We started the morning with class in, of all things, firefighting. During a break someone looked on the internet and saw that a plane had hit the world trade center. We all gathered around the computer and looked at the picture. It looked bad, but we all that it was an accident. We resumed firefighting class when one of our teachers came in the room. Voice shaky, face red, he said: They hit the world trade center again and got the pentagon. Class is cancelled for the rest of the day. I walked directly to the waterfront and saw smoke pouring out of the buildings. Suddenly the black smoke was engulfed by whie smoke from the ground. It was painfully clear that building had fallen. I then went to the lounge to see what they had on the news. They had a live camera on the remaining building and when it fell I literally felt my stomach fall. They were gone. I lost control of my emotions once. Wednesday morning they ran colors, as they do everyday at this installation. The Stars and Stripes are raised to the playing of the Star Spangled Banner. The flag travelled the length of the pole and then came back down to half mast. Standing in uniform, saluting the whole time was - - hard to explain. Since then, I have been trying to figure out how to help, but there is nothing I can do. They have enough blood and I'm not trained as an EMT. King's Point is preparing to become a makeshift morgue for the identification of bodies. As I type this letter, I signed a sheet of people willing to volunteer in whatever capacity needed.


Back to Stories

Back to Ideas