"The Day the World Ended"
Story and Photo By: EDWARD EGAN

Monday, September 10th, 2001 was the last day of the world as I knew it.

I drove to Staten Island in the late afternoon to hang out with my longtime friend Ray, a New York City police officer stationed in the Command Center at One Police Plaza. I've known Ray since I was eighteen years old. We went to the Staten Island Mall to get a bite to eat, where Ray and I met up with his younger brother Johnny at Chevy's, the mall's favorite watering hole.  We all cracked jokes, ate Mexican food, teased the waitress, and drank frozen margaritas. All in all, it was a fairly uneventful afternoon.

Late afternoon turned to early evening, and I returned to my home in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. It was raining that night, and I looked out my bedroom window to see the illuminated towers of the World Trade Center, like I have so many countless times before. Sadly, it would be the last time I would see the towers of the World Trade Center at night ever again.

What a difference a day makes. The next morning began like any other morning.  As part of my daily ritual, I was watching "Good Day New York" on Fox5 News, preparing for my workday. Fox5 News correspondent Dick Oliver was first on the scene, already covering a story in lower Manhattan near to what would be later known as Ground Zero. When Dick returned from commercial break, the cameraman panned up and zoomed to a view of Tower Two of the World Trade Center on fire. It was ten minutes to nine, and I ran to my bedroom window to see thick smoke billowing in the distance.

As Dick asked people on the street whether they thought the fire emanated from an explosion from inside the building, or that something had crashed into the Tower, a passerby stopped to say that he did indeed see a plane fly into the World Trade Center. Thinking this to be a horrific aviation accident, I stood glued to my television as the camera view on the ground changed to a helicopter view in the sky.

Hovering near the World Trade Center, the view from the Fox5 News chopper revealed a sickening, huge black gash scarring the face of Tower Two. As I watched the images on my television transfixed, I was about to witness the first of many things that I could never imagine I would see in my lifetime.

At ten minutes past nine, along with the Fox5 News crew and countless other New Yorkers, I watched in horror as the second plane crashed into Tower One of the World Trade Center. In that one chilling instant, I realized that this was no aviation accident. This was a nightmarish, kamikaze terrorist attack of epic proportions, perpetrated upon the citizens of New York. I ran from my television to my bedroom window as the second plane struck Tower One, and actually saw with my own eyes the resulting fireball, followed by an expanding ball of roiling black smoke.

I watched gigantic, unholy plumes of smoke rise and billow from both towers of the World Trade Center, blanketing the entire expanse of clear blue sky above Manhattan Island.

What followed next were two more unrelenting horrors, heaped upon the previous two.  Through the airborne view of dense smoke and flames, Tower One appeared to be leaning slightly to one side. In what seemed like an eternity, Tower One began to crash straight down, floor upon floor, virtually in slow motion. At half past ten, amidst a colossal wave of gray smoke, glittering glass, steel, and the bloodcurdling screams of fellow New Yorkers watching the scene from the ground, Tower Two now stood alone for the first time without its twin.

I stood numb by what I had just seen, realizing that one of the tallest buildings ever built in New York City was now gone.  And I knew that I had just watched thousands of innocent people meet their death.

As I ran back toward my window, smoke completely obscured the view of the towers, and I now had to rely on television alone to keep up with the instantly and catastrophically changing events that spanned scarcely two hours. From my window, it looked like Hell had come to earth.

In another surreal moment, the fourth horror of many more horrors to come occurred as the steel of Tower Two groaned and buckled. Tower Two soon joined its fallen sister in its own spectacular death knell, collapsing to the ground in an incredible display of dust and debris. As the Tower met the earth that it arose from more than two decades ago, I watched the 300 foot tall mast antenna fall almost vertically, much like the arm of a drowning man going down for the last time.

It was now 11:00AM on Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, and Towers One and Two of the World Trade Center were no more. The lives of millions of New Yorkers, the Manhattan skyline, and life as I've always known it had been irrevocably changed forever.

Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, husbands and wives, friends and loved ones were all lost on this one horrible, unforgettable day.

Amidst the commotion here in New York, I soon heard televised reports that there was yet another hi-jacked jetliner that had crashed into The Pentagon, killing many more in our nation's capital. It would later be known that in addition to the World Trade Center, The White House and Air Force One were also targets of the terrorist attacks of September 11th.

In the days and nights that have followed the wake of this unfathomable tragedy, I continue to see things that I never imagined I would ever see.

I awoke the morning after to the acrid smell of burning smoke, jet fuel and debris, emanating from what was just yesterday the World Trade Center, and the workplace of tens of thousands. As I looked out my window, it was the first morning without seeing the majestic Twin Towers in the distance. In its place, a funeral pyre still burned.

As I kept looking out my bedroom window and saw the Empire State Building standing off to the East of the great ruin, I realized that she had strangely regained her title as the tallest building in New York City that she lost long ago.

That evening, I attended a standing room only mass at St. Patrick's Church in Bay Ridge. People who were otherwise stoic during the mass began to weep as the names of the missing were announced. Everywhere one looked, people were engaged in giving heart-felt hugs to one another as the congregation poured out onto Fourth Avenue outside St. Patrick's Church.

And then, I saw another one of the many incredible things that I have never seen before in my life. After mass had ended, I came upon a priest trying to console two crying women outside the church. Usually a pillar of strength to the parishioners that he serves, the priest was so overcome with emotion that he, too, began to cry openly.

I walked the streets in a daze, witnessing men hugging and embracing one another on street corners for fallen family and friends. I saw women crying for their children, the children of others, and for the world.

On Thursday, I went to a neighborhood candy store to buy an American flag. Resting on the counter, I spotted a 75 cent postcard of Manhattan Island with the World Trade Center's Twin Towers as I knew them only days ago. My heart dropped at the sight of the beautiful New York City skyline as it was, and I felt both incredible sadness and incredible rage.

I've seen tears in the eyes of my President as he spoke on the telephone with Mayor Rudy Giuliani and Governor George Pataki of the City of New York, commending both men for their outstanding leadership, and promising to make things right once again.

And a friend of mine is still missing her husband, about to give birth to their first child in October.

But I've also seen superhuman feats of courage and heroism from thousands of people aiding in an effort to help those in need, and those who are suffering.

I've seen flags wave proudly all over Bay Ridge, Brooklyn and the City of New York.

I've seen trucks filled with volunteers and much needed supplies destined for Ground Zero being loaded outside of Marty Golden's office since the first day of the disaster.

My friend Ray the cop and many of his friends were fortunately not among the casualties of this terrible disaster.

And I've seen neighbors and strangers alike come together in a fantastic display of cooperation, galvanized in one common goal: to help the victims of this tragedy, and to help themselves.

These are defining, pivotal times in our nation's great history. This is the time of a new America.

President George W. Bush, our country and it's citizens are being tested in the most extraordinary and challenging times in our nation's history. As a result of this unprecedented act of war against the people of the United States, I believe that I share the sentiment of millions of my fellow Americans when I say that extreme people must be dealt with in extreme fashion.

I write these words for the posterity of future generations, as one who did not live through the events of September 11th, 2001 will never be able to completely understand the horror of that day. And for that, I thank God.

Clearly, times have changed. Things will never be the same for this nation ever again, but that doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. Hopefully, with courage, strength and determination, things will actually be better for the City of New York and the United States than they ever were before. For as Americans, that is our only course.

We can do nothing but improve our situation and make things better than they were, as we have done so magnificently time and time again in our unparalleled and illustrious past. We are still the greatest nation on earth. This is still the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

It is my hope that we will confidently move forward beyond this tragedy, rebuild our great city, and emerge stronger than before, as so many countless generations of Americans have done for this nation for the past 200 years and counting.

To the long line of brave Americans who have come before us, we owe them, and ourselves, no less.

God Bless America!