Mike Gioffre
dgioffre@hotmail.com



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Subject: A first-hand account
Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2001 19:33:07 EDT

Below is an unbelievably chilling account of one person's experience
yesterday.
I hope this finds you all safe and well.

Adrienne Greenheart, Writer
I was one who wanted a better look. I wanted to get closer. And the price I
paid was leaving my shoes in the middle of a pile of suffocating bodies.  At
the Wall St. train stop people were covered with papers.  A plane crash.
That's what everyone said.  Then a boom.  Everyone ran.  I ran to my office
on Wall and Pearl and called my brother in Illinois.
I wanted to be closer.  At the corner of Church and Broadway, I angled my
way
through a large, packed crowd to get the best view.  We talked about people
jumping.  The police stood behind the yellow tape.  Minutes later, there was
a boom.  I thought it was a bomb, so I crouched, but people ran, so I ran.
I
couldn't see anything.  I don't know how far I ran.  Couldn't see where I
was
running.  Didn't know if I was in a street or next to a building. Didn't
know
what street I was on.  No one could talk because the dust filled our
throats.
  After about ten steps I tripped over a pile of people and then people
tripped on me.
I laid there. The only sound was the falling of dust and debris.  No one
moved under me.  The weight of people on top of me got heavier.  I couldn't
breathe. I knew we were all going to die in that pile.  I pulled myself out
of the pile.  My slip-ons slipped off.  I stood up and saw nothing.  Not
even
and inch in front of me.  I put my hands out and felt for something.  I
bumped into the brick side of a building.  I bumped into milk crates.  I
stopped. I had no idea what to do, and I knew everyone around me was
suffocating.  I thought about my Mom and dad, they would be so sad to hear
that I died.  I thought about my husband. Just married and I will not get to
live my life with him.  I thought about my brothers.  They would cry.  I
told
myself to just keep trying to find away to air, but I didn't believe I would
live.
I bumped into something that I could feel the top of, so I lifted myself up.
I worried I was going into the back of a dump truck, and I was scared I'd be
trapped.  I didn't know if there was fire, or a bomb.  I didn't know how to
protect myself ??" find air.  Go up? ??" so I didn't know for sure that a
dump
truck would be bad.  I think it was scaffolding.  I think I jumped over
piles
of bodies by climbing scaffolding.
I pulled myself into a building. What building? I don't know.  And I took a
breath.  I took two breaths.  I was sure the building would be bombed.  I
looked for stairs.  I kept thinking I needed clean air.  I found a bathroom.
I didn't realize I wanted water until it was there.  Four men inside. Two
fighting   faucet.  I shared the toilet with another man.  We drank almost
the whole bowl.
Once the four of us were calmed by water and air, we ventured outside the
bathroom.  We walked up stairs. S lowly.  We checked doors behind us, left
them all open.  We got up only one floor.  We waited.  I cried.  They shared
one can of apple juice.
The intercom in the building announced stay where you are.  I was so
relieved
to know people knew we were there.  The intercom announced again and I
thought another bomb would go off and I'd die.  I cried.  The guy with the
apple juice put his arm around me.  I wondered why no one else cried.  The
intercom announced to go down the stairs.  I picked up a wastebasket: I
planned to fill it with water.  Planned to use it to shelter myself from the
next bomb.  (I still had no idea the building collapsed.)
In the lobby of the building someone gave me a Nantucket Nectar and told me
to vomit.  I walked outside the building with the drink in my wastebasket.
There was no one around. White everywhere.  The four of us had nowhere to
go.
  I couldn't remember where I was.  I walked toward the water.  Police
directed very one north.  I asked a woman next to me, "Where are we going?"
She said, "I don't know."  She had no dust.  She looked so steady.  I
followed her.  This was the beginning of her long protection.
She said, "You can walk home with me.  You need a shower."  I coughed.  She
asked why I was carrying a wastebasket.  I said, "In case there's another
bomb."  She held on to my arm as we made our way next to the river.  In
Chinatown, she bought me shoes.  At the Bowery we finally found a pay phone
that didn't have a line of people.  So she called her husband and I sat down
next to my wastebasket.  It was the first time I sat down, and I started
crying.
We resumed walking.  Sometimes we ran.  I made sure to keep up and I didn't
tell Teresa that I was worried that I would faint.  I drank Nantucket Nectar
every time I got dizzy.
At 59th St. a plane went overhead and I screamed.  In front of
Bloomingdales.
  There was no one there from Wall St. I knew I looked crazy.  I screamed
anyway.  I reminded everyone there were no planes allowed to fly.  Someone
said, "It's the army."  I came out from under my wastebasket and kept
walking.  Theresa's apartment was 71st on the Upper West Side. Where
everyone
looked fine.
In the shower, dripping debris down my body, I remembered one more moment
under the rubble.  When I couldn't breathe. When I couldn't see.  In the
middle of the dead quiet was a voice.  He said, "Is there anyone here? Can
someone hold my hand?" I reached out to the voice, and held his hand.  It
was
shaking and the skin was old.  I squeezed and then I let go.

Betty Sweeny
Business Development Associates, Inc.
Tele: (302) 762-7340
Fax: (302) 762-7348
Email: <A HREF="easbda@aol.com">easbda@aol.com













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