Sean Williams WTC Report

Sean Williams' 9/14/2001 (Second Email)

received 9/14/2001

My friend Jonathan stayed over last night so we could both get up early and see what we could do. There are three main places where you can volunteer, several dozen where you can donate. After yesterday, I realized that donations will only help so much, they need actual man-hours to make any kind of a difference. And I got man-hours to spare.

After finding out that the Javitz center was only taking skilled laborers, and after being turned away at the Salvation Army ('come back Monday', we were told), we decided to go to the second worse place in New York right now, besides the ruin of the WTC. The armory.

They have set up the armory at 26th and Lex to be the command post for anyone looking for people who are lost. Even though it has been four days since the collapse, even though survivors are almost all found in the first 24 hours and there have been none, they still refer to people as 'lost'. The memorial extends for a few blocks in every direction around the armory; photocopied pictures of floating heads of smiling faces of guys on vacation, desperate pleas and home phone numbers in case anyone knows anything about the whereabouts of their family and friends. I mean, I think I know the whereabouts.

I don't want to get too drama queen-y about this. Everyone always says that I go on these rants and that I take everything too seriously. Like, even though Michelle probably has all the talent, I am the real actor because I'm the one who gets all dramatic, so I want to make sure I don't sort of bury this experience in some horrible layer of sentimentality.

So let me say this. I mean, I know you have to keep hope alive... but the building didn't so much collapse as turn to ash. The WTC is designed to withstand being on fire for two hours but the heat of this particular fire just melted straight through the center until nothing was holding it up anymore in about 45 minutes. There is far less debris than they are showing on TV because almost all of it vaporized. Are you telling me that someone survived that? And lived for four days under countless tons of ash and rubble without air or water until now? These posters were all pathetic in the least pejorative term. Like actual pathos.

We were turned away at the armory, but we went around the back and asked if they needed help. 'God yes', was the answer, which made me wonder why the fuck they were turning people away. They took us inside.

In comparison to Michelle's description of ground zero, this place was run really smoothly. There was a compulsive need to make this as comfortable as possible. We spent the day almost exclusively making people feel okay, which, now that I think about it, was probably the best use we could be. We brought people candy. I was bringing candy to cops and soldiers. It only just now occurs to me that these were the guys who wanted to kick my ass in high school. Actually everyone wanted to kick my ass in high school. In any case, we just tried to make people feel better.

But it is almost impossible. I would walk around with a little tray of Powerbars and water and snacks and all of the tables had small huddled families that looked like they hadn't slept in four days. A lot of people just wanted to talk, and that's what they ended up doing. I would end up sitting there while someone talked about what they had tried to do. 'You should know that everyone here supports you', I would say. 'My sister in law said they closed the malls in Iowa' I told a woman who said she was from Nebraska. She got an ironic kick out of that. 'There is no reason that she couldn't still be alive' I would say when a guy talked about how his mom had run a marathon last year.

We also diverted a lot of the food to the homeless shelters. I actually just got a call from Michelle as I am writing this, and she thinks she could feed all of Manhattan with the food they have at the Salvation Army. A woman I was working with today said 'it is such a shame it took this to bring us all together. If we did this all the time, we could save the world.' A week ago I would have rolled my eyes. What does 'save the world' even mean? Now, I can't help but to grab on to stuff like that. In a sea of families, all of them missing limbs of their family trees.

Jesus. I am so incredibly grateful that you are all okay. I am so grateful that I have such an amazing family. I can't tell you how much I love all of you. My friend Max is Thomas Von Essen's son, and they lost most of their family friends. The guys that Max grew up with, the equivalent to us of the Medleys or the Wicks, are all dead now. I got an email from Max that said 'pray for my family'.

So we sorted socks and sweatshirts. It turned to rain today and was so cold we actually had to wear jackets. Jordana said that it was as if the weather was ashamed of itself for still being summer. (She said that just before saying, 'I should get a tee shirt with a cat on it and a thought bubble above its head saying "what, me anthropomorphize?"') But all the firemen and policemen and soldiers needed to keep coming in out of the rain and change their socks, or put sweatshirts on under their uniforms.

Then we sorted food and passed it around and talked to people. There were clergy everywhere. I kept looking for LDS guys because they are sorta my favorite clergy, but people were just marked with handwritten notes pinned to their shirts that said 'chaplain'. And most of them were standing around eating sandwiches and stuff. I guess I have one of those faces that makes people want to talk to you.

The rescuers haven't found a single civilian. This is a completely bi-valent situation. You either lived or you died. The people who have been hurt were in the surrounding area or are hurt trying to clear the rubble. But there will be no more survivors. And yet every single table is full. We keep hearing stories, and they are all lies. Five of the original firemen were rescued. No. Two were, and they fell in a hole a few hours earlier. A woman is on a cell phone with her husband who says there are ten men with him in a pocket in the basement. No. She is arrested. They hear something and everyone stops working and listens. a minute passes and they realize they just heard the sound of other people working.

We all know this. But we don't say anything. 'There are nine sub-basements in that building, with vending machines. I heard it on TV. He/She/They could be just fine.' One woman says she doesn't like her son eating junk food. 'I am sure he is stuffing down Zagnuts and drinking Pepsi right now.' She laughs. Christ, why aren't these people talking to the Chaplains?

I spend most of my time there with this guy named Jordan. He is from Trinnidad and he lived right under the WTC with his 'uncle' which y'all should know in hip-hop language means he isn't related, this is just a guy he respects. He lost everything but managed to escape with some clothes which he brought to his girlfriend's house. 'She's a basket case, a white girl. She is the sweetest thing.' I tell him about Jordana, who is also the sweetest thing, a white girl and a basket case. He tells me, laughing, 'All I had was one bag of clothes, and she went through and donated all but one pair of my socks and one of my T-shirts!' We have the same spastic over-reacting girlfriends and he is almost exactly the same age as me.

He can't stand the thought of his uncle being gone, and he has nowhere to go, so he has been volunteering for three days straight. He has slept about two hours since Tuesday. 'This is from the heart, man. Plus it keeps my mind of my uncle.' And somehow, it is so much better talking to him than hearing the hollow platitudes of politicians.

'I'm strong. I'm healthy. I'm smart. And, y'know, I am in this country. I aint a citizen yet, but I will be soon. And it don't matter. I always been an American. Even when I was in Trinidad. And that's where it is, in my heart. You know, we do some fucked up shit to the world. We do some fucked up shit. But we can change that from inside. Bombing us only gonna make us stronger.'

He asks me what I do. I tell him.

'See? You don't graduate from college, but you got a good idea. That's what you need. And you just work at it and make a little money and work every day. That's what I do. I work every day. I work every day. Last few days, Iaint gettin' paid. But the work is just as important. Just working is good.'

We are leaning back against the wall when a voice comes over the loudspeaker.

'Mister Charles Smith, husband of Elizabeth Smith, father of James and Erin Smith, will you please come to the podium. Charles Smith, husband of Elizabeth Smith, father of James and Erin Smith, will you please come to the podium.

Your family has been located.'

The place erupted. I looked over at Jordan. 'You see, man. You been cynical all day.' I didn't cry until I got home about four hours later and was alone in the bathroom. I didn't even think about it then. You don't ever actually cry at the same times in your life that people cry in movies. You always cry long after, when you realize how lucky, or unlucky you are to not be where you were.

Since my knees have yet to be operated on, my legs were really starting to give out. We came home and met up with Jordana, grabbed dinner, and were just on our way out. But my legs won't hold up. I can't even walk.

And for a moment I am ready to scream in shame. I can't use a blowtorch or a welder. I can't operate a land mover. I can't speak any other language. I am not an EMT or a trained doctor. And, it occurs to me, I can't even carry shit and walk for any length of time. I am *never* going to allow myself to be in this position again. As soon as I get my knees operated on, I am going to at least get EMT training, or volunteer for the fire department. Something.

In any case. I am holding up. And I am going back tomorrow.

Sean