-----Original Message-----
From: 	"Craig Taylor" <craig_taylor67@hotmail.com>@ENRON [mailto:IMCEANOTES-+22Craig+20Taylor+22+20+3Ccraig+5Ftaylor67+40hotmail+2Ecom+3E+40ENRON@ENRON.com] 
Sent:	Tuesday, October 02, 2001 6:24 PM
To:	Taylor, Craig
Subject:	Fw: Billy Forney Story


>pretty amazing story!!!!!
>----- Original Message -----
>From: Matthew Newtown
>To: Andrew Clark (E-mail) ; Anne Newtown (E-mail) ; Ashley Buffa (E-mail) ;
>Ashley Morgan (E-mail) ; Bob and Sally Boyd (E-mail) ; Chris McConn
>(E-mail)
>; Chris Newtown (E-mail) ; David & Jan Bean (E-mail) ; Ed Banker (E-mail) ;
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>; Natalie Hoover (E-mail) ; Nick Nichols (E-mail) ; Noah Martin (E-mail) ;
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>(E-mail)
>Sent: Friday, September 28, 2001 2:48 PM
>Subject: Billy Forney Story
>
>
>This is Billy Forney's story from the World Trade Center disaster. Some of
>you might know Billy or already have read this. I coached baseball with
>Billy at Post Oak a couple of seasons ago. It is a pretty descriptive,
>awesome detail of September 11.
>
>
>
>  -----Original Message-----
>From: billy@forney.com [mailto:bforneyiii@email.msn.com]
>Sent: Wednesday, September 26, 2001 11:17 PM
>Subject: My experience
>
>Here is my story...
>
>A World Trade Center Story:  Tuesday, September 11, 2001
>
>
>
>8:00 am:  I arrive at the World Trade Center complex.  Stop off at the bank
>in the tunnels below Two World Trade Center to make a deposit at the ATM.
>
>
>
>8:15 am:  I arrive at the 85th floor of One WTC, where my company, SMW
>Trading, has its offices.  I begin preparing reports for another day of
>trading at the NYMEX, located in a separate building 5 minutes away from
>the
>office.
>
>
>
>8:43am:  I am sitting at the table in the center of the office, my back
>facing the outside windows.  Suddenly, a horrific explosion.  An immediate
>change in the air pressure.  A ghostly column of air shoots like a canon
>into the office.  The front door slams shut.  Papers are whipped into the
>air.  I'm thrown off my chair and to the ground.  My boss jumps out of his
>office a second prior to the explosion.  He had watched, in horrific
>disbelief, the entire event as the plane narrowly missed the empire state
>building and set a direct course for our building.  The explosion sends the
>tower shaking furiously, lurching back and forth with sickening vengeance
>for maybe five or ten seconds.  I think we may die.  The building may
>topple
>over, or crumble.  Finally it stops.  The building is still standing.
>Everybody stares at each other, no idea of what happened or what to say.
>Speculations about an explosion, a bomb.  No, it was a plane, our boss
>says.
>A commercial jet.
>
>
>
>[Losing track of time]:  I immediately walk to the door.  Someone screams
>not to open the door; the hallway is on fire.  Curious, Rob "Opie" Leder
>and
>I touch the door and the handle.  It's cool.  I open the door, slowly,
>cautiously, to see what's out there.  It's pitch black out there, except
>for
>the office light, still on, shining off of the billowing smoke in the hall.
>The smell is horrible.  This is no ordinary smoke.  It smells of metal, jet
>fuel, of rancid concrete, of things unspeakable.  I close the door.  People
>are still numb, shocked, confused.  Opie was the first to say it; he was
>getting the hell outta there.  I'm with you man.  I open the door again.
>The smoke is thinner.  I see an orange glow outside the door, a fire
>smoldering around the corner.    I hear guys in another office yelling for
>help or something, too scared to open their door.  Nobody knows where the
>stairs are, not even them.
>
>
>
>Back into the office, to grab some stuff.  The black SMW jacket I wear to
>the trading floor.  It's full of pick cards, order tickets, my empty water
>bottle, Ice gum, a calculator, a pen, a halls cough drop, and trading
>analyzers.  I put on my jacket.  I decide to fill up my water bottle.  Opie
>waits for me, ready to bolt.  Almost everybody wants to leave now.
>
>
>
>Marvin Pickrum.  Where is he?  When did he leave?  Where did he go?  Is he
>in the bathroom?  The bathroom!  Someone check the bathroom.  I walk into
>the hallway, inhaling the noxious stench, and I walk down the hall.  To the
>left, another hallway, three small fires burning, debris everywhere, lights
>out.  In front of me, another office, another man peering out, more
>terrified people.  To the right, another hallway, the bathroom, and the
>stairwell.  I open the bathroom door, everything in pristine condition.
>Like nothing happened. I call out for Marvin, no answer.  He's not in the
>bathroom.  We head down the stairs.
>
>
>
>We move fast.  Not a lot of people in the stairs yet.  At 81, Opie stops to
>help some guy break out some fire extinguishers.  We each grab an
>extinguisher.  We get to 72.  People are coming back up the stairs.  What's
>the problem?  The door several platforms down is pinned shut.  People come
>back upstairs from below.  We walk out into the hall to find another
>stairwell.  This floor had damage.  Wires and debris everywhere.  A wall
>blown down into the hallway.  Some fires smoldering in the rubble.  I cover
>my face and try not to look.  Afraid of another explosion.  We find another
>stairwell at the other end of the hall.
>
>
>
>In the next stairwell, there are more people.  The descent gets slower.  We
>try to use Opie's cell phone.  It was impossible to get a connection; an
>occasional faint ring, then everything goes dead.  The display read
>"service
>unavailable at this time."  What, try again later?
>
>
>
>At about 65, still trying to use the cell phone.  Service still down.  We
>stop on a large platform.  I notice a woman rocking back and forth directly
>behind me.  She was barefoot, holding her shoes.  She asks me for a swig of
>water, and uses it to wet her shirt and cover her mouth against the
>sickening stench.  She anxiously, nervously tells me that she has two
>children, and she has to get downstairs.  We start moving again.  She picks
>her way down quickly, passing people where she can.  She makes good
>progress.  She's polite.  She's frantic.
>
>
>
>At 60, cell phones still not working.  I toss the investor's business daily
>I've been carrying with me.  Not exactly important stuff at the moment.  I
>think to myself that I'm trashing the building, and I feel bad.
>
>
>
>At 50, cell phone service still out.  A man with blood covering half of his
>face and a bandage on his head walking down the stairs.  Others pass with
>him, obviously in pain.  People move to the right and let them pass.
>Everybody is calm, orderly, supportive.  Nobody takes advantage of the path
>they clear.  Such calm, such unselfishness in the face of tragedy.  Quiet
>adrenalin.  Rumors of a second plane.   People are making jokes to ease the
>strain.
>
>
>
>We carry the fire extinguishers all the way down to the 49th floor.  I'm
>sweating like crazy, shirt untucked, unbuttoned, I'm wearing my jacket,
>still carrying the fire extinguisher.
>
>
>
>At 45, cell phones still not working.  I see a firefighter heading up the
>stairs.  A reassuring presence, giving words of encouragement.  At 35, more
>firefighters, serious equipment in their hands, on their backs.  At 30, the
>door to that floor is open, firefighters have set up base camp, they've
>dropped their stuff, tended to some injured people.  They've secured all
>the
>floors below them.  They're working their way up, trying to save the people
>above us.  At 25, a man with a cane struggles down the stairs, another man
>is helping him down.  After we pass these men, things start moving.  Maybe
>he was the bottleneck.  We stop less frequently now.
>
>
>
>At 20, a woman, Juliette, is struggling to get down, tired and out of
>breath.  We offer water and help, she accepts.  We wait a few seconds for
>her to rest.  Opie takes her purse, which is heavy, and her jacket.  Opie
>walks in front of her, I walk behind.  We tell people to pass us on our
>left.
>
>
>
>Floor 15, then 10, and then 5.  At 2, some light.  Outside light.  Close to
>home free.  We finally exit the stairwell, into the lobby, street level,
>facing east, and facing a courtyard I don't really recognize.  It must be
>in
>the middle of the World Trade Center complex.  In the courtyard I recognize
>colors.  Green from a small tree, gray from buildings.  Blue sky,
>somewhere.
>Black, too.  Black stuff on the green, and black stuff on the ground, small
>puffs of smoke.  It must be debris from wreckage.  What looks like a
>person's leg.  I can't focus, my mind is wandering.  I don't want to look.
>
>
>
>Firefighters lead us to the escalators.  They don't work, there's debris on
>them that we climb over.  We go down slowly.  A few people complain we're
>walking too slowly.  What if you needed help? I ask.  That keeps them
>quiet.
>
>We get down to the lower level, to the glass doors separating One World
>Trade Center from the shops underground.  The glass is all blasted out.
>Firefighters are showing us the way out, through the doors.  An eerie
>situation underground.  The sprinklers are on.  People are worried about
>their clothes.  Shops are empty, deserted.  Some lights above are still on.
>Some aren't.  Water collecting in puddles on the ground.  Ceiling tiles
>here
>and there.  A usually noisy, active underground is virtually silent.
>Firefighters are calling out to us to keep moving.
>
>We pass a sandwich shop, Banana Republic, Gap, entrance to Two World Trade
>Center.  The firefighters lead us northeast, around a corner.  We stop.
>Juliette wants to rest.  The firefighters urge us forward.  Juliette wants
>a
>swig of water.  Just then, I hear a faint noise behind us, it sounds like
>water rumbling.  No, it's people screaming, they're running, a mad fury, a
>tidal wave before the crescendo.  What are they running from?
>
>
>
>Someone yells to start running.  We start running.  Part of the underground
>goes black.  Like someone flicks off the switch.  We take 3 or 4 steps;
>Opie
>slips and falls sideways to his left.  People yell for us to get down.  We
>dive to the ground.  The blast is like a hurricane.  I find a small corner;
>I ball up as fast as I can.  I cover my head with both arms.  I grimace,
>mouth open, teeth clinched.  For the second time in an hour, I think I'm
>about to die.  Things pelting me: shards of glass, pieces of debris.  I
>wait
>for something to sever me in two, and then the chaos subsides.  Much later,
>I find out the blast was 2WTC coming down.
>
>
>
>I open my eyes.  I've gone blind.  Pitch black.  Maybe I didn't open my
>eyes.  I close them tight, then open them again.  Nothingness.  I take a
>breath.  Metal, ash, concrete.  I cough, and breathe again.  More ash.
>With
>each breath I take, it's more painful.  I call out for Opie and Juliette,
>she answers, he doesn't.  I call out again.  I fear something happened to
>him.  I call out again.  Finally, a cough, and a faint response.  They're
>both alive.  A few seconds pass.  Somebody steps on me.  What's that down
>there?  A person, dude.  Oh, sorry.  I gather my wits, and try to get my
>bearings after being stepped on.
>
>
>
>Then, a glimmer of light from behind.  A fireman's floodlight.  It's hard
>to
>see anything at all.  The air is thick with dust and ash.  I begin to see
>silhouettes of people, I see the man who stepped on me, that's cool man.  I
>see things blown all around us.  I carefully stand up.  I see Opie hunched
>over on the ground.  He coughs some more stuff up and spits it out.  Opie
>slowly stands.  The fireman starts to walk by.  Others are following.  I
>pull Juliette to her feet.  I don't want the fireman to get away.  He's not
>walking fast, but it gets dark quickly without the light.  I grab for
>Opie's
>hand.  The group of us develop a human chain.  We follow the fireman.
>Another floodlight turns on in front of us.
>
>
>
>Without the firemen's lights, we know we would be crawling, in total, pitch
>black.  It would take forever without their help.  We navigate slowly in
>the
>direction we had originally intended.  Bill? Opie, is that you?  It's
>Jonathan, one of our firm's partners, in from Chicago, caught underground
>with us.  Jonathan joins our group; he knows the underground and its shops
>well.  We walk slowly, about eighty yards.  We see light, its natural
>light,
>we walk towards it.  It's upstairs, the street level.  We see another
>escalator, we walk to it, it has more debris on it.  We walk up it.  We get
>to the top, doors in front of us to the right.  Broken glass.  Debris.  A
>large rug, or mat, it's blocking the entrance, but only slightly.  We'll
>have to walk over it, through the broken glass door, to the outside.  We're
>almost outside.  We carefully step over the rug.  We're outside.
>
>
>
>Outside, it's a war zone.  A monochromatic landscape, covered in dirt and
>ash.  Like lint, everything meshes into one color - gray.  We're in a
>movie,
>an abandoned city.  Visibility is at the most 50 feet.  I never once look
>up.  I'm still grabbing on to Juliette.  I feel like I'm pulling her too
>much.  I slow down.  I'm amazed at the amount of soot on the ground.
>Several inches thick.  The air is full of dust and ash.  Just keep walking,
>don't stop.  We need to keep walking.  Where's Opie?  He's in front of us,
>I
>know, I just can't see him.
>
>
>
>We reach a street, I think it's a street; it's covered in ash.  We keep
>walking across the street.  Somebody comes running towards us, shouts out
>to
>us, look for bodies under cars.  A four-inch layer of ash and dust covers
>the streets.  I glance around for bodies, I don't see any.  We start to
>walk
>by a church with a graveyard.  We stop.  I cough up the ash in my mouth and
>lungs, take a drink of water, and spit out blackness.  I tell Juliette to
>take some water and do the same.  Swish it around and spit it out.  She
>asks
>me where her purse and jacket are.  I don't know.  Opie had them.  Where is
>Opie?  I call out for him.  Now I don't know where he is.  I call out for
>him again, finally I see him up ahead.
>
>
>
>We start walking again.  We pass the church, we get to another street,
>there's less ash on the ground, the air is better, better visibility.
>Juliette says she needs her purse.  She has no money.  She doesn't know
>what
>to do.  I'll give you some money, don't worry.  You're alive.  Be happy
>you're alive.  We continue walking.  We meet back up with Opie.  Now about
>3
>blocks away from our exit, a man is standing in a store doorway.  He opens
>the door and tells us to come in.  Juliette is exhausted; she wants to stay
>there.  She sits down on some stairs.  Opie and I want to keep moving.  We
>tell Juliette that we have to leave.  We exchange numbers.  Opie and I each
>give her $10 to get home.  We kiss her on the forehead and wish her good
>luck.
>

>
>
>We walk about ten minutes.  People have lined the sidewalks, looking at the
>building on fire.  We keep walking away.  Then, a horrifying gasp, people
>begin crying.  We turn around to look.  One World Trade Center goes down.
>Our building.  We watch it go down, floor by floor by floor.
>
>
>
>Unbelievable.  Let's get outta here.  We turn back around and keep walking.
>We come upon three co-workers.  Thank God your alive.  We find pay phones,
>with lines 20 people long.  We keep walking, just trying to get away - to
>call somebody, let them know we're alive.  We walk about thirty minutes.
>We
>take a side street.  We find a corner store.  It has a pay phone.  Nobody
>is
>using it.  We take turns calling our wives, our parents, and our friends.
>We're okay, we're alive.  We all walk home together.  I walk the entire
>length of Manhattan to get home to the upper west side.  On the way I see
>my
>sister, I go to friends' places, I see other new Yorkers walking home.
>Surreal.
>
>
>
>
>
>Wednesday, September 12, 2001.
>
>9:00 am.  I receive a call from Opie.  Everybody made it out okay.  Marvin
>is alive.
>
>
>
>Monday, September 16, 2001.
>
>2:01 pm.  I receive a letter from my bank.  The ATM deposit went through.
>
>
>
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