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Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

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"Thursday's Fare"

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Someone had a flashlight. We passed it forward and left the stairwell, headed down a dark and cramped corridor to an exit. We could not see at all. I recommended that everyone place a hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them and call out if they hit an obstacle so others would know to avoid it. It worked perfectly.

We reached another stairwell and saw a female officer emerge soaking wet and covered in soot. She said we could not go that way because it was blocked. She told us to go up to the 4th floor and use the other exit. Just as we started up she said it was OK to go down instead. There was water everywhere. I called out for hands on shoulders again and she said that was a great idea. She stayed behind instructing people to do that. I do not know what happened to her.

We emerged into an enormous room. There was light but it was filled with smoke. I commented to a friend that it must be under construction. Then we realized where we were. It was the 2nd floor. The one that overlooks the lobby.

We were ushered out into the courtyard, the one where the fountain used to be. My first thought was of a TV movie I saw once about nuclear winter and fallout. I could not understand where all of the debris came from. There was at least five inches of this dusty soot on the ground as well as in the air. Twisted steel and wires. I heard there were bodies and body parts as well, but I did not look. We moved out to the street. We were told to keep walking towards Houston Street.

The odd thing is that there were very few rescue workers around. Less than five. They all must have been trapped under the debris when Tower No. 2 fell. We did not know that and could not understand where all of that debris came from. It was just my friend Kern and I now. We were hugging but sad. We felt certain that most of our friends ahead of us died and we knew no one behind us.

We came upon a post office several blocks away. We stopped and looked up. Our building, exactly where our office had been, was engulfed in flame and smoke. A postal worker said that Tower No. 2 had fallen down. I looked again and sure enough it was gone. My heart was racing. We kept trying to call our families. I could not get in touch with my wife. Finally I got through to my parents. They got through to my wife, thank God, and let her know I was alive. We sat down. A girl on a bike offered us some water. Just as she took the cap off her bottle we heard a rumble. We looked up and our building, Tower No. 1 collapsed. I did not note the time, but I am told it was 10:30 a.m. We had been out less than 15 minutes.

We were mourning our lost friends, particularly the one who stayed in the office as we were now sure he had perished. We started walking towards Union Square. I was going to Beth Israel Medical Center to be looked at. We stopped to hear the President speaking on the radio. My phone rang. It was my wife. I think I fell to my knees crying when I heard her voice. Then she told me the most incredible thing: my partner who had stayed behind called her. He was alive and well. I guess we just lost him in the commotion. We started jumping and hugging and shouting.

My brother and I managed to get a gypsy cab to take us home to Westchester. I cried on my son and held my wife until I fell asleep.

As it turns out, my partner, the one I thought had stayed behind was behind us with Harry Ramos, our head trader. They came upon Victor, the man on the 53rd floor. They helped him. He could barely move. My partner tested the elevator on the 52nd floor, rode it down to the sky lobby on the 44th. The doors opened; it was fine. He rode it back up and got Harry and Victor. I don't yet know if anyone else joined them. Once on the 44th, they made their way back into the stairwell. Someplace around the 39th to 36th floors they felt the same rumble I felt on the 3rd floor. It was 10 a.m. and Tower No. 2 was coming down. They had about 30 minutes to get out.

Victor said he could no longer move. They offered to have him lean on them. He said he couldn't do it. My partner hollered at him to sit on his butt and slide down the steps. He said he was not capable of doing it. Harry told my partner to go ahead of them. Harry had once had a heart attack and was worried about this man's heart. It was his nature to be this way. He is one of the kindest people I know. He would not leave a man behind.

My partner went ahead and made it out. He said he was out maybe 10 minutes before the building came down. This means that Harry had maybe 25 minutes to move Victor 36 floors. I guess they moved one floor every 1.5 minutes. Just a guess. This means Harry was around the 20th floor when the building collapsed. I fear that Harry is lost. However, a short while ago I heard that he may be alive. Apparently there is a web site with survivor names on it and his name appears there. Unfortunately, Ramos is not an uncommon name in New York. Pray for him and all those like him.

With regards to the fire fighters heading upstairs, I realize that they were going up anyway. But, it hurts to know that I may have made them move quicker to find my friend. Rationally, I know this is not true and that I am not the responsible one. The responsible ones are in hiding somewhere on this planet and damn them for making me feel like this. But they should know that they failed in terrorizing us. We were calm.

The men and women who went into the building were heroes in the face of it all. They must have known what was going on, but they did their jobs. Ordinary people were heroes too.

Today the images that people around the world equate with power and democracy are gone, the Twin Towers, but America is not an image. It is a concept. That concept is only strengthened by our pulling together as a team. This is the ultimate failure of terrorism against The United States and the ultimate price we pay to be free.

The very moment the first plane was hijacked, democracy won.