JE Thompson - I still carry you around: A moment-by-moment account of the week that changed New York City and me forever

To gumbomojo (1959-2010)

You came back into my life on 9/11/2001

and left it on Black Friday 2010.

What we had in between was lagniappe.

I still carry you around

2021 JE Thompson. All rights reserved.

First Edition 2021

www.istillcarryyouaround.com

ISBN 978-1-66780-018-9

Huge thanks to Claire Sheridan, writer and editor extraordinaire, for your relentless encouragement and generous (multiple) read-throughs of my manuscript. And to Ann Marie Almariei, your stunning cover design brings my story to life. I know it was difficult for both of you to approach this project in a rational way. There was nothing dispassionate about what happened that week, and I know this stirred up painful memories. Thank you.

Cover Design by Ann Marie Almariei

Front Cover Photo by iStock/Chris Martin Photo

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of quotations in a book review.

My account of 9/11 is based on personal observations written during the week of 9/11/01-9/18/01. Please forgive any inconsistencies, errors or memory lapses that may have arisen from this very in-the-moment account. All mistakes are my own.

Printed in the U.S.

PREFACE

It takes only two numbers spoken aloud to conjure up a visceral, full-bodied reaction. What follows truly is a brain dump. Talking about nine/eleven was simply too difficult while I was in the thick of it. Instead, I sat down at my laptop to document what was happening around me. I started writing at the end of that very long and horrifying Tuesday and didnt stop until a week later, after I made a trip downtown and paid my respects to the Twin Towers.

I simply hemorrhaged words. The thought of grabbing my camera to capture the turmoil in the city repulsed me. My salve was prose. Friends worldwide frantically phoned and e-mailed me all week long when they could get a line in to see how I was holding up.

I sent the e-mail below to anxious friends in Scotland, Ireland, England, New Zealand, Australia, Canada and the United States and attached my account of the events of that first day.

From: Johanna Thompson

Date: 09/12/2001 04:45 P.M.

To: Norman, Iain, Deirdre and Peter, Paula, Andy, David and Lorraine, Sydney, Debbie, Alice

Subject: the little picture

So many of you have called or e-mailed me to see if I was okay. Thank you for all your thoughts, your love and caring. Here in the city, were sort of in limbo. Even volunteering to help is difficult, because too often we become a hindrance to the rescue/recovery efforts. Last night I spent hours walking around the city, taking notes. Youre seeing whats happening on the news: all the heroic feats, the tragedies, the fear. Let me share with you what the many New Yorkers may have seen and felt yesterday. My day was far less heroic. Its much harder to see the big picture from this vantage point. So heres the little picture.

Its just a few minutes past 9 a.m. on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Today is primary day for New York City and I vote as soon as the polls open and then head uptown to my office. I climb up from the subway at 49th Street and Eighth Avenue and walk my usual route to Worldwide Plaza, where I work at an ad agency. As I near the electronics store on the mezzanine level, a small crowd hovers around the entrance, collectively staring up at the wall of televisions. Jeffrey, a co-worker, rushes up to me and I ask him whats up.

They bombed the World Trade Center, he says quietly, urgently.

It barely registers, so unreal a thought this is. Then I, too, look up at the TV screen. It doesnt even occur to me to turn south, where the Twin Towers stand. Besides, theyre obscured by nearby buildings.

On the elevator to the fifth floor, I anxiously glance up at the Captivate news screen just above the row of floor numbers, hoping for any updates. The news is spreading. Theres an uneasy vibe and no one speaks while they wait for their floor.

As I exit the elevator, I make a beeline to the nearest conference room where a huge media console sits, but the TV control panel isnt working.

Others have already crowded into the sixth-floor conference room as I arrive from downstairs. Its practically standing room only; its so packed. People are hovering outside the doors as well. I slip past them, spy my friend Oksana, and slide into a chair next to her. There are about 30-40 people in the room; all eyes trained on the screen as we watch the scene play out. Theyre replaying the footage of planes crashing into the Twin Towers.

The first tower was hit at 8:46 a.m., the second at 9:03 a.m. just as I was coming up from the subway. Theres a collective gasp. Holy shit! Fuck! Some have tears in their eyes; others are clutching their cell phones. One man makes a nervous but hate-filled comment about the goddamned Muslims that most of us ignore, which flusters him even more. Then the news presenters announce a plane crash in D.C. at 9:37 a.m. Another gasp. Just a few excruciating minutes later, its confirmed. The Pentagon has been hit. And at 10:03 a.m., yet another plane has gone down near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I slip out of the conference room, realizing that family and out-of-town friends will start calling.

Two relatives have already left messages, anxious for news. Are you okay? Where ARE you? When I finally get a line out, I reassure them that Im okay. Then I call Dad, tell him Im safe. This is World War III, he says. Dad is a former New York State Trooper, a former Marine and pretty conservative in his politics.

Then I send a quick email to Barry in Louisiana. My ex. We havent spoken in 4 years, but hes all I can think of and I know hell be thinking of me. Worrying. Im okay, I write. Thats it. Two words.

Within seconds, I hear back from him. Thank God! I was so worried. I couldnt get a flight up there and was about to drive up in my Jeep. Call me when you can. He left his number.

People at work are wandering around, not sure what to do. There are at least a few thousand employees at our New York headquarters, yet no announcements blare over our public address system. No words of support or instruction on next steps. I call my account executive to see if our 10 a.m. conference call with a client in London could possibly still be happening. The first things I hear after the she picks up are gasps of air, her voice breaking.

Do you need help, Jackie? Shall I come up? I ask, but she demurs. Our meeting is forgotten and I go back to the fifth-floor conference room, where the TV is now working.

After 15 tense minutes, I mention that it wont be long before CNN crafts a special logo for the crisis. I know its cynical and tacky to mention it, but cant hold my tongue. Not even 15 minutes later, though, my theory is proved when I check back into the conference room for yet another news update. In a red, white and blue graphic box, the stylized title appears: AMERICA UNDER ATTACK.

The fuckers, I said. And I didnt mean the bombers.

The first tower collapsed at 10:28 a.m. By 10:30 a.m., theres an exodus from Worldwide Plaza; people are heading home to regroup. Many are stuck at work especially those living downtown and outside of Manhattan and are trying to figure out where to go next. What to do next.

I decide to stick around. Who knows whats in the air at this point? Rumors abound; theyre evacuating the city from midtown and farther south. Why head south to Gramercy Park, then, where I live? I venture outside to buy a drink at the deli. Over on Broadway and 49th, standing in the middle of the street (there is NO traffic), I look downtown and see the dark smoke billowing into the sky. Times Square is already barricaded off, Im told by passersby. Otherwise, people are calmly walking around. Not hurriedly like commuters, but like people who dont have a destination in mind. People who feel a bit lost. Unmoored.