All photos by author. For use by permission only.
Tom Gates was in the World Trade Center 2 nights before 9/11. Here’s what he saw the morning of, 50 blocks from ground zero.
The Mexican construction workers were yelling again. They had been yelling for days, mostly tossing jokes about each other’s moms. Normally I enjoyed the backdraft of their conversation, which wove its way up from the floor below, through the clanky heater ducts and into my high-rise office.
This time the yelling was different, though. Urgent. Things about God and curse words and then more things about God.
My assistant was at the office door with a look. A very bad look. Pointing.
My window faced downtown, about fifty blocks from where half of the World Trade Center was smoldering. The fire was in its midsection, like it had just received a swipe from Wolverine. Something was sticking from its chest, dripping fire.
We turned on the TV. The television gave us the answers. The plane. The crash. The quivery tone of the commentators who weren’t yet thinking about how famous this moment might make them.
We piled into a different corner office, this one with an unobstructed view of both The WTC and The Empire State, which stood eight blocks from our window. We watched the television, then the window, then the television. Four of us in this office. Four of us dumfounded.
We watched the second plane hit the second tower. The soundproofed glass saved us from any noise. Someone had hit the mute button yet still the action took place. A plane from the sky hitting a building on the ground.
I had been to a party on the WTC’s top floor two nights before. I remembered how the building swayed in the wind, as it was designed to do. I remembered putting my Red-bulled head against the window, looking down, thinking that a building like this shouldn’t even exist. It was an unearthly feeling, looking down from that high.
People were in there now.
People were in there, dying. Thoughts started to crank through my head that I didn’t want to have. Were the people in the planes alive? Would the people at the top half be able to get down? Would helicopters fly to the roof or was that something that only happened in movies? Why wasn’t there a superhero who could blow cold-freeze breath on the flaming crack?
I had my camera. I took pictures. I felt like I shouldn’t be taking pictures, knowing that I was documenting death. I would later have them developed and would be so disgusted with myself that I would keep them in a box until last December, unearthed only after bravely consuming a bottle of Chianti. You are looking at the pictures now, in this article.
There were many minutes where nothing happened. We weren’t crying. We weren’t hysterical. We weren’t rushing to the phones. We weren’t running for the stairs. We just stood there, immobilized, twenty-four stories in the air, watching two 110 story buildings burn.
The first building fell. It had never occurred to us that this would even happen. We chanted along with the whole world. “Oh my God.”
Behind us the television was running a loop of the plane crashing into Tower Two. In front of us Tower One thwumped. It looked like someone had taken the legs out from underneath it. The dust and ash and building parts flew so far uptown that, for the first time, we started to think about our own safety.
That’s when we became scared. Imagine that? We had been watching all of this and forgotten to be scared. But then the news started talking about a plane in Washington. Fighter jets started roaring into lower Manhattan. The Empire State sat there looking at us, tapping us on the shoulder.
My father called me. I hadn’t spoken to him in ten years. “What’s going on down there?” I thought about the letter. How he had threatened me. About him running me around the house when I was a kid because I was too fat to be a baseball star. About how I made him sick to his stomach and I disgusted him and how I should get out of his sight. And then, about the Mexicans below who were still yelling. If he was here, he would be calling them Spics and telling me that they were stealing my scholarship money and how they were all lazy bottom feeders, almost as bad as the…
“Don’t ever call me again.”
We watched the second building fall with the same shock that we felt when the first one collapsed. The debris seemed to fly further uptown this time. People were watching from dangerously close rooftops now and I wished I could scoop them up and drop them safely on the sidewalk.
There was no more World Trade Center. It was just fucking gone. We said that. “It’s just fucking gone.”
“Can we go?” Somebody in the office was talking to me. I realized that I was in charge. The boss. I felt like a parent must feel after bringing their first baby home. Was this the right move? Of course it was. Yes, we could go.
The streets of New York took on the feeling of a fire drill. Everyone was filing out of their buildings, unsure of where to go. People cursed their cell phones for not working. Everyone seemed to be unable to find something or someone. Marbles were bouncing through everyone’s brains. Mass scale confusion.
We Manhattanites were under lock and key, unable to leave the island or communicate with the outside world. I wanted to call my mom. I wanted to tell her that I was OK but I didn’t want to tell her that I had spoken to the man it had taken her twelve years to divorce.
The planes crashed and crashed again on television. And in my head.
I went outside twice in two days. The first was my typical morning run to the deli. The man who had been serving me coffee for five years greeted me with trembling hands and apologies. He was of Middle Eastern descent. I realized how stupid it was that I hadn’t ever asked him his name.
I was thinking about how to console him, when a cop came in and walked straight up to the counter. “How long you known me for?” he asked in a direct and near-angry manner. The man answered. “Three years?” The cop nodded and handed him a piece of paper. “These are my three numbers. If anyone fucks with you, you call me and I’ll come over and bust in their fuckin’ head.”
That night I went out to find a beer and maybe someone to talk to, even though I didn’t know what to say. I wandered through Chelsea, its streets filled with other zombies hoping to live again. I passed Rawhide, with its blacked out windows and barbed-wire logo. It was a bar for the muscleboy leather scene, a pit-stop for those who might later end up in a mask or a sling. A sign out front announced, “Free Beer Tonight. Come In And Hug Your Daddy.”
Only a guy with daddy issues would think this funny. So I laughed and laughed.
Community Connection
Where were you on 9/11? What do you remember? Please share in the comments below.
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43 Comments... join the discussion!
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Tried to fight back the tears and failed miserably. One of the most powerful essays I’ve read in a while. Thank you.
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I don’t have words that will be adequate for this comment, but thank you. I’m at work and trying to explain why I have tears in my eyes.
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This is absolutely beautiful. Thank you.
I had moved to NYC just two weeks before 9/11, and I did just the same when I first saw the buildlings on fire — I stood there, immobilzed, for a very long time. I think most of the city did. It wasn’t until my manager ran into work hysterical, saying that her mother worked on the 75th floor, that I understood the gravity of what had just happened. (Her mom was supposed to go on vacation the next day, and decided to go a day early, not telling her daughter about it- — some kind of incredible miracle there.)
Many people walked down to ground zero to take pictures. I took none. I honestly felt paralyzed. But don’t feel disgusted with yourself; I wish I had. We need these memories, more than anything. We need to remember the faces on those flyers that papered the streets — father of 3, missing, mother of 1, preganant, missing. We need articles like yours.
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Tom, thank you so much for sharing this. I can’t find the words to thank you…I’m just crying and crying…Gracias.
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Incredible piece of work Tom. Not easy to write about things like this but you’ve done an amazing and moving job.
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Tom this was incredibly moving.. thank you
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Reading the article and looking at the photos, even 9 years later invokes the same response as that very day “how can this be happening?”. It’s like that day is being relived again, I still get goose bumps, I still get teary, and I still get scared…even after all these years. I can picture that morning and those moments watching it unfold on TV like it was yesterday. So much has happened in our lives, yet that day still stays clear as a bell. Excellent writing Tom, thank you.
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my reaction exactly…still shaking…Tom, this is so important
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Tom, Thanks, I needed that.
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thanks for sharing, tom. where was i?
jeff and i were in the midst of “corporate downtime.” we were both working at bagel world on court st in brooklyn.
jeff had the day off and was in prospect park w spacey. i was making bagels.
the customers we knew and saw every day were coming in and crying. channel 2 was barely coming in on the tv all fuzzy. we thought it was a small cesna plane til someone told us it was a jet, and then we heard the boom of the next plane hitting.
and then the 1st building fell. customers telling us that one already came down and the second one was about to. then we closed the store.
the white ’snow’ that was blowing down court street, papers strewn about our front lawn, the plume of smoke wafting above for 2 straight weeks, the missing person flyers all over the place.
the smell…
we sat transfixed in front of the tv for 2 or 3 days, only stepping outside to walk spacey and once to go to the brooklyn waterfront and see what was no longer there. every time with masks on.
i never made the trek down to ground zero for at least another year, when my new job brought me to a conference room in the World Financial Center with American Express and right there, out the window was the gaping hole.
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Wonderful writing that brought it all back. And those photos–horrible and beautiful at the same time. Amazing how the smoke looks like clouds rolling in, but on the ground. I’m very glad that you took them and decided to share them.
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Thank you.
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I had a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball and the tears flowed.
This was a Devastating day for all Americans I have purpoely avoided anything to do with the subject over the last few years. It disgusted me how the American media had done nothing but replay the footage for days and days afterwords.
Thank you for sharing this piece with us Tom it was one of the best essays I have had the pleasure to read. Your words expressed how I’m sure most Americans felt on that fateful day.
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Thank you, Tom, for this article. I couldn’t stop the goosebumps from flooding over me while reading it. I remember where I was that day and I don’t think I ever will. But I wouldn’t feel disgust about documenting that day with photographs. We need to remember and we need to honor those people that day and you have done just that. Once again, thank you.
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wow…thank you
I still remember it all so vividly, half listening to Pat Kiernan as he declared the WTC on fire. Not fully knowing what was transpiring (we were in a basement apartment after all) David left for work while I made some calls. I was on the phone with a coworker, who was in a building 3 over from WTC – as we were talking I could hear a loud noise through the phone, while simulatneously hearing the TV announce the second plane hitting. It was surreal.
David arrived home and we remained glued to the TV. We soon became a safe haven for my sister and nephew, who live down at NYU. My nephew, 4, could tell this was something serious, and played it out in games and art for years afterwards. We went out to Third Avenue and could not believe the sensation….throngs of people walking, silently, covered in soot, like refugees marching through the desert. Occasionally a pick up truck would drive through, and pick up some stragglers, others jumping off to provide those in need of respite. THe delis and pizza shops all handing out water, and the look of pure shock on faces of all shapes and colors.
I also remember the feeling of sheer panic as I heard them announce that all mental health workers should report to Chelsea Piers to provide grief and trauma counselling…..my license had arrived in the mail the day before, and I trembled as I changed my clothes and walked West, unsure of what I would encounter.
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On 9/11 I was on the other side of the world. I woke up on the tiny island of Leleuvia, Fiji. I stumbled out of my bure and passed the American expat who ran the place, long hair in a ponytail and stern look on his face.
“Did you hear?” he asked.
“Hear what?” I felt like saying: Of course I didn’t hear anything. I’m on an island. How could I possibly have heard anything?
“Some terrorists flew a plane into the World Trade Center.”
I didn’t believe him.
It wasn’t until they hauled out a static-filled television from the storage room, found a signal, and I actually saw the images, replayed over and over… that I knew it was real.
The rest of the day felt numb.
But I do remember the one dreadful thought that reverberated in my head: the Bush gov is going to use this do to whatever they want… and that was terrifying.
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I keenly remember where I was and what I was doing on that terrible day, but while reading your story it felt like I was there, watching it unfold with you. I can relate to the feelings you had towards your pictures afterwards. I’ve got footage from after hurricane Katrina that I haven’t touched either. Thank you for sharing your experience. It seemed hard to write and I believe the best stories usually are.
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I’m touched. Amazing photos. God Bless America.
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Tom – thank you for sharing this raw, powerful piece and your photos. They bring me back to the numbness I felt after watching those images on TV that day.
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And…wow.
All I can remember is walking into my work in Oakland, CA. My co-worker said, as she had headphones in her ears, “Did you hear?”
“No, what?” I answered.
“New York. The World Trade Center. It’s down.”
Then we left work, headed home before the BART stopped running for a couple of days. What would ever be the same after that?
Thanks, Tom. Beautiful.
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I was teaching at school, and like so many moments, all you could do was turn on the TV and watch. It wasn’t reality for any of us…it was just trying to make sense of it…we were a world away, kitty-corner of the continent in British Columbia, and we were watching what felt like a movie. And then it hit many of us: this wasn’t just real, it was also real people. It was a moment that as both teachers and people that really made us realize the responsibilty we had in these moments (just as my teachers had done as a grade 10 student and the shuttle had exploded); we had to make sense of the non-sensicle, the imcomprehensible.
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Tom,
I have been connected with you through this amazing woman. Her name is MIndy and she shared this article with me, I know you have this cool connection to her. Reading the article does bring reflective thoughts to mind of where I was and how long it’s been since this event, and how recent it feels to my own soul. I was miles away, in the middle of the country. I had just dropped off my 6 year old at school and was on my way to the office, driving through a farming community, a clear blue sky and bright new day ahead of me. I remember turning on the radio to listen to my favorite talk show, but the tone was noticeably serious and they were talking about something. I continued to drive, getting on I-25 for that usual commute, when they began to talk about planes, buildings, torment, the Pentagon and anguish was audibly in the message. I began to realize that this was real and something was happening….I continued to drive. I listened. I drove. Once at the office, everyone was glued to the television, the customers were not calling for technical support. The world had stood still. The world watched the two buildings crumble, along with the symbol they represented. It was apparent to all of us that we had to get home, I had to get back to my son. Like you, we couldn’t stop watching, I felt sobs deep in my throat, I don’t remember that feeling since…until right now. Reading this article.Thanks for sharing and reminding me. A terrible thing happened on that day, yet the goal of the perpetrators will not be attained in my own heart and soul as I celebrate the importance of human respect and honor for all people. I share this with my only son, who is now a teenager. I remember.
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Incredibly powerful essay. Thank you.
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Unbelievable. I had (and still have shivers) reading this.
I remember coming up the escalator at work that morning and seeing a huge crowd around the big screen TV in the bank, the one that normally has the ticker for the stock market. Crowds this big were usually reserved for Team Canada winning gold in hockey. I gawked like the rest of them, and then a few minutes later watched the second plane hit (am I even remembering that right? Was that actually televised??). Then going upstairs to my desk in silence, sitting there staring into space, not even comprehending what the hell was going on.
Thanks Tom.
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this was…really powerful.thanks for sharing.
I am from Slovakia and I can still remember how awful it was. I was 13years old and even that my country is really far it still felt like the whole world just stopped for moment.
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Beautifully written Tom. I can’t believe it’s been eight years. Lots of love. x
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I read this last night and was unsure of how to comment. Next morning, still not sure. But it’s definitely sticking with me. Thanks for sharing this, Tom.
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Wow, I’m actually crying here at work. That was incredible, stirred up a lot of forgotten memories…this happened while I was still in junior high school. I think it’s just now that I realizing the significance of this event…
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Speechless. Managed to hold back tears until the bit about the cop and the Middle Eastern coffee guy.
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Tom, thank you for sharing…. I am a military spouse and feel very grateful each and everyday that i am an American.
Freedom is not Free, your story is wonderful and thank you for sharing…..also, did you go into the bar? hope you found peace that night
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My God, Tom. Thank you for sharing this with us.
I was 12 in 2001, so my memories of the event are a little different. I was walking into my junior high when one of my friends came up to me.
“Did you hear the World Trade Center got attacked?”
I shrugged. For some reason, it didn’t surprise me, nor did it seem that important at first. In my twelve-year-old mind, I felt like there was always something with the words “World Trade” in its name being bombed, or rioted at, or shot.
“I saw it on TV. The building looks like a used matchstick…they say Osama Bin Laden did it.”
None of the teachers even tried to teach at first. They just left the TVs on and stared with the students. Finally, the administration decided we had seen enough. An announcement came on over the intercom. The teachers had been instructed to turn their TVs off and start their lessons. We would be pretending that nothing was happening.
After the speaker clicked off, then the teacher leaned forward on his stool and told us that he didn’t plan on doing that. He’d be leaving the TV on, and we’d be talking. This was likely to be the most important event of our lives, he said, and he didn’t plan on censoring it.
There are other memories that follow that one. The panics. Rich neighborhood kids talking about how their dads bought them all gas masks. Sitting in the parking lot of an apple orchard later that fall and hearing the words “Air Force” and “Afghanistan” come out of our car radio. Those came later.
This happened when I was 12. When I was 19, I finally visited the WTC crater for the first time. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you to be in Manhattan that day.
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Gorgeous essay Tom, and thanks to Lola for sending it my way.
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Hi Everyone. Wow, what a day, huh? I’m not sure about anyone else but I’ve somehow managed to duck/cover on this day in the past. I was always afraid that one thing would tip me into a tizzy, and it turns out that all I really had to do was tip myself. Thanks for all of the nice comments. It’s a strange thing to be complimented about.
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WRITE.
THE.
SCRIPT.
PRONTO.
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far too much to say… so, i’ll say–
this was exquisite.
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Your article is amazing tom.
I am covered from head toe in goose bumps.
I only hope some day i can affect someone with my writing as you have done to me.↵ -
Tom,
Thank you for writing this, it’s important to write about it and remember. For some reason, my memories of 9/11 have been at the forefront of mind this year more than any previous anniversary.
I was in high school, a forty minute ride from midtown. My dad had been there the day before. Three or four kids in my school had parents that worked there, one died, one was missing for 2 days before he called home. All day at school the intercom kept calling kids to the office, moms couldn’t reach their husbands in the city and they wanted their family home… just in case. My mom waited for me at the bus stop and held my hand as we walked home. It was horrible. We could see the smoke from my neighborhood and we just cried together as a family.
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Hi Tom
I think the incredible need to understand and comprehend what is essentially impossible to understand is what drives me to read articles like yours and view documentaries as they are broadcast on TV, especially due to the recent anniversary. I try and keep a lid on it though, just knowing that I’ll never truely know all that there is to know about this catastrophe, and neither should I.
However, your report was a new grass-roots experience of that day and was great to read.
I have photos, taken on my (now old-fashioned…) apex panoramic camera of the towers exactly a week before 9/11 and I find it hard to look at them now. I was an Englishgirl in New York, my first trip and was loving it. I adored those buildings and was so looking forward to going right up to the top! And that’s were I was a week, to the hour, before they came down.
Atrer 9/11 I cried night after night on returning from my work in the city of London and watching the unstoppable media coverage for several days after the attacks. Remembering the lift operator and my ears popping as we acsended, remembering just how T-A-L-L they were and how people had fallen and jumped… ..all……that……way…. Crying as I recognised the previous beauty of the lobby now mangled, filthy and devastated.
They say that part of greiving is greiving for our own mortality, and I was. It could have been me; minus one week and an hour. So thankful that the towers did not open to the public until 9.30am (I’d been so keen, I’d arrived too early!!) and therefore relieved that I did not have to imagine a tourist literally falling with the roof. Regardless, its the human stories of the time and those, like yours, that still unfold that I consider now.
I was a 27 year old graduate working in an investment bank at the time and that afternoon in London we were heartlessly tannoyed to turn the TVs off on the tradefloor and get on with our work. It was then I decided to change. I left 10 days later to study for a degree in design and graduated 5 years ago. Life is too short.
Thanks, Hannah
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Tom, what a beautiful gift this story is….in addition to being an amazingly well-written narrative, it serves a higher purpose by making us pause long enough to remember.
One of the greatest things we humans do is record history – we pass on our stories and memories from one generation to the next in many ways but at it’s core is basic storytelling and the truth is the most powerful story we can tell.
Everyone has a memory of that day – it’s one of the defining moments of our lives…whether we were in NYC or not (like Hannah I was there exactly the week before) we all can remember what we were doing at the moment we heard – or watched – what was happening in Manhattan. Events can often have a great impact on us and our memories of it can shape our lives, change our paths, and alter our futures.
Which is why you should definitely not carry any baggage about taking those pictures – as hard as they may be to look at we all need to look at them. Even the worst of our human moments must be documented and shared so that others can learn from them, otherwise atrocities go unnoticed and unchanged.
Bravo to you for helping us to remember. And, like Rhonda, I hope someday you find peace with your childhood memories.
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Hi,
Thanks for sharing this with us. My thought when it happened at around midnight my time halfway across the world was ” It’s the end of the world”. It just struck fear at the very core.
Happy.
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I have been thinking about this essay for a while and decided to finally comment. Thank you for sharing your story and for putting into your words the feeling of that time. This is the first time I’ve read something that did that so honestly and eloquently.
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This is so good. Got little tears in my eyes.
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