September 11, 2001, Part 4, Joe's Odyssey

Wednesday night, September 12, 2001, I met “Joe” in the bar. He was, and I assume still is a mid-level executive with IBM. He was out of Texas.

He was in similar shape to me. Stuck. Oddly, but not that week, wearing suit pants and a somewhat wrinkled white button-down shirt. I’m not sure how the conversations started; but, here’s where it led to:

"I came in Sunday night to do a seminar for a client on Monday through Thursday at the clients’ office, just north of the Trade Center, so I stayed at the Marriott at the World Trade Center.

Monday morning we started at the typical New York meeting time, 10:00 a.m. I told them that if we started at 9:30 a.m. for the rest of the week, we could quit an hour early, and to sweeten the deal, I’d host a happy hour each day after the sessions (it was already figured into the budget).

I didn’t follow through on my promise.

I got up yesterday to walk to the clients’ office. About half way there, the first plane hit.

Everyone stopped and looked around when the sound happened. Then, back to normal, as normal as New York is. But, there was something wrong. People were talking and looking. After awhile the word of the strike was making its way around

I got to the building where the clients’ office was. Police weren’t letting anyone in. I stood around and tried to call the office on my cell phone. No luck.

At a point, people started yelling and pointing. I looked south and saw it fall. We were frozen. The smoke started coming and people started running, so did I. I don’t know how many blocks I ran. But, we out ran the smoke.

There was a lot of confusion. That’s maybe too mild a term. There was a lot of panic. I sat down against a building. People were milling and police cars and fire truck were rushing south.

After awhile I started walking north, you couldn’t go south. My cell phone wouldn’t work. Word on the street was worthless. We just kept walking. (Remember the soot covered people on the news clips?)

There was nowhere to stay in Manhattan. After awhile word got out that you could get over to New Jersey on the George Washington Bridge. (The GW Bridge leaves Manhattan at 178th Street.) We walked most of the day. I’m saying we because there were a lot of us after awhile.

Coming off the bridge, you are not in a great neighborhood; but, it was a pretty good neighborhood for me. People were on the curb handing out jugs of water and sandwiches. They wouldn’t take any money.

I finally got a cell phone signal and started making calls to find a room for the night."

“I ended up here.” The Marriott had collapsed late in the day. To my knowledge Joe never go his luggage. During the week I knew him, he never could reach the client.

By this point in the evening, neither Joe nor I were sober. I’d told my story and he’d told his. The bartender announced to us, the only customers, that he had to close. We walked from the bar to the elevators using every bit of the ten-foot wide hallway.