I first posted this years ago, and even now, 20 years later, I still get a little weird as 9/11 passes because the memories remain vivid. I, too, remember where I was when I heard the news. How afraid and confused I felt as I listened to the reports on the radio. How insistent I was when I called Tina to tell her to turn on the TV and tell me what she saw, the tremble of her voice as she told me the Towers were collapsing. How angry I felt as I watched the endless replays that day. I also remember feeling helpless in the face of the destruction, which is why I volunteered without hesitation for a chance to be part of the recovery effort.

Only a couple of days after they started flying again, I walked through an empty O'Hare, except for workers and the National Guard, and boarded an empty flight with a one-way ticket to New York City. My job was to help restore phone service to Sprint's switch site in a telecom hotel a couple of blocks north of Ground Zero. Given most of lower Manhattan's telecommunications infrastructure ran under the Towers and adjacent buildings, no small task. Yeah, I did have to stop at the airport Chili's for a margarita where the bartender gave me a shot for the road on the house.

Now I'm still a country bumpkin stumbling into New York for the first time, and I expected the worst, but the people of NYC were downright caring. Even the unlicensed driver that whisked me away from the airport before I got to the official Taxi lot charged me half what a standard rate would have been as I was his first customer in weeks. To my surprise, everyone was exceedingly polite, helpful and willing to help an out-of-towner. You could tell then that people were in shock, keenly aware that everyone had experienced an unimaginable loss and needed a little more space to operate.

My time near Ground Zero was a blur, with 36-hour marathon days, sleeping in the hallway when you could and hours on cell phone conference calls. In between, in a hurry up and wait world that was reality there, I spent hours smoking cigarettes and walking the streets around Ground Zero. No one else was allowed near the site except approved personnel, so it was eerily deserted except for the occasional rescue, repair and security personnel coming and going to the Mound. For days the air was still thick with smoke and dust with many people wearing face masks when they walked outside. Most of all, the smell lingered, sickly sweet and acidic at the same time that permeated my clothes and followed me back to the hotel far from the site. I even brought it home when I opened my luggage.

A group of low-rise shops was out of our window to finish the next block from our building and then Ground Zero. We could see the Mound, the massive girders sticking up from the rubble and the continuous streams of water arching onto the fires that refused to be put out. At night as we waited yet again, we would stand and look out the window or from the roof, staring at the glow and watching the fire, smoke and steam. Mesmerized by the horror and the light.

After the first couple of days, security relaxed enough that you could walk past the barricades with just an ID check. We abandoned the irregular Sprint van service and walked from the site to and from the perimeter of the fences to catch a cab. The walk went past firehouses, initially empty with nothing but a black ribbon on the door but soon overflowing with photos, flowers and cards for the firemen lost. The community billboards, bus stops and park bulletin boards began filling up with pictures of those missing with heart-wrenching appeals for information about missing loved ones. It struck me how many of the pictures were real, not photocopies or reprints, but actual photos cut and pasted on the notices. Over time, the boards were surrounded by rows of candles, flowers and small mementos left in remembrance.

We successfully restored phone service to the switch site with a new PBX shipped from California and some very creative voice mail and circuit engineering. By the end of my second week, the police had removed the outer barricades, and people streamed into the area. They came up to the inner barriers to stare at the still-smoldering Mound. They stood silent in the streets, some taking pictures, some crying and others simply staring, but hundreds of people barely created a whisper.

The last time I walked back to my hotel from the recovering switch site, the real pictures still taped to the bus stop we beginning to yellow, the candles burnt to the core. I missed my family and wanted to go home, but I felt guilty that I wasn't staying longer to help more. I finished my task and had work elsewhere that was just as important. The Mound was still there, and the fires still burned, but to steadfastly continue in the face of adversity. I saw the Statue of Liberty from the taxi to the airport and remarked to my co-worker that my trip to New York was complete.

I first posted this years ago, and even now, 20 years later, I still get a little weird as 9/11 passes because the memories remain vivid. I, too, remember where I was when I heard the news. How afraid and confused I felt as I listened to the reports on the radio. How insistent I was when I called Tina to tell her to turn on the TV and tell me what she saw, the tremble of her voice as she told me the Towers were collapsing. How angry I felt as I watched the endless replays that day. I also remember feeling helpless in the face of the destruction, which is why I volunteered without hesitation for a chance to be part of the recovery effort.

Only a couple of days after they started flying again, I walked through an empty O'Hare, except for workers and the National Guard, and boarded an empty flight with a one-way ticket to New York City. My job was to help restore phone service to Sprint's switch site in a telecom hotel a couple of blocks north of Ground Zero. Given most of lower Manhattan's telecommunications infrastructure ran under the Towers and adjacent buildings, no small task. Yeah, I did have to stop at the airport Chili's for a margarita where the bartender gave me a shot for the road on the house.

Now I'm still a country bumpkin stumbling into New York for the first time, and I expected the worst, but the people of NYC were downright caring. Even the unlicensed driver that whisked me away from the airport before I got to the official Taxi lot charged me half what a standard rate would have been as I was his first customer in weeks. To my surprise, everyone was exceedingly polite, helpful and willing to help an out-of-towner. You could tell then that people were in shock, keenly aware that everyone had experienced an unimaginable loss and needed a little more space to operate.

My time near Ground Zero was a blur, with 36-hour marathon days, sleeping in the hallway when you could and hours on cell phone conference calls. In between, in a hurry up and wait world that was reality there, I spent hours smoking cigarettes and walking the streets around Ground Zero. No one else was allowed near the site except approved personnel, so it was eerily deserted except for the occasional rescue, repair and security personnel coming and going to the Mound. For days the air was still thick with smoke and dust with many people wearing face masks when they walked outside. Most of all, the smell lingered, sickly sweet and acidic at the same time that permeated my clothes and followed me back to the hotel far from the site. I even brought it home when I opened my luggage.

A group of low-rise shops was out of our window to finish the next block from our building and then Ground Zero. We could see the Mound, the massive girders sticking up from the rubble and the continuous streams of water arching onto the fires that refused to be put out. At night as we waited yet again, we would stand and look out the window or from the roof, staring at the glow and watching the fire, smoke and steam. Mesmerized by the horror and the light.

After the first couple of days, security relaxed enough that you could walk past the barricades with just an ID check. We abandoned the irregular Sprint van service and walked from the site to and from the perimeter of the fences to catch a cab. The walk went past firehouses, initially empty with nothing but a black ribbon on the door but soon overflowing with photos, flowers and cards for the firemen lost. The community billboards, bus stops and park bulletin boards began filling up with pictures of those missing with heart-wrenching appeals for information about missing loved ones. It struck me how many of the pictures were real, not photocopies or reprints, but actual photos cut and pasted on the notices. Over time, the boards were surrounded by rows of candles, flowers and small mementos left in remembrance.

We successfully restored phone service to the switch site with a new PBX shipped from California and some very creative voice mail and circuit engineering. By the end of my second week, the police had removed the outer barricades, and people streamed into the area. They came up to the inner barriers to stare at the still-smoldering Mound. They stood silent in the streets, some taking pictures, some crying and others simply staring, but hundreds of people barely created a whisper.

The last time I walked back to my hotel from the recovering switch site, the real pictures still taped to the bus stop we beginning to yellow, the candles burnt to the core. I missed my family and wanted to go home, but I felt guilty that I wasn't staying longer to help more. I finished my task and had work elsewhere that was just as important. The Mound was still there, and the fires still burned, but to steadfastly continue in the face of adversity. I saw the Statue of Liberty from the taxi to the airport and remarked to my co-worker that my trip to New York was complete.