Since 9.11 is such a big part of the life of the Baxter family in my latest book, Whispering Woods, I am including chapters of that book as my blog leading up to 9.11 this year. This chapter recounts what happened to Ben Goddard whose office was in World Trade Center #7:
“Building Number 7 caught fire pretty soon after the towers were hit. Lots of debris fell on it, and before anyone knew it, the roof was engulfed. Seems the sprinklers were working but there wasn’t enough water pressure. You know where your father’s office was, right, by the walkway from Tower One? The alarms sounded so people started rushing for the elevators, which only worked for about ten minutes. Your father and the people from his wing used the stairs facing World Trade Center Number One. Lots of Twin Tower people used that skyway to #7. Hundreds of people were just streaming through there. They could see the fire high up on the building, but no one ever suspected the collapse. Anyway, they were rushing down the stairs from the top floors when the whole building started shaking. Fire was engulfing the middle floors. Your father and six or seven others from his office got near the bottom and were just about to leave the building when a piece of the tower blocked their exit. They scrambled to the other side, and had to wait for the firemen to open an escape. It was pretty hairy for a while, but they finally got out. They’re pretty sure #7 is a gonner too. The walls buckled and there’s lots of collateral damage. Firemen gave up on it about 3:00.
“However, here’s the uncertain part about your dad. He simply collapsed. They don’t know yet whether he had a stroke or heart attack or was just tired. Anyway, they’ll do tests when they can. When he fell, he broke his leg pretty badly, so that’s the primary treatable injury. He’s resting comfortably. His friends carried him to St. Vincent’s Hospital. They may transfer him further away. They’re just swamped. But they want to do EKG’s and other tests to see why he collapsed. That may take some time.
“Meanwhile, his leg is in this scaffold sling thing above his bed. They haven’t really set it yet. It’s a compound fracture, so he has a wound to heal too where the bone pierced the skin. No sign of infection though, so that’s a good thing. He’s calling himself stupid, and he’s majorly concerned about you guys. I just sent a message to my friend, so I’m sure he’ll get your news soon. Meanwhile, don’t worry. I’ve got this. You guys do what you need to do, and I’ll keep track of Dear Old Dad for you. You simply can’t believe the chaos here. I’m glad you’re not seeing it.”
Later in the book I have this first person account:
“Well, they got me hooked up to this contraption that looks like Rube Goldberg. I got pulleys and weights and things hanging my leg out to dry. They can’t set the bones yet ’cause they’re too busy taking care of folks in worse shape than I am. So I’m lyin’ here trussed up like a chicken just waitin’ in line, I guess.”
“So what happened? What do you remember? I know Mandy said you were unconscious. Have they figured out why?”
“Well. Ya know, your dad’s in pretty good shape for 60, but let me tell ya, we all were in kind of panic mode. Real chaos. You know my office is next to the walkway from #1, right? Well, hundreds of poor folks were streaming out of #1 way before we ever heard a fire alarm or anything in #7. Who would have thought we’d have a problem too. I could see the fire way above us in #1 but I figured they’d get the problem solved and we could just get on with the day. Huh. Not likely.
“Our fire alarms begin to sound around 9:30. Firemen are runnin’ around like crazy tellin’ us to get out of the building. Guess stuff was falling on the roof and they were fighting a fire up there. Then the middle floors caught fire and there wasn’t enough water pressure to fight it. I took a few minutes to load my briefcase with stuff, even locked up the office, fully expecting to be back to work a couple of days after cleanup. Guess that’s not gonna happen.
“Anyway, our staff of seven headed down the corridor to the stairwell, along with hundreds of refugees from #1. A few minutes into that adventure, the place went totally black. Couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces. Our group tried hard to stay together. When we got to the stairwell, the one facing #1, we smelled smoke. We’re grabbing the handrails and each other to get down the stairs. No easy task. As soon as someone got to a landing, they shouted back to turn right or turn left for the next set of stairs. So we get to about the tenth floor or so, dead tired. Our legs feelin’ like rubber, right? So firemen are rushing up the stairs while we are trying to get down.
They’re telling us Tower #1 is failing; it’s gonna fall. Wow, did we panic then. They tell us to head toward the East entrance, not the stairwell where we are. Big fire on floors near where we are, maybe six or five, dunno. Could feel the heat. Smoke’s real thick. Course, no one in the group knows how to get to another stairway. So we break outta the stairwell and we’re on floor four. That’s still a long way from the ground, I’ll tell ya. Real smoky, it was.
“So we start pushin’ each other along a corridor, still seein’ nothin’ except through the doors of offices where we can see a little light, but not enough to see by. And the smoke is now through the whole building. We’re coughin’ and sputterin’ like old train engines. Anyway, we get to where we can find another stairway and start pushing our way down.
“More firemen are trying to get in, tellin’ us to make sure everyone’s out of the building. We tell them thanks and we know our office is empty, but they’re gonna do their search on every floor. God bless ’em. Last I remember, we were probably down to about the third floor and either somethin’ hit me on the head, or I blacked out for some reason. Can’t explain it. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor in a hallway at St. Vincent’s and I wake up with two of my guys sitting next to me, tryin’ to tell me they carried me the rest of the way to here and we’re still waitin’ on a doctor or somebody. My leg is bleedin’ all over the floor. It’s about six o’clock at night. They tell me Towers #1 and #2 collapsed, our building is damaged so bad they’re gonna send a wreckin’ ball, and there are thousands of people dead. Guess I’m sorta glad I didn’t know what what was happenin’’til after it happened.
“So now you know what I know. I’m one of the lucky ones. So thankful my staff stayed with me. I coulda been in the rubble. Don’t know what I’ll do about the business. This could shut us down like a lotta other folks we know and love, God bless ’em, if they’re still alive.”
Phil gets back to New York where he visits his father-in-law. This account is from research I conducted about the days following the horrendous event: “
Phil’s first concern is for Cathy’s Dad, so he makes his way to St. Vincent’s. At the door he has to present ID credentials. Unbelievable. Even hallways are jammed with gurneys, and the staff is obviously stressed beyond belief. Finally, Phil makes his way to the room, usually a double, now a quartet of survivors. He finds Papa Ben, his leg suspended by a contraption and straps, and Cathy’s dad, usually the man dressed in the height of fashion, every hair in place, now looks every bit the disheveled man who has been through a street brawl of remarkable proportions.
Happy to see Phil, he turns his bruised face toward his visitor. Obviously out of his element where folks usually kowtow to his very presence, the man is humbled to find himself supine, hooked to tubes and bags, just biding his time like a prisoner in isolation; he is clearly out of his comfort zone in more ways than one.
“Phil, howdidya get through?” is his first response. “Cathy told me you might get here. What’s it like out there, eh? Can’t believe what’s happened, happened. One minute I’m on the phone, the next minute the sirens are blaring and we rush to the nearest exits. Some chaotic scene. Couldn’t even see exit signs. Nightmare.”
He continues, “So where were you when it happened? What happened to your place?” He just keeps asking questions and gushing and not waiting for answers. It’s like a mountain of “What If’s and How’s and Why’s and So Then’s” avalanche to the first person who stands next to his bed for more than a medical procedure. He yearns for information.
Phil tells him about their adventures with the schools and kids and the feeding of the hundreds in the school cafetorium, and about Roberts carting scores of people in the Hummer, and their deciding right then and there to exit the City post-haste with the long line of others doing the same thing.
“Have you called your Super yet? How’s your place? Mine’s condemned, I hear. Won’t even be able to go in, from what Jenkins tells me, ’though he’s trying to get to my safe before they tear the place down. Imagine that. Five million dollar real estate, all paid for, and now it’s junk? You’re a block away. Same story?”
“I’m going to try to get over there after visiting you, although I don’t know how I can get through the mess. Somehow I’ll try to assess the situation. I’d like to keep it, even if we move to Massachusetts. But, who knows? Right now, who knows anything? We haven’t let the kids watch TV. What’s the latest, d’ ya know?”
“Washington’s trying to convince us there’s an outfit called Al Queda that’s responsible. They know it’s coordinated, along with another plane that hit the Pentagon and another one is in a field in rural Pennsylvania somewhere.”
“Yeah, read the Times article. Who knew? So much the Government never tells us.”
“Obviously a terrorist attack. Guess we’re in for it. From what my boys tell me, City’s shut down. No subways, barricades, all that stuff. Everybody’s on edge wondering who’s next. Can’t even imagine how they stopped air traffic in the whole country. Imagine that? How’d you get through? Musta pulled lots o’ strings to fly a chopper this close. This is a really big deal, Phil. How can they even do that, shuttin’ down the skies? Thousands of people from all over the world stranded in little Podunk Centers all over the country, missin’ weddings, job interviews, vacations, what a mess!”
“Well, the Government’s just being cautious, I suppose. Who knows what’s next? The Times says there are calls for retaliation, the sooner the better, but we don’t even know who to fight. Will tell you this, though, wish I had the corner on the market of American flags. Never saw so many flying as in the last three hours. Patriotism is alive and well. Even from jaded New Yorkers.”
People’s lives were thrown into chaos. But there were stories of heroism too. Mr Rogers, whose television show taught countless children, including my own, about life always told children not to be afraid when bad things happen. His mother had always told him this bit of wisdom: Whenever something bad happens, always look at the helpers who make things better.
In Whispering Woods, I also recount how the little nearby church ministered to firemen who were there for weeks.
Onward to Saint Paul’s.
The scene at St. Paul’s is organized chaos. Phil enters with supplies from his condo and Jean’s apartment: boxes of pasta, cans of sauces, spices, boxes of cereal, a whole pantry full of foods he’ll never eat now that the condo is uninhabitable. Then he brings a sizable bag filled with frozen food from his side-by-side fridge. Maybe it will come in handy here. He certainly couldn’t leave it where it was. Workers excitedly look through the supplies, eager to add to their meager offerings to feed so many for so long. Phil helps them find room to store things, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work.
With sorrow, Phil sees exhausted firemen and rescuers sprawled on the oak pews, using their helmets as pillows, trying to find a few minutes’ rest before going back to work. The rescue mission will probably soon be declared recovery, although some hold out hope of survivors. That hope is fading fast, and the mood darkens with each passing hour.
A makeshift food line snakes its way around the corridors, manned by exhausted volunteers who appear one after another to help. A wall of sorrow and hope intertwined begins at one end of the wrought-iron fence with pictures, posters, ribbons, and, sadly, stuffed animals and toys, and scraps of paper, bearing the images of missing persons. “Has anyone seen?” is the common message, exclaiming the horror of empty seats at the dinner tables in countless homes. Sadly, Phil recognizes some of them: known commuters on the Metro, bankers, financial managers he’s worked with, even fellow and rival architects who had built this city and now are missing. He prays for them, for their families, and for what used to be. After working ’til 2:30 a.m., he withdraws from the scene with tears in his eyes, heading upstate to hug his family, thankful for that hope.”
To read more about how this event affected this family, purchase Whispering Woods from Amazon.com or see this trailer: https://wwwyoutube.com/watch?v=Pz_MPtvkiKY.
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