Evidence of My Daily Presence at NYSE in Lower Manhattan on 9/11/2001 – 7/31/2002
On the morning of September 11, 2001, I had been in early for a committee meeting at the Exchange. It broke up at 8:30 and I headed out of the Exchange to walk the 2 blocks to Fleet Bank office at Broadway and Liberty St. I was intending to deposit spending money in Daughter's checking account (she was attending Boston College). On the way I noticed lots of burnt sheets of paper all over the streets and sidewalks. I picked one up and it was charred and had the letter head of Cantor Fitzgerald. When I got to Liberty Park & Broadway, I had a clear view of the Towers and could see that Tower # 1 was burning. There were sirens ringing and much commotion. I walked toward a group of people standing at the Liberty & Greenwich corner of the park. When I got there, people were crying and horrified as we could all see people jumping to their deaths out of the upper floors of Tower 1. It was a paralyzing sight.
Everyone was speculating as to what happened. After just a few moments there, we could hear the very near and loud sound of a jet with engines accelerating. It seemed to be coming from the southwest and I remember looking to the left and through a gap between buildings catching the view of an aircraft heading towards us. It disappeared behind the buildings, and I remember screaming at everyone something but an instant it struck Tower 2 basically over our heads. The fireball coming out northeast corner of the Tower was blinding, the explosion deafening and the ground under our feet trembled.
Frozen, I remember feeling the heat from fire ball (probably imagined that). All I can remember was that I was sure the building would fall right then and there from the horrific impact, and I could never run fast enough to get away. I remember running frantically up the hill toward Broadway and thinking I could run another block east and into the underground banking plaza and emerging at the Williams St. end. I turned right out the door and ran the 2 blocks to corner of Wall and William. There were people milling around but remember grabbing my cell phone and calling my clerks on the Exchange and telling them to go home immediately. They mentioned that Dick Grasso had made announcement that the opening would be delayed for one hour. I told them that I had just seen a plane fly into the Trade Center and for them to go home. Then I called my son in California & told him to let family know I was OK. When I tried to call my daughter at BC the phones were down and didn't work thereafter. I saw a good friend who worked in Tower 1 who was dazed so I grabbed him went across the street to get him a coffee at Starbucks. The clerk looked at both looking quite disheveled and handed us the coffee for free. Then I dragged him across the street and down to the 2 & 3 subway. The trains were still running and he walked over to the uptown side of the platform and I said we’d never make it to Penna Station uptown and got on a downtown train to Brooklyn LIRR terminal. I’ve always thought that we made one of the last trains to leave Manhattan. We were on the LIRR train home and when it came above ground, we could wee the Trade Towers and witness Tower 2 falling. I remember getting home and thinking everything looked different.
The Exchange remained closed until Monday, September 17. I remained home the days in between and don’t remember much at that time. My wife had died a year earlier on Sept 9th, 2000 and I think I was already sort of melancholy, but the events of September 11th put me in a strange place. I never really spoke with anyone about the events and didn’t even call my clerks and fellow workers, which I felt guilty about. So, I was glad when Monday came and we all returned to work.
I was a floor official and was on some committees, so was invited to the early morning breakfast in the famous an opulent NYSE Board Room with Hillary & Schumer and all. It was both a somber and an inspiring event. Everyone there, like the nation as a whole, was confused and looking into an unknown future. I remember Dick Grasso, when his turn to speak came, set a focused and can-do tone. He referred to the oft used movie quote attributed to Yamamoto (never really establish that he said it) from the 1970 film Tora! Tora! Tora! That our enemies had “awoken a sleeping giant and filled him with terrible resolve.” Dick said our nation’s leaders had much to do, but vowed that one thing they would not have to worry about was the functioning of the securities markets. He emboldened us all that it was each of our duties to “have their backs” and “take care of business” (pun intended). It was a rousing speech and then adjourned the meeting by commanding us all to head down to the floor and get to work.
The opening bell ceremony had a triumphant tone and “America the Beautiful” was sung by one of our fellow seat holders who was a serious tenor. And so, work began anew.
In the weeks and months afterwards, each day had greater meaning. Each morning as I exited the subway, it became my ritual to visit the site on the way to the Exchange, trying to get as close as I could to the place I stood that day on the corner of Liberty and Greenwich Streets. I wanted to view the changing and smoldering mound of rubble where the buildings had stood. I still do it today whenever I visit downtown. Overlooking the quiet Memorial now, it’s all still the same replay and all to vivid. I also remember with reverence all the home-made pictures and posters taped to poles and phone booths of missing loved ones asking for help in locating them. I still can’t grasp the desperation and unrequited hope those postings represented. Then there were the images and constant rumble of the trucks piled high with the hallowed rubble moving past the bustling city heading for Staten Island. And of course, there was the constant and putrid odor reminding us that the disaster was ongoing and relentless.
Yet amid all the somber memories of the rituals of the aftermath, there was one uplifting daily event that, to this day, warms my heart and brings tears to my eyes. Each afternoon, Dick Grasso would arrange to have a first responder, medical or rescue worker, laborer or anyone on the pile, brought to the Exchange to ring the closing bell. These were never big powerful officials but rather just simple hard working men and women. He would personal escort them at 3:45 from the 11 Wall Street entrance, through the massive swinging brass doors to the floor. Before ascending the podium to ring the bell, he would walk them throughout the Exchange’s four bustling rooms. Usually, the last 15 minutes of trading were tumultuous and energized, but wherever they went, trading would spontaneously halt. Each of us would take off our headsets, put pads and pens into our work jackets and applaud and scream out our admiration and respect. The thing I remember most though were the looks of total confusion and amazement on their faces about why we were behaving this way. They were, in their minds, just doing their jobs but we knew differently. One special day, Dick brought a rescue dog onto the floor and up onto the podium. He stood the dog on his or her hind legs and holding a paw in his hand, pushed the button thus ringing the bell at 4:00 sharp signaling the end of trading. These were memorable moments. Many of those men and women (and certainly that dog) are no longer with us, but each of us who were present those days are grateful to have had the chance to honor and thank them for their service and sacrifice.