work as fast as I could.

I put on my headphones to block out the rest of the room, which wasn't
that busy, since not everyone was there yet.  I don't think the
secretaries and assistants came in till 9am or 9:30am.  But the analysts,
associates, vice presidents and managing directors were running around.  
I was listening to Howard Stern, which is my usual morning radio fare.  
His antics kept me going as I worked on completely reformatting this word
document.

Suddenly I saw people going over to the corner office.  I heard someone
say, "Fuck."  I pulled my head phones off to find out what happened.  
People were walking to the window and looking up in disbelief.  "What
happened?" everyone wanted to know.  Someone said it was a plane, but no
one could believe a plane had hit the building.  People starting dialing
numbers on their cell phones, walking back and forth, trying to figure out
what was happening.  I was actually afraid to leave this rush document,
but eventually I got up and left the document, I wanted to see what was
happening from the window.  Everyone was congregating in the managing
director's office on the corner.  I walked over and strained to look up.  
I could see flames coming out of the windows, but mostly I saw smoke.  No
one really knew what had happened.  A man on a cell phone yelled out that
it was a plane, that he had just talked by cell to his friend who was on
the street in his car.  I went back to my workstation, and went to yahoo
news.  I hadn't seen the plane hit, it was incredulous, I was trying to
find any record of it.  It was probably stupid to look online for any
news, but I did, and I also put one of the earphones back into my air.  
Howard was still talking about Pamela Anderson.  Everything was going on
as normal in the rest of the world and yet outside my window, the World
Trade Center building 1 (WTC1) was on fire, a plane buried in the top.

I looked around and saw that everyone was on their cell phones.  I don't
have a cell phone so I grabbed my desk phone and called my father.  He was
still home, and he turned on the television.  At about that time, Howard
started to announce that there was a report of the World Trade Center
being hit by an airplane.  The television stations were starting to show
live footage.  It was official, WTC1 was on fire, struck by an airplane.  
Then the building intercom clicked on and the fire warden made an
announcement.  He told us that World Trade Center 1 had been hit by an
airplane, but this did not affect the World Financial Center and that we
were NOT to evacuate.  He then repeated that we weren't to evacuate.

I told my father what was going on, and then the phone started to blink
because I had another call coming.  I must have started to get nervous
because what usually was an easy action, putting someone on hold, became
this huge effort because I suddenly didn't know where the hold button was
anymore.  These phones have tons of buttons.  Shaking a little, I was
finally able to put him on hold and I picked up the other line.  It was my
supervisor, Elizabeth.  She was calling to make sure I was alright.  You
know Elizabeth has chastised me in from of the entire center for stupid
little things, but her call to make sure I was ok was one of the nicest
things anyone could have done.  I was really starting to feel alone.  On
the 19th floor, all the other workers were rushing around making plans
among themselves, and I had no idea what was happening, and the person I
was talking to, my dad, was safely away from everything.  Elizabeth told
me I could come up to 24th floor if I wanted, to be with the rest of the
center.  I thanked her, said I was alright, and went back to my father and
then we hung up too.  The next time I see her, I plan to thank her again.

A man was standing in front of me on a cell phone and I asked him if we
should evacuate.  He said he didn't know, but his family was downstairs so
he was going to go there and check on them.  That made sense to me, he was
leaving to collect his family.  The fire warden came back on the intercom
again and repeated that we weren't to evacuate.  The next thing I knew,
there was a shockwave, and someone was yelling, "Another plane, another
plane hit."  At this point everyone was nervous and frankly there seemed
to be less people around.  In fact, it seemed like all the managing
directors were gone, and the vice presidents too.  It was just me and the
analysts, the top brass had disappeared.  I ran over to the window and saw
that both buildings were on fire.  I also saw the street below was filled
with fire engines and fire personnel.  I couldn't comprehend what was
happening.  I went back to my desk and called my father.  "Dad, both of
the towers have been hit, I don't know what to do, they're telling us not
to evacuate, but it looks like some people are leaving, but they keep
saying not to evacuate."  My dad didn't know what to do, he was at home in
Connecticut.  I decided I better call back up to the center.  I ended the
call to my dad and called the center.  Winston answered the phone.  I
could tell he was in distress.  He told me the phone was ringing off the
hook.  He didn't know what to do.  I told him I wanted to evacuate even
though they were telling us not to, which they announced yet a third time
over the intercom.  He told me to come up to the center if I wanted and we
ended out brief conversation.

I didn't want to go up to the center.  I didn't want to go five stories
higher, five stories closer to the burning levels of the World Trade
Centers.  I sat there looking at the screen on my computer.  "Victor," I
called, "I don't think I'm going to finish this."  Victor didn't say
anything.  I stood up and saw that Victor's workstation was empty.  I
looked across the floor.  No one was there.  I was alone inside the barren
shell of the investment bank.

I walked over to the window in the managing director's corner office.  I
looked up at the burning monstrosity of the world trade centers.  The one
directly across the way was WTC1.  My building is actually attached to the
World Trade Center by a bridge and you can actually see somewhat into the
windows of tower 1.  At that moment I saw something I never expected and I
will never forget.  A man in a black suit with a dark tie jumped out of
the building from the upper levels.  My body quivered as I started saying
over and over, "Holy Shit."  I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing, the
emotional overload plainly short circuited me, as the falling burned into
my mind, repeating endlessly.  The man was flailing his arms and legs as
he fell through the air.  I remember his necktie was like a ribbon blowing
upwards.  Seconds passed and then I saw him hit the buttress of the
building.  I could feel the thud inside my body as he hit the concrete.  
The man's entire body like a rag doll cracked and twisted, like he'd been
struck with lightning, and a fine mist, which was either blood or dust or
dirt from the ground, clouded around him and just as quickly faded or
settled back to the hard surface.  The man no longer moved, it was like
the outline of a body in crime scene, as he lay face down alone on the
buttress.  I couldn't understand at that point why someone would have
jumped.  I was in shock.  There was such a finality to the act.  There was
such a desperation to the act.  There was such an incredible choice in the
act.  All of a sudden, death became a reality, the tragedy became a
reality.  I was still repeating "Holy shit" as I turned around and saw
that I actually wasn't alone on the 19th floor, there were two analysts
left, and they were coming over to see why I had just yelled.  I was
shaking, stammering, I had just seen a man take his own life.  The two
seconds of the fall felt like an eternity.  The woman grabbed me on the
arm, she wanted to know if I was ok, if I was alright.  I told them what I
had seen and they both turned white.  We need to get out of here one of
them said, forget about the fire warden.  At that point we separated to
get whatever we needed from our desks.  I think they might have been
sitting on the side of the building that wasn't facing the World Trade
Centers because I never saw either of them again.

I tried to get back into myself, to gain my composure.  I shut down my
computer, grabbed my back pack.  I called back up to the center, but there
was no answer.  I was performing unnecessary tasks now.  Why did I log out
of my computer?  I even decided to get my lunch from the fridge.  Looking
back, I don't know why I did these things, I didn't need the food, but I
guess I needed to give myself some quick small tasks that I could
accomplish.  I wanted to feel like I wasn't leaving anything behind, that
I was prepared to face whatever was coming.  I didn't know that there was
no way to prepare for what would come next.  I didn't feel so much in
danger as I felt traumatized, and I think that's how many people felt as
this tragedy unfolded.  I, and others, had believed the fire warden's
orders, that the only building that was damaged was the World Trade
Centers and that we were safe here in the World Financial Centers.

So I got my food and went to the elevators.  The elevators were dark so I
went to the stairs.  As I opened the door, it was like entering a
different world, a world of refugees.  I remember the stairwell being
bright and quiet.  People were silently walking down the stairs.  There
were just a few people at each section of the stairs, but it spanned as
far as I could see.  For a building that was full of people, it didn't
seem like many people were exiting because it wasn't that crowded.  Were
the majority of people following the fire warden's order not to evacuate?  
Or was I just one of the last one's to leave?  I didn't know, I just
silently evacuated against his orders.  It was so quiet, it almost felt as
if we were deserters, but despite that, we were leaving the building.  We
didn't care that he had ordered us to stay.  I don't think anyone was
rationally thinking.  It's hard to explain, it was just a strange thing,
to disobey the fire warden's orders, yet it was one of the decisions that
saved my life.

In the silence, I realized Howard Stern was speaking into one of my ears.  
I listened to him and it was actually comforting.  He was safe and
existing outside this refugee stairwell, just like my father had been when
I talked to him on the phone before, as he watched the news.  The Stern
crew was repeating what had happened, two planes had hit the two largest
world trade towers and both buildings were aflame.  And even though they
weren't talking about that man in the suit I alone watched jump to his
death, they still helped to validate the reality of an unreal situation
and let me know that there wasn't panic everywhere.

When I reached the last sections of the staircase, I had to go slower.  
People were converging and pooling for the final exit was a single door
allowing one person to leave at a time.  I noticed the woman in front of
me was barefoot, she was carrying her heels.  I looked around and didn't
notice anyone that I knew.  I walked into the lobby and people were just
standing around.  No one knew where to go.  People were having trouble
getting out of the stairwells because people were already crowding the
outlet.  I guess there was maybe fifty people or a hundred people here,
but it's not a huge space, and the security wasn't allowing anyone into
the Winter Garden, which is the space in between the World Financial
Buildings.  We either had to wait here or exit through the side exit.  I
decided to go outside, I needed fresh air.

When I walked outside, the first thing I saw was people sitting on the
ground.  They were injured.  They must have been hit by debris from the
initial airplane explosion.  They were bloody and confused, staring
towards the wall and the ground.  I saw a police officer and he said not
to go towards the towers, but he didn't say where to go.  So I walked
north and looked up at the towers along with the rest of the crowd.  The
smoke billowed upward and we could see flames on a few floors shooting out
of the windows and licking the sky.  I was looking up and at the same time
backing away northward when it a happened again, a man jumped.  I never
thought I would ever see that again.  The entire crowd gasped in horror.  
"No,"  people yelled.  Others started crying.  People repeated words like
mantras.  I think mine was "Holy Shit."  Then another person jumped, you
could see the outline as he, or maybe she, fell.  I wasn't as close as
before, when I was inside on the 19th floor, and I couldn't see the person
as well.  And now that I was on the street level, I couldn't see the
person landing on the buttress.  We were all stunned because it kept
happening again and again, person after person jumped.  We weren't leaving
because we were paralyzed by the pain.  The pain brought out such a
helplessness.  I continued vigilantly watching the building and I saw what
was certainly a woman wearing a dress fall through the air and then
disappear on the buttress.  I looked around and absolutely no one from the
center was anywhere to be seen.  I didn't recognize a face.  I kept
backing away farther north.  Where were the rest of my colleagues I
wondered.  Wouldn't they have left too?  I asked a women if I could use
her cell phone.  I was feeling guilty now for leaving the others on the
24th floor, but also so concerned that they should evacuate.  The woman
told me that no cell phones worked anymore, all the lines were out.

At that point it hit me how alone I was.  I didn't recognize a face, my
co-workers were missing and I was watching people jump to their deaths
rather than stay inside the burning infernos of the tower.  Like a moment
of surreal peacefulness, a brightly colored orange butterfly fluttered
over the group of people I was standing with.  It was like parts of the
parts of world were unaware and innocent to the tragedy.  And then
butterfly flew away, actually going towards the towers.  I overheard a man
ask a police officer where to go if you knew CPR and First Aid.  He told
the man to head towards the front of my building, WFC3, which was facing
the WTC1, which was the first tower to be hit.  He said a triage was being
established there, right below the tower.  I had just been certified in
CPR and First Aid at the Swedish Institute, my massage school alma mater.  
Should I go and volunteer, I started to asked myself as I continued to
back away from the building.  I should volunteer to help I thought, that's
the right thing to do, but still I continued backing away.  I couldn't go
towards the buildings.  I didn't want to be any closer to where the people
were jumping.  Over twenty people had jumped now, and each time, you
couldn't believe you were watching an actual person fall to their death,
the pain and empathy inside me was boiling.

By now I was one good block away from my building, I'd say about three
hundred yards.  That's when we started to hear a rumble.  The collapse of
WTC2, the south tower, seemed to happen in slow motion, as a column of
debris unfurled into what looked like a ball that was rapidly expanding
towards us.  Those of us that could run started running.  Some people
couldn't run, whether for emotional reasons or physical reasons.  It felt
like a movie, as we all fled at our own speeds from the massive fall-out.  
It probably felt like a movie because we had to dodge all the video
cameras set up by the press and the independent press.  Luckily for me,
the wind was blowing south as I ran north up the West Street.  I fear
those on the south side must have been much worse off.  The edge of the
fallout dissipated and that wall of smoke and dust had come within 100
yards of me, but never reached me.  I looked back and saw that the
building I had just been inside had been completely engulfed by the cloud
of debris.  I couldn't see it anymore.  People were crying.  Others were
unsuccessfully trying there cell phones.  All of us continued our exodus
away from the buildings.  The skyline was ominous.  Only one tower
standing.  It looked strange, awkward, a New New York.  I kept thinking
about how I had been inside that building that had disappeared in the
inferno.  It was like a part of me was still there, all alone on the 19th
floor.

I decided to walk home by going up West Street and then east on Canal
Street.  We heard people say there were no subways so everyone knew to
just keep walking.  I wanted to get away from the dust.  After a few
blocks I started to see payphones with lines of about 30 people waiting to
make a call to their loved ones.  Seeing people in desperation waiting for
the phone just made me realize how the downtown had become a refugee zone.  
I wanted to make a call too, I wanted to call my dad, to let him know I
had evacuated and that I was safe, for the moment.

I looked back and realized if I had done the "honorable" thing and
volunteered for the triage, I would have just been leveled by the WTC2's
debris, along with, I also realized, all those fire trucks and the firemen
and the police and anyone else that was there, that I had seen
congregating from my view on the 19th floor.  By not volunteering, I had
lived.  Two choices I had labored over in the last 45 minutes, leaving the
building and not volunteering, two decisions which could have been easily
different, had in the end been life-saving decisions.

I reached Canal Street which was a ways up West Street and starting
walking eastward towards my apartment.  I could see most of the people
around me hadn't come from the trade and financial centers.  They were
safely watching from a distance.  You couldn't see bodies falling out of
the building here.  You didn't know about all the rescue workers buried.  
All you could really see was the very tops of the buildings.  The shop
owners had their front gates pulled halfway down as they stayed half open,
though tourists weren't buying souvenirs anymore.  The post card racks
were ignored as people watched and were captivated by the one remaining
burning tower.  I stepped around the people, as I had one goal in mind
now, to return to my apartment.  When I reached Broadway, the WTC1 fell.  
It just disappeared while the people on the street gasped.  I could feel
my heart pulsing.  The skyline again changed for a second time.  
Collectively, the city had now lost our pillars of orientation.  
Literally, I became dizzy.

I finally made it home.  I climbed my three flight of stairs and entered
the apartment.  I was sweating and felt claustrophobic instantly.  Now
that I think about it, the claustrophobia must have been an innate fear of
becoming trapped, just like all those people had been trapped before they
decided to jump.  I opened the window to the fire escape, climbed out and
called my dad.  I've never heard my father so relieved to hear my voice.  
He had no idea what had happened.  He had seen the buildings collapse.  
He wasn't even sure if I had been in one of the collapsed buildings.  He
had been preparing himself for the worst.  In fact I found out my whole
family had been preparing themselves for the worst.  My mom was crying at
the prison where she taught.  My brother Adam had been sent home from his
job.  My brother Todd had watched the buildings collapse from Union Square
and feared the worst.  But against all odds, I had survived.  I kept
thinking, they told us not to evacuate, but dammit, evacuating saved my
life.

What happened next was a barrage of phone calls and constant perusing of
the television stations.  I showered off the dust and actually packed some
stuff, irreplaceable items, into a backpack in case I had to flee my
apartment.  I threw in my Tom Brown Jr. survival books with some journals,
photos and personal writings.  It was all about survival and preservation
now.  As I watched the reporting and heard what people had to say, I
realized I had a different reaction.  As people talked tough about revenge
and retaliation, I shook my head in horror.  No more deaths, no more
violence.  I could see the people jumping.  That pain, those deaths had
been senseless.  When someone dies before your eyes, there is no reason
why they are dying.  Their death isn't making any statements or proving
anything or fixing anything.  They are just dying, whether you call them
your friend, an enemy or a stranger.  Bombing another country wouldn't do
any good, it would only fuel this jet-fuel fire even further.

I'm not a pacifist.  I believe in defending myself.  But I also feel
violence will not heal, it will only lead to further violence farther down
the line.  So for me, violence is not a solution.  As our president talks
about declarations of war, I ask myself, do we want to continue this cycle
of violence, or start to find ways to make our planet and its people
healthier and healthier.  Can we use this tragedy, this crisis, to rethink
how we do business, to rethink how we care for ourselves and others?  
We're not going to reach inside the head of a terrorist and change him.  
Crushing his friends or associates won't deter him either.  But we could
work on creating a world where less and less people feel disenfranchised.  
Because no matter how proud we are of America, there is a lot more we can
do, there is a lot more wealth we can distribute, so that all the people
of the world can feel how precious, priceless, sacred, equal and connected
that we are.

I don't know, these thoughts were going through my mind.  I have to say I
didn't have a moment without a phone call or a television bulletin
blasting off on the TV.  I talked to loved ones from around the country.  
I watched everything you watched.  My brother walked home with my friend
JP, who temporarily stranded in the city.  I had dinner with my neighbors
and friends, Randy, Yang and their son Max, who's not even a year old.  
The whole scene went from reality to virtuality.  It became a television
show, with the same footage repeated and repeated.  The reality of what I
experienced first hand became a shadow.  I'm sorry to say I did receive
one disturbing call.  A relative of my cousin-in-law, who is some sort of
TV producer called thinking I was inside the Trade Center Towers and she
was looking for some sort of interview.  I guess being in the building
across the street wasn't good enough because she quickly lost interest in
me.  I only want to hear from friends and family by phone.  People, who I
don't even know, that are looking for a good interview should look
elsewhere.  The media has a way of really preying upon victims and
overdoing it for the sake of ratings.  I know a lot of people who are
starting to just turn off their televisions.  I really don't want to hear
the networks fight with each other after this ordeal has ended over who
had the better coverage.  I don't know, maybe I'm over-reacting.  The
initial coverage and the Stern Show kept me going for the first initial
hours.  It did help keep me connected and fight against the aloneness that
everyone was feeling, even as we left the scene together.

In fact it wasn't until I was in bed, that I again found myself really
alone that day.  I turned on the radio, I guess I didn't want to be alone
just yet.  The announcer, right at that moment, started to report that a
man and a woman had been seen jumping from one of the towers holding hands
all the way down.  That image brought to life everything I had been
through the whole day.  I shut off the radio, and there I was alone, back
in the 19th floor, there I was on the street, there I was running.  I
started to cry.  I don't cry often.  The few times I have, it has been
uncontrollable and this was one of them.  I buried my face in a second
pillow to muffle the sounds.  I didn't want to wake my brother in the
other room.  I kept seeing people falling and I couldn't stop crying.  I
eventually cried myself to sleep.  I cried myself to sleep on a wet pillow
of tears.

The next morning I saw footage of the WFC3, the building I should have
been inside on a normal work day.  The pyramid was smoking, they say the
oil heaters for the hot water were up there.  The footage showed the front
facade.  I saw the corner window I had looked out from and it was smashed
in with a huge gash from what must have been a huge piece of debris
cutting into that corner.  I felt like a part of me was still inside
there, looking out the window.  I think a part of me will always be frozen
in time, standing on the 19th floor.

The tall buildings that are gone now used to cast shadows along the
corridors of this city.  With them gone, the sun now reaches all the way
to earth.  Let us, the survivors, plant new seeds, water them and grow a
better future.

Thanks for listening to me.  I'm starting to learn more about my
co-workers.  As far as I know Arthur Rodier is the only one that is
unaccounted for, and if anyone knows of his whereabouts, please let me
know.  A good friend of mine, Susan, teaches Pilates and her philosophy
and the Pilate philosophy is to keep your center strong.  This goes way
beyond simple sit-ups.  With a strong center, physically, spiritually and
mentally, you can do amazing things.  So keep your centers strong.

I have been contacted by one of my former massage professors that though
volunteers are being told stay home right now, they actually need massage
therapists, even ones that aren't licensed yet, but have finished school,
to help support the rescue effort.  I think I will go help out now.  For
anyone other massage therapists, she said just to show up at Chelsea Piers
(23rd street and 12th Avenue) at any time of the day, especially at night.

Please keep in touch, and hearing from everyone really does help.  Email
may be the best way right now.  Even someone I don't know, if you get this
email and you want to write, I welcome you to share whatever you want to
share.

Love,
Scott Kravet
scott@back2earth.com






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