Where Were You on September 11, 2001?

This is My Story - by Susan Tomey

What a beautiful day! That was my first thought on Tuesday morning, September 11 as I opened the drapes in room #1143 of the Marriott World Trade Center Hotel. There was not a cloud in the sky, which was quite amazing considering the horrible storm that blew through New York the day before. I remembered how cloudy the view was from the 107th floor of the WTC when my colleagues and I visited the Windows on the World restaurant on Monday evening. The next morning, however, you could see nothing but blue sky for miles.

As I showered, got dressed and organized my business for the day, I had no way of knowing that life as I knew it was about to change forever. That the sentimental items left in my room would be destroyed. That terrorists were boarding flights in airports nearby for suicide missions. That thousands of people would die at their hands. Upon leaving my room for the day, I went through my usual ritual of doing a mental checklist before I go. Purse, check. Briefcase, check. Room key, check. It was 7:30 a.m. when I went down to the banquet rooms on the first floor. This was the third and final day of our national association meeting for business economics.

At 8:00 a.m., I sat down to breakfast next to my colleague. There were 100 or so people seated at round tables in the room. Around 8:45 a.m., I glanced at my watch as the keynote speaker from Morgan Stanley stood up to begin his presentation. Not even five minutes into his speech, there was a power surge in the room. The lights dimmed and then returned to normal. Then I heard a rumble. Thunderstorm? Wait, that can't be it since there wasn't a cloud in the sky less than 2 hours ago. I looked up and saw the chandeliers in the room start to sway back and forth with an eerie, wave-like movement. Within a split second, everyone jumped up in unison and ran out of that room as fast as they could. The ceiling is coming in; I've got to get out of this room. That's what I thought at the moment. How wrong I was.

As everyone ran toward the lobby, we looked out the front windows of the hotel (facing West Side Highway) and the debris was already falling. I saw several cars positioned in various directions on the street. Someone said, "That's what it was, a big car accident in front of the hotel." My gut said this was no car accident. The cars were abandoned, no people or police around, and debris was falling from above. That was a bomb, I thought. As people tried to leave the hotel, they were stopped because of the falling debris. The hotel was concerned that people would be hurt outside. At that point, the lobby was getting crowded. As I looked around, all I saw were confused looks on unfamiliar faces.

Then, I turned and saw someone from our group, one of our clients. She said she left her purse in the breakfast room, and I told her I had left mine there as well. We decided to go back against the crowd to retrieve them. I realize now that this shouldn't have been important, but a woman feels lost without her purse. As we made our way across the lobby toward the meeting room, she darted off to the right behind what appeared to be a back door to the kitchen. I asked her where she was going, but she was gone in an instant. I approached hotel personnel who would not allow me to go back to the room to get anything. They told me to evacuate with the others. I looked up and realized that the hotel lobby was already thick with smoke. I said to myself, to hell with the purse, I'm getting out of here.

The hotel personnel were evacuating people from the south side through the restaurant/bar area. As we were moving single file through the double doors, the fire fighters were coming in on the left side. There were so many of them all geared up, going in as quickly as I was trying to get out. I exited the hotel and immediately saw all of the debris littered on the street. I crossed the intersection of Liberty Street and West Side Highway and walked down the block heading west. As I turned around, I looked up and saw the flames that engulfed the WTC north tower.

About halfway down the block, I met up with someone from our group. She and I stood there and watched with hundreds of people who also stood motionless on the sidewalk. The mood was calm disbelief in what we were watching. No one feared for their lives at that point, they feared for the people on the upper floors of the building. We figured they would get the fire under control and we could get back into our rooms to retrieve our things. I heard snippets of people's views on what had happened. "A small, private plane hit the building." "It was an accident." No one really knew; it was all just speculation.

Then people starting jumping from the building. I heard gasps and screams from those around me as they pointed. "They're jumping!" Sprinkled in the falling debris were people who were falling to their death. Where's the net to catch them like in the movies, I thought. However, this was not a movie and there was no net. They were dead. At this point, I noticed several people with their video cameras taking pictures. I thought that was not only in poor taste, but disrespectful of the situation.

We had been out of the hotel for only five minutes, however it seemed like an hour. Suddenly, we heard a noise from the sky that sounded like an engine. In a flash, a large plane entered from my right. It was low, just above tree level and moving very fast. I had less than two seconds to think, "Oh my God, that plane is going to hit the building". And then it hit with a sound that I've never heard before, a sound of impact sharper than the best action thriller on DVD. I was frozen in shock of what I was witnessing. Then the explosion came, a fireball so large and hot that I could feel the warmth on my face from a half block away.

At that moment, I thought I was going to die. I knew it was a terrorist attack and feared more planes were coming, more bombs to be dropped on minute creatures like me standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Mass chaos and panic broke out in the street. People were yelling, screaming "Run for your lives" as they ran in five thousand different directions. As we turned to run, my associate was knocked down and trampled. Although injured, she got back up and we headed toward the river. I can jump into the water so I don't burn and they can't find me, I thought. I felt vulnerable and exposed as I ran for cover, looking up to see if more planes were coming.

We took the path north along the Hudson River running in a full sprint for about two blocks. My associate - now my friend - had to stop saying that she couldn't run. She told me to just leave her there and go on without her. I told her that was not an option. I wasn't going to leave her to fend for herself. I grabbed her arm and pulled her along with me. We went from a sprint to a fast walk, deciding to just keep walking farther and farther away. Other people had stopped and were again watching the horror, but not me. I kept walking while looking over my shoulder in fear of what was coming next.

By about the sixth block, the south tower began to crumble and collapse. I watched as I again heard gasps and screams from people around me. "It's coming down." "Oh my God, what about all those people trapped inside." Two women near me fainted. Luckily, we were far enough away from the epicenter to not get engulfed in smoke and covered in soot. I wanted to keep walking but the streets and sidewalks were very congested. People had pulled their cars over and had their radios turned up so we could hear news accounts of what happened. That is when we learned the planes were hijacked and another one had hit the Pentagon. I couldn't believe it. The Pentagon, the heart and soul of our national security. How can this happen in America.

We continued on and as we walked, the severity of what just happened finally started to weigh on me. Still in shock trying to process what I had just seen, my mind immediately went to my loved ones at home in St. Louis. I thought, Oh my God, they all know I'm here. Oh no, my mother is having a nervous breakdown because they are showing this on TV. They must have had live cameras showing the second plane hit. She thinks I'm dead. In my soul, I felt dead. For the first time in my 31 years, I did not feel safe in America. I felt violated, threatened, not in control and definitely not free. How could this happen in our country. I've become accustomed to my peaceful, rather uneventful Midwestern life. How much I yearned for that life at that moment. To be home, away from the horror I just witnessed, safe and secure with my family.

I wondered how I would get word to my family. I didn't have my cell phone (it was in my purse), but even if I did it wouldn't have mattered. People all around me were frantically trying to make calls to loved ones, but no one could get through. Understandably so, the cell lines were jammed. I was on a new mission as we continued walking - to find a pay phone or land line so I could reach my family.

The more we walked, the more pain I felt in my feet. I had been running and walking for more than a mile in high heels. I was at a business meeting after all. I could feel the raw skin burning on my feet, so I took my shoes off. I had developed five large blisters that had been ripped open during the run. I couldn't take the pain, so I continued walking barefoot. I would walk another six miles through midtown Manhattan that way, dodging broken glass along the way. But I didn't care. I would keep walking until I found safety - and a phone.

We walked past a parking garage where I saw two parking attendants in the office. They had land lines and I quickly approached them asking if I could use their phone. They said, yes of course, and I proceeded to dial my calling card number. Rapid busy, try again, still busy…I can't get a call out. With the world of technology we live in, I was astounded by the helplessness I felt. Then, one of the parking attendants picked up an incoming call, apparently from his brother. We desperately asked him to relay the name and phone number of a family member to his brother on the other end of the phone. We begged him to make that call for each of us, just to say that we were okay. I figured it was worth a shot, not knowing whether or not a complete stranger would make a long distance call for me. I found out later that he did indeed make that call for each of us. The strength of the human spirit is an amazing thing sometimes.

We kept walking along the Hudson, our goal being 47th Street. One of our clients has offices there, and we could get access to a phone. As we walked, I was amazed at people's willingness to help. A health club had set up tables with water outside. I thought no one cared about anyone else in New York. I guess I was wrong.

We came across a set of pay phones in another parking garage which no one was using. I immediately tried to use my calling card again, and after three attempts I finally got through. I was speaking to my boyfriend, who is solid as a rock in these types of situations. I told him I was okay and he immediately tried to calm me down. I let my guard down as my emotions came rushing out. The tears flowed as I explained what I had just seen. He said it would be okay, and although I didn't believe him at the time, deep down I knew it would be. I would live through this and recover, unlike so many others who were trapped inside. Innocent victims who would never be able to hug their spouse or kiss their children - ever. I wept again, but stayed on our mission.

As we made our way into midtown, I was amazed at the flurry of activity. It was only noon, however people were hurriedly trying to get out of the city. Very un-New York. As we made our way past Grand Central Station, we turned the corner and I saw someone I recognized down the street. It was another associate from our meeting, whose company was headquartered in midtown. I yelled his name and ran up to him. I have never been so happy to see a familiar face in my entire life. He escorted us back to his office while I thought "What are the chances of us running into him in the middle of Manhattan…probably a million to one."

We arrived at his office, and I couldn't wait to sit down, nurse my wounds and use the phone to call home. After talking to loved ones and eating a few bites of my associates' sandwich, I moved on to my next mission - finding out what happened to the other three people from my company. We had gotten separated in the initial chaos. I called into our office in St. Louis, which at this point was acting as the "home base" for us. Our receptionist said my boss was the closest to my location, so I was instructed to stay put until he could get over to me. About 30 minutes later, he walked in the door - with my purse. Apparently, the woman (our client) who darted off through the back door to the kitchen retrieved her purse and then grabbed mine as well.

At that point, we regrouped and formulated a plan to get out of the city and over to New Jersey. My boss had a friend in Madison who offered to let us stay at his home. The next string of events is right out of the movie "Planes, Trains and Automobiles". We walked back toward the river and waited in a two-hour ferry line to get over to New Jersey. After the ferry, we had to take a bus to get us to the train station in Hoboken. There, I witnessed yet another triumph of the human spirit. A local group of volunteers wanting to help set up tables full of water, Gatorade, juice, snacks, etc. We took the train from Hoboken to Madison, where we were picked up and taken to our final destination for the evening - a warm bed, hot meal and friendly faces.

By 9 p.m. that evening, everyone in our group had met at the "house" in Madison. We hugged, cried, and then sat down to review the day's events and watch the television coverage. It was so surreal to watch the explosions on TV since it was so different and real being there in person. As we learned more about who did these horrendous acts, I began to grow angry about what had happened. How dare they make me feel afraid and unsafe, and how could they kill thousands of innocent people in the name of God. That's not God - that's evil pure and simple.

Amid the angry thoughts, vivid flashes of horror continued to consume my mind as we made the long, 1,100-mile trip back to St. Louis via car. I was relieved to be out of the city and on the open road, in control of my own destiny once again. I found it interesting that the further we got from Ground Zero, the more normal life seemed to be. As we crossed the Mississippi into St. Louis, I looked around in amazement because people were going about their lives and their business seemingly unaffected by what had happened in New York. Sure, people were upset, but their souls weren't rocked by this event. They only watched it on TV.

The last step of my long journey took me to my driveway and, as I stepped into my house, I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted. I was home, I made it, and I survived. I dropped everything on the floor and sobbed for nearly 30 minutes. I couldn't believe that I was finally home, the dots were connected, my mission was complete.

In the days following my return, I still felt numb. A part of me is still numb as I write this today. I have begun to ponder some of life's larger questions - Why am I here, What is my purpose, Why was I spared while others perished. I look inward to examine the person I am and how this event has shaped my being. I am different and always will be as a result of this tragedy.

As time goes on, the details will fade but the memories are embedded in my psyche forever. I tell the story, but words just don't seem to do it justice. You have to have lived it to truly understand. Some do understand, but many don't. Like all of life's experiences, they truly shape who we are as people - as individuals - since no single event is the same for two people. That's what makes us diverse, that's what makes us great.

I'm proud to be an American and to see renewed energy in the people of this country. Instead of waiting for the National Anthem to be over so we can get on with the game, we now stop, reflect and actually listen to the words. We see the flag as more than just an emblem, but a symbol of our freedom. I have seen first hand that we cannot take our freedom for granted, we must fight for it at all costs.

There are many heroes tied to this tragedy - NYC firefighters and policemen, thousands of rescue workers and blood donors, the passengers on United flight 93 who tried to stop the terrorists. The list goes on and on. My personal heroes are a different group - the client who retrieved my purse, my friend who stuck with me for the long walk, my associate who took us to his office, my boss who got me home safely, my boyfriend who reassured me, and my mother and father who gave me the strength necessary to find my way home. I will never forget.