Reliving the Second World War in the 21st century

New York's streets resembled London's during the Blitz

By Steven Edwards

NEW YORK - The sheer terror inflicted by the Nazis' V1 buzz bombs as they dropped onto London during the Second World War was relived yesterday by thousands streaming away from the World Trade Center -- and me marching toward it.

As the centre's twin towers blazed from impacts of two hijacked airliners, a deafening rumbling filled the air.

Like the roar of a jet aircraft on a runway as it takes off or lands, it persisted, growing louder, convincing us a third plane was headed at the area.

Screams rose up from the crowd. "It's another attack," yelled one person. Another cried, "Oh my God, we're going to be hit again."

Almost everyone in the crowded, narrow street began running.

Some dodged into building archways. Some tried to get as far away from the World Trade Center as possible. An old woman struggled to keep her balance with her three-pronged walking stick. We were little more than two blocks from the towers, but the canyon effect of the skyscraper-lined streets made it impossible to see what was happening only 100 metres away.

No third plane landed, but millions of tons of steel and concrete crashed to the ground as the first of the towers collapsed. A dust cloud powered up the street like an avalanche, devouring all in its path.

We were plunged into total darkness, unable to see even a hand in front of the face. The elderly woman next to me grabbed hold of my shirt and begged me to stay with her. Another woman took my hand and asked me to take her home to Brooklyn, across the river from Manhattan. Voices cried out in the darkness, calling for help and mercy from the Almighty.

People began coughing as the dust-filled air entered their lungs.

The moment the second plane struck

"We're going to choke to death," said my elderly friend, who was called Edith Zoualy. "Don't leave me. I don't want to die."

The two women did not know their presence was as much a comfort to me as mine was to them. We made our way to the sidewalk and felt for the building's wall.

"We'll just walk slowly along the wall until we start to see some light," I said.

The dust entered our eyes, stinging them. Gradually, silhouettes of other stranded people began to appear. We emerged into a half-light and gazed upon an eerie spectacle of abandoned cars and a line of tour buses for nearby Wall Street, their doors left open.

The tourists had escaped, possibly into nearby stores, which had become havens from the horror outside. We slipped into a pharmacy behind scores of other dust-plastered people, and had bottles of water thrust into our hands to help us clear our clogged lungs.

The floor was flooded as the pharmacy's staff poured water over the heads of people arriving to clear them of the dust. Many inside were coughing and spitting. Some were crying.

Catherine Wilson, 32, a legal secretary who worked near the World Trade Center, came with an eye bath so I could see without blinking. "I heard the rumbling, and we thought it was another bomb," she said.

Nearby, Roberto Cruz, 42, a hotel worker, sat groaning and pressing a bandage to a gash on his forehead. "I bumped into something," he murmured.

A man cried, "He needs a doctor."

But there were only victims. To drive home the point, a woman screamed, "There's someone with a broken leg in the hallway."

Detective Steven dePaola, his blue police badge now grey with dust, did what he could to comfort people in distress. He told me how he and his two partners had seen the first tower start to crumble, and just ran. He lost them in the darkness and did not know whether they made it out alive.

"These f...... people," he said.

In a show of solidarity that was to manifest itself through the disaster area and beyond, the pharmacy's staff handed out not only water, but medicine, food, first-aid dressings -- "anything people needed to overcome the emergency," said manager Asif Khan.

Victims were covered in the white debris of the towers

Half an hour later, people returned to the street to head away from the area. By that time, the second tower had also collapsed.

Around the World Trade Center, darkness still reigned. The road and sidewalk were covered inches thick with dust, as well as page after page of loans forms, phone bills, insurance applications, executive summaries, and all manner of other documents.

On a normal day, they would have filled the workday of the thousands of people who earned a living at the World Trade Center.

But this was to be the day of the biggest terrorist attack on U.S. soil. The streets looked as if they had been dressed for a scene in The Day After, which told of the aftermath of a nuclear attack on the United States. The windows of stores facing the towers were smashed in. Around the corner on Broadway, the spire of St. Paul's Chapel protruded defiantly, as had the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral during the London Blitz.

Through the silence, teams of firefighters and police began to appear. They entered hardware stores and pulled out masks, shovels, buckets. "Anything we think we can use," said Officer John Keane.

Reports began to filter through that thousands had been trapped and killed when the buildings fell.

"We know there are bodies and survivors in there," said one federal official. "But we have to go back in slowly. We have to get other people out of danger as well."

As more of the dust cleared from the air, the skeleton of one of the towers became visible, a black structure that stooped over like an old man who had had the life beaten out of him.

"It's hard to think that that was once part of two beautiful buildings," said Giselle Alicea, 29. "How many families will now have to be supported because of what these people have done?"

New rumbles, like aftershocks, sent shudders through people as the structures toppled. Intermittently, groups were herded out of buildings where they had sheltered and rushed to the limits of the disaster area.

"This morning I saw people jumping out of the top floors of the World Trade Center as they tried to escape the flames," said a shaken John Acquavella, 31, a computer consultant. "What do you think that does to a person? We lived this with the first bomb attack on the World Trade Center almost 10 years ago. This city is too dangerous to live in."

The day had begun normal enough, with people turning up for work in downtown Manhattan, the financial centre of the United States. This is old New York, so the streets are narrow and winding. There are numerous garden areas around the World Trade Center where workers eat doughnuts and sip coffee. An untold number would have died after being hit by falling debris that eyewitnesses said spewed out of the buildings after the impacts.

Walking briskly from the area after the first plane hit, Dan, 28, said he'd seen an aircraft approach from a window of his office.

"It looked like the sort of plane that would take passengers to Florida," he said. "I saw it come round the tip of the island, then dovetail, and head straight for the tower. I saw it impact. Flames flew out 200 feet. In our building, there was no panic, but everyone left, and I am going to keep walking until I get well away from there."

Eerie remains: I recall seeing this tragic image as I reported from
the scene, covered in the white dust that had filled all of our lungs

Al, a financial analyst, said his company ordered workers to remain in the building after the first plane hit. "That impact shook the windows," he said. "I could see debris flying and that the top of the tower had been blown out. I was in shock. Suddenly I saw someone jump. People were screaming in my building." In the second impact, "the plane came out of nowhere, then there was a second massive explosion," Al said. "Stuff went flying. I decided to get out of there."

Michael Seifer, 29, said the exit from his building was blocked by a giant tire from one of the aircraft. "I'm heading for the suburbs. They don't attack the suburbs."

Just outside the disaster area, New Yorkers lined the streets, watching the parade of people being evacuated. It was as if veterans were returning from war. Some onlookers offered cups of water; some even opened their homes to anyone who wanted to rest.

"You have to help out in a national crisis," said Ralph DiToro, who offered washroom facilities to anyone who needed them. "It's the least we can do."