Originally published in
Census CounterParts October 2001
Vol. 10, No. 9
October 2001

(Several U.S. Census Bureau employees were directly affected by the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center. Mike Bergman, of the Census Bureau's Public Information Office, recounts his experience in New York City on Sept. 11, 2001.)

Admiral Jeremiah Denton described his brutal seven and one-half years in a North Vietnamese prison camp in his book, When Hell Was In Session. On the morning of Sept. 11, hell reconvened at the New York World Trade Center.

Several Department of Commerce and Census Bureau employees were there to attend the National Association for Business Economics (NABE) annual conference at the Marriott World Trade Center Hotel, situated directly underneath - and between - the two 110-story towers.

Bob Marske, Laurie Torene and Lillian Moy of the Economic Planning and Coordination Division were exhibiting for the Census Bureau on the main floor of the hotel. In the adjoining ballroom, Division Chief Ewen Wilson and Ruth Runyan of the Company Statistics Division were attending a breakfast meeting.

My work had concluded Monday evening. We had interviewed 16 senior economists for their views on the role of the 2002 Economic Census in improving the quality of our national economic statistics.

I was taking my time before checking out and catching an 11 a.m. train back to Washington. I was about to step into the shower in my 9th floor room when I heard the piercing sound of an accelerating jet aircraft. It instantly struck me that it was odd that a jet was flying that low over Manhattan. A split second later, I heard a thunderous explosion and the building shook.

My hotel room faced the grand plaza of the World Trade Center complex. I rushed to the window and saw beams of steel raining on the plaza as if they were pieces of Styrofoam falling from the air. People were running for cover. I could not see above the 10th floor of either tower.

I quickly threw on a shirt and pair of shorts. I opened the door and smelled jet fuel. I ran down the stairs, but other hotel guests we encountered said the exits were blocked by debris. A hotel employee directed us to the restaurant and lounge, where we exited to a scene of vehicles with blown-out windshields and a street littered with glass and debris.

"Don't look back," shouted a police officer. I couldn't, since I was barefoot and trying to avoid shards of glass. It was only when I reached what, at that moment, was relative safety across the street that I turned around and saw the true horror unfolding behind us.

The events that followed have been well documented in the media, but words can never describe the horrific scenes. We kept moving toward the water when we heard the rumbling from the middle of the South Tower. Sensing all 110 stories would collapse on us, we began to run.

As it turned out, the building was imploding, not toppling. However, a giant wall of grayish smoke was moving down the canyons of Manhattan toward us, and we feared a firestorm of flying debris.

The cloud enveloped us with choking smoke for what seemed like an eternity. I pulled my shirt over my head to breathe as we made our way to Battery Park. Shortly after we reached the park, the other tower imploded.

Amid the chaos, I found someone with a Marriott badge. He was able to call his wife on his cell phone, and I relayed my wife's phone number to her to let my wife know I got out okay.

A flotilla - from ferries to police and Coast Guard vessels and a ship from the Army Corps of Engineers - docked to evacuate us.

After stopping at two piers in Manhattan to pick up other evacuees, we headed across the Hudson River. As we gazed back, the enormity of the tragedy began to sink in. We were all lucky to be alive.

In the middle of the river, I cringed at the sound of another jet aircraft. But when I looked up, it was a military F-15 patrolling the skies, which offered some assurance to this veteran of 27 years in the U.S. Air Force.

We docked at Jersey City where paramedics were conducting triage. One of them taped towels around my bare feet. Marriott employees took me to their hotel at the Newark Airport, which was in a security lockdown.

Not a moment went by over the next 18 hours that I didn't think about my fellow Census Bureau employees and their status. Only late Wednesday morning did I learn that they had made it out safely.

With all ground transportation out of service, my good friend Mark Tolbert from the Public Information Office drove from Suitland (Md.) to Newark to pick me up Wednesday evening and returned me to a grateful family.

On the way back, Mark told me about the deaths of our New York regional office colleagues (Marion Britton and Waleska Martinez, who died in the crash of the hijacked plane in Pennsylvania).

I cannot say enough about how the Census Bureau has come together as a family in the midst of this tragedy. The support offered to me by people in my division and others throughout the Census Bureau has been incredible.

As I write this, all of the 330 attendees at the NABE conference have been accounted for, but at least two hotel employees are missing (later reduced to one).

When I was asked to write this account, one compelling thought emerged: I will forever feel a special bond with my fellow employees who had the same experiences and with those who found themselves in the middle of what seemed like Armageddon.

At the Census Bureau, we are pulling together and gaining strength from each other, as we grieve and pray for those who had no chance for survival.

May God Bless America!

Other employees of the Department of Commerce at the NABE conference were:

Steve Landefeld, director, Bureau of Economic Analysis (BEA)
Larry Moran (BEA)
Jim Plante (BEA)

Kerry Sutten, a Congressional Affairs specialist for the Under Secretary for Economic Affairs

Former Census Bureau Director Kenneth Prewitt had been scheduled to address the NABE at 11 a.m.