Twin Tower Tragedy:
Queens Tells Its Story
A Report From Stuyvesant High

By Angela Montefinise

The following was emailed Dylan Tatz, a senior at Stuyvesant High School and a resident of Forest Hills.

Photo by Hector Algarroba

“So what did you learn in school today?”  Last Tuesday, I gave a revealing answer to this familiar question.  “I learned that it is easy to tell a falling body from a falling piece of debris because bodies fall much faster.” 

We stood in the Chemistry lab on the ninth floor for almost an hour, mesmerized by the sight of men and women in expensive suits glancing back into what was their office one last time, and then throwing themselves down onto the chaotic sidewalk hundreds of feet below.  Some got a running start while others stood at the edge until the flames literally licked their skin and pushed them off into the endless cloud of smoke.  Some held hands, while others preferred to dive alone into whatever fate follows that smoke.

At one point, two teachers noticed us in the vacant lab, and proceeded to scold us about the dangers of being in an unsupervised room and cutting our scheduled classes. Then, without a word, we pointed to the window, and the teachers’ authority melted as each burst into hysterical tears.  By ten o’clock, there were six teachers lined up next to the four of us, crying into each others’ shoulders just like we were. 

I suppose I am glad that my curiosity led me to excuse myself for a visit to the bathroom when I heard that a small commuter plane had accidentally crashed in the north tower. And I suppose that it was educational, although traumatic, that I then proceeded instead to the dark, unoccupied chemistry lab on the south side of the building to see what was going on. But when I saw that giant black crater in the north tower, and suddenly realized that this was no small commuter  plane, I contracted a disease in my heart from which I shall never recover. 

These photographs of Ground Zero of the World Trade Center attack were captured by Queens photographer Hector  Algarroba.

Soon after that, we were told to evacuate the school. As FBI agents and National Guard soldiers swarmed about our benign school lobby, and then led us on our exodus up West Street, the two towers collapsed. As we marched north, the Orpheus in me periodically glanced back over my shoulder to behold the smoky void where ninety minutes ago the twin towers had soared invincibly, while the Israelite in me prayed that someone would step out from the mass of fleeing people, part the Hudson River, and lead us away from this chaotic hell we call TriBeCa into the polluted promised land of New Jersey.

The Sunnyside School 
Creates A Memorial

Kids at P.S. 150 in Long Island City honored people lost in the World Trade Center attack by drawing and painting pictures of the national flag and several memorial cards for the school’s Memorial Wall located in front of the school.

United Together

United Americans,
Today we come forth to build a stronger nation
One that will last forever
Our flag glows red, white and blue
And I know we can make it
Through this Attack on America
Terrorists can melt the steel of buildings
But cannot touch the spirit of America

America

America means
Liberty, justice, freedom.
We cannot be hurt.

America

Our people were killed
Others were hurt.
But we still stand strong
no matter what.
Our spirits are still high
They will stay that way.
We will bring the guilty to
justice and protect the innocent.
We will live in peace once again.

Twin Towers

God Bless Twin Towers
Rest in Peace World Trade Centers
We’ll remember you

United America

We are America
Our spirit: unstoppable
Strong, Independent

Signs Of Peace

Police Officer Brant Maynard, who recently stood guard outside a mosque in Woodside, spoke about the peace he found from a Queens standpoint.

The day before Maynard brought a relative by the City Lights building in Long Island City so they could view the skyline of the City, but now it’s been forever altered.  Yet, he explained there was a beacon of hope.  An electronic billboard by the entrance of the Midtown tunnel took a break from displaying advertisements.  Instead, it produced a simple, but complicated word, “Peace.”

“You could see the skyline where the twin towers used to be, and there was smoke and I saw the sign peace.  I was like wow,” he said.

The following poem was written by Zachary Davis, 11, Forest Hills and emailed to the Queens Tribune

The two twin towers
mighty and strong
when they burned down
we mourned for long

President Bush said
“we must stick together”
then Mayor Gulliani said
“that no matter what happens we will always be better”

No matter how bad
whoever did this is
the people who died
we will always miss

by Zachary Davis, 11, Forest Hills

The 'Bread And Butter' Of Helping Out

Several East Elmhurst police precincts were given their choice of cheese or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Sept. 14 after kids from the Louis Armstrong Middle School prepared, packaged and delivered over 2,000 sandwiches to officers helping in the World Trade Center rescue effort. The school is now focusing on collecting clean, dry socks to send to rescue workers and at ground zero.

I Wanna Be A Fireman

To save a life. How far would you go to save one life? What makes one human being risk their one life for another one life? What’s in a fireman’s soul that makes it a mission to save that one life?

I wanna be a fireman, with my flag on my back . . . alternating stripes of red and white, the pulsing blood red passion underscoring the white, pure ideals, fueled again by another stripe of red passion, inspired by a stripe of high ideals. Red underscoring white, underscoring red, underscoring white. Blue because blue is cool and so are we.

I want to be a giant too, with big boots, and heavy, mandatory, big, ol’ hard-hat. It will certainly crush my hair. But what will it matter how I look? ‘cause when I emerge from the fire, with the still beating heart and pale, minuscule breath of the body on my back, I’ll be crying my mascara off anyway. Saving one life.
I can see it now. Just one life. Just one!

The beauty of the early September Tuesday was shattered. Behind the burning image on TV, the commentator’s unsteady voice was saying... something. Sent from the wickedly vibrating, knots forming in my belly, what fell out of my lips, spoken to the empty room around me, was so simply, "What is this? What? It can’t be." Turning off the TV, believing maybe if I closed my eyes it wouldn’t be so. Turning it back on, I felt unsteady, like a piece of me was chopped off and I now needed to find balance again. I wanted so much to believe that piece was still there. So I kept watching, waiting for them to say "It didn’t really happen. The Twin Towers are fine."

The very minutes I was sitting, scoping my mind for sense, the firemen are saving lives... going into the raging heat, into the burning freight, into the voluminous terror, into the peril of Ground Zero.

Hours and days, endless eternity, and maybe finally a body, One Life. One Life that doesn’t look so pretty. For them, this one life is as magnanimous, glorious, as a Hollywood movie star, for the moment. They’re the One Life the firemen have been searching for.

This personal violation, this ruining of my city, is like skipped heartbeats, never to be had again. My city is ruined physically. It’s ruined mentally. And we’ll have to see how far our spirits can take us.

The safety we took for granted is gone. When it hit me, there was nowhere to go in this world, there’s no release from the agony of this world, I literally wanted to die. But there’s no time for that. No time for fear, nor defeat. There’s no time for plans. There’s no time for that . . . if I want to be a fireman.

Their vision, their gumption, their power. Their dirty faces. Their smoke inhalation. Their scarring hearts. What makes them do it? Maybe for just that One Life.

I want to be a fireman. I won’t cry at horror and evil. I’ll do it right in this life. To live for a higher goal. To have a mind of mission. To see the path so clearly. To have God carry my weight. To land my feet in the fire.

May God Bless our firefighters. Our police and rescue workers, too. May the families of those who died on 9/11/01 saving lives, find peace, and have pride on behalf of these incredible, brave people, who blessed our city.