Remembering September 11th
By Joe Costa
September 11 is a day forever etched in memory—a day that reshaped the world, our city, and our lives. For me, it was not only an event I witnessed on television, but a reality I lived through while in my office in midtown Manhattan. I was on the east side, working on what began as an ordinary morning, when suddenly the unimaginable began to unfold.
I still remember hearing the first news report come across my office TV: a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Like many, I thought it must have been a tragic accident. Moments later, as the second plane struck the South Tower, any thought of accident disappeared. The magnitude of what was happening became clear—we were under attack.
Immediately, I tried reaching friends and family, desperate to know they were safe. But cell service was non-existent, lines were jammed, and that helpless silence of being unable to connect was terrifying. I left my office and stepped outside into streets overflowing with thousands of people—everyone searching for answers, trying to find a way to reach loved ones, or simply looking for direction in a city that suddenly felt trapped.
With bridges and tunnels closed, Manhattan was locked down. The island that was home felt less like a city and more like a prison, surrounded by fear and uncertainty. People were glued to radios, TVs in storefront windows, and each other’s words, piecing together fragments of information as smoke filled the skyline to the south.
Amid the chaos, something remarkable happened. Strangers began talking, connecting, and comforting each other. I walked into a small coffee shop near my office where people who had never met sat together, sharing updates, emotions, and prayers. There was no divide—just New Yorkers standing together.
Later, I stepped out onto 2nd Avenue and 54th Street, just a block from my office on 54th and 3rd. What I saw then is a memory that remains vivid: fire trucks, one after another, stretching as far as the eye could see, all racing south toward the devastation. They weren’t just from Manhattan. They came from every corner of New York—upstate, Long Island, Westchester—an army of first responders driving into hell without hesitation. That sight was a symbol of hope, courage, and unity on a day defined by loss.
Manhattan has always been a special place to me—its energy, its people, its resilience. But on that day, I witnessed a different side of the city. Amid tragedy, I saw strength. Amid destruction, I saw unity. And amid fear, I saw love for one another.
The attacks on September 11 took nearly 3,000 innocent lives and forever scarred countless families. But they also revealed the very best of humanity—the bravery of first responders, the kindness of strangers, the resilience of a city that refused to break.
More than two decades later, the memories remain as sharp as ever. I will never forget the heartbreak, the confusion, the silence of unanswered phone calls, nor the sea of people searching desperately for loved ones. But I will also never forget the fire trucks heading south, the strangers in a coffee shop, the feeling that—despite everything—we were not alone.
September 11 is not just history; it is a reminder. A reminder of fragility, of courage, of unity. A reminder to never take for granted the lives we love, the freedoms we share, and the resilience of the human spirit. Today, as we honor the victims, the survivors, and the heroes, we hold true to a promise: we will never forget.
Joe Costa-Park Place Collective
