73 Floors to Freedom: A 9/11 Survivor’s Journey from Chaos to Clarity

73 Floors To Freedom

(Last Update – Sept 3rd – 2019)

***My family, friends and colleagues have been steering me towards updating and sharing more of my September 11 th story to the public than I had previously disclosed. I’ve recently found the courage to share a little more. Below is an updated version from my initial story. ***

20 years ago today, on a mundane Tuesday morning, I was granted a second chance in life. Over the years, family, friends and therapists convinced me to write my recollection of the events that unfolded on this tragic day, back in 2001. But anyone who knows me well, knows that it’s always been with a certain amount of awkwardness that I talk about that day and what I went through, experienced and witnessed. While I will certainly not disclose my whole story, minute by minute (it’s over 30 pages long) I do feel compelled, especially after experiencing a rough year, undergoing Open Heart Surgery, to disclose some reflections for the first time publicly. Below are some thoughts and excerpts that still arewith me 20 years later and please feel free to share my story with the world.

Nearly 3,000 innocent people had perished, including 343 FDNY and 60 NYPD. It wasn’t based on Race, Religion, Nationality, nor gender; ALL lives mattered. I truly believe that my thought process in life has changed forever and that people who experienced and witnessed life and death situations might understand the same feelings. May they all rest in peace. Never Forget!

Ever since I was a little kid, I had always wanted to work in the World Trade Center which opened in 1970, the year I was born. After months of trying, I finally made it into Morgan Stanley and worked on the 73rd floor of WTC Tower 2. At that time, I also lived 3 blocks away on the corner of Fulton & Gold Street and at 8:45 that morning, we all know what happened.

Moving forward from the outside; as the buildings crumbled into a heap and towering plume of ash and pulverized concrete throughout lower Manhattan, we all ran for our lives. It was an absolute miracle that I walked away without a scratch. Why Me? Why was my life spared? I do believe there was divine intervention about where I was, what to do, where to go and my actions. Everything magically happened to work out perfectly for me; unfortunately, not for many others. Maybe it was my deceasedgrandmother protecting me from above? However, I still suffer some survivor’s guilt.

If you have never seen sheer and utter panic, it is an amazing, yet primal killer instinct of nature. When all reason, judgement and common sense are absent, the mind goes primordial and only knows self-survival. The sudden sensation of fear, which is so strong, dominates and prevents reasoning or logical thinking. Our minds replace it with overwhelming feelings of anxiety, agitation and an animalistic “fight or flight” reaction. We, as species, will do anything to survive when we are in a state of panic.

One of the most enduring memories was seeing human beings being forced to make an unconscionable decision. When I was across the street, I looked back and up and saw massive holes in the buildings with people waving towels indication they’re stranded, stuck and trapped. What we witnessed that day was immediately seared into (my) our collective consciousness. Nearly 200 people tumbled over 1,000 feet after jumping from the jet-fueled inferno to their deaths that day, rather than burn in the fire or suffocate from the smoke in their respective office’s. Unfortunately, those are images that will be etched in my mind forever.

The steel was peeling off the building like a banana, with debris flying everywhere. You could feel the energy percussion through your veins. If you have ever seen an explosion in real time, like in the movies, you will see the fire explosion, but if you look closely, you will also see a ring of high energy being released from the explosion, faster than the fire, at speeds exceeding the speed of sound; called a “Shock Wave”. That was a surreal, slow-motion quality. It felt like everything was taking longer to happen. – Time was different, space was dissimilar. When something is outside your normal realm, you don’t know how to respond, as well as not having a point of reference.

People from New York City have a certain stereotype that is associated with us from others around the country and the world. They say we are loud, brash, obnoxious, un-polite, no manners, etc. However, on this day, everyone was in disbelief, not really talking too much and you could feel the tension in the air. It was so damn heavy and thick; you could have cut it with a knife. But, also on this day as well as the following days and weeks, everyone was helping each other. It was an incredible sense of unity and solidarity. Complete strangers were assisting one another, as well as turned to each other for comfort.

The following day, my friend Scott and I were discussing what we are going to do to help and volunteer our time, whatever was needed, we had to do something! So, we walked over to the Armory, where the Military had set up camp, but they turned us away for any kind of work. However, a US soldier instructed us that if wanted to volunteer, we should head over to the Javit’s Center, which we immediately did. Unfortunately, they turned us away as well. They had so many volunteers, much more than they needed; and at that exact moment, we were so proud to be real born and bred New Yorkers.

It hadn’t registered yet that many of my friends and co-workers had obviously perished, until I received a phone call from my ex-girlfriend a few hours later after the attack. As soon as I picked up, my first words were “I’m Alive! Can you please call my Mom or my little sister for me?”, which in retrospect, I realized that was probably the worst thing I could have said to her. She was hysterically crying and asked if I saw her brother (who worked for Cantor Fitzgerald) and I replied with no, sorry, but I am sure he will turn up with very spotty cell phone service. Right at that point, that exact moment, even before pressing the “End Call” button, I realized that my life and the world that we lived in was changed forever, because the reality had finally hit me. He never made it out of the building alive and may he rest in peace now.

For all the survivors who witnessed and/or escaped the tragic event, it is indescribable to explain the emotions. We move on despite bearing and witnessing to the worst of humanity while narrowly escaping death. No one understands why one person survives while another does not. But for those who did survive, there is a duty to honor, remember, and serve as a witness for all those who didn’t survive. It is our sacred duty as survivors to be the voice for those who are no longer with us.

I felt a desperate need to get in touch with my parents or my little sister Andrea and inform them that I am was alive and not present in the building at the time of the collapse. I cannot imagine what my family and friends were thinking at this point. For nearly 4 hours, my family and friends never entertained for a minute that I could possibly still be alive. All had obviously assumed I had perished in the collapse.

Cell phones were not working and we all kept receiving that horrible busy signal after busy signal or not even permitting the call to go through. I must have hit redial over a hundred times. When I finally got to a phone that worked to call my mother (after hours of numerous attempts) I FINALLY got a connection. My mother answered, with desperation in her voice – but all I could muster up the strength to say and stammer out was “MOM…..” – then, after a short pause which felt like many minutes later – I finally broke down crying – “Mom – I’m Alive – I’m Alive! – I Love You – I Love You!”

The few seconds of silence, which felt like minute’s, I believe, was my mother either dropping the phone or I believe that my mother had fainted and hit the floor after hearing my voice. When she retrieved it, we both were crying like 2 year old children. The call was quick, however at least she knew that her first born escaped death, then the call was swiftly disconnected. It was a very short but difficult conversation with every single emotion wrapped up within one quick call and moment. Relief, Happiness, Sadness, Worry, Pity, etc. After the call ended, I cried like I’ve never cried before in my life.

I still have my “old school” home answering machine with all the messages from my family and friends from that day upstairs in storage. However, I have not listened to those messages since the first time I heard them in 2001. Since that day, I simply do not have the courage to listen to them again, which is now 20 years ago. I simple can’t. There were also numerous email messages begging me to respond with “I’m alive” or even a simple “I’m OK”, but they never went through either.

The next phone call was to my dad, who was on the golf course at Bethpage State Park. When I finally was able to contact him, the very first thing he said to me was – “I thought you were dead”. Can you believe it? If you knew my dad, you probably can. I was so fortunate to tell him how much I loved him, and he bluntly stated, “Not being your time yet kid – and you are lucky to be alive and have some guardian angels that were watching over me that morning.” Looking back years later, I obviously understand why, there was nothing he could do. By the way, this is before Text Messaging, Smart phones or any other type of Social media existed. Telephone was our only remote means of contact.

In the following days and weeks, Funeral and Memorial services pursued. I must have attended over 25 of them. They all would have made anyone sad even if you didn’t know the person. But for me, it was much more loaded and personal. Here was a perfect reflection of what “could’ve been” to my friends that were lost; young, quite a few with newborn babies, some even pregnant. There are things I never thought I’d know, or learn about, however, now I know. If we learn nothing else from this tragedy, we learned that life is short and there’s no time to hate.

Over the next few days and weeks, I kept telling myself and everyone who asked, that I was fine and was strong enough to handle it. I really thought I was, which in hindsight, clearly, I was not. I was crying multiple times every day for months, with lingering effects. It became very apparent that I was suffering from “Survivors Guilt”.

I also became increasingly paranoid about everything including having multiple panic attacks that lastly through the years. I do give credit to Morgan Stanley, my employer at the time, who made it mandatory for the brokers / employees to see the firms’ hired therapists, and as well as giving credit to my own therapists throughout the years.

It’s hard to believe that 20 years have passed since that fateful day that changed all our lives in ways we never could have imagined. No matter how much time goes by, we’ll Never Forget where we were, and what we were doing on the morning of September 11th, 2001.

In everyone’s respective lives, every single moment contains so many meanings and memories if we can only take the time to appreciate them, absorb them as well as internalize them. We all need to respond and give back to either your community, religion or charities that individually mean something to you in this crazy world.

Being in the moment and going through everything firsthand, made me appreciate, respect and just genuinely be happy and grateful for everything that I have as well as all the love that I’m blessed with in my life. I understood it in a completely different way, and that is something that will never leave me again.

My father was a NYPD Captain for over 30 years, who risked his life daily in protecting and serving our wonderful city. He was the Commanding Officer (CO) of SNAG (Strategic Narcotics & Guns) under the OCCB (Organized Crime Control Bureau). Not just because of my Dads high rank / position, nor how I was raised, there is not ONE single day that goes by when I walk past a NYC Police Officer without wanting to greet them verbally with a “Hello” or with a simple nod of my head; implying “Thank You.” Ask anyone who knows me well – I still do it to this day; Good Afternoon Officer(s).

My Survivors Guilt – one verse poem – This is my shame and burden – To live when others have died – Preserved by fate and circumstance – From terror from the sky.

I was granted a second chance in life, and I have decided on that day that I will “Never Give Up” the fight to live a happy, healthy and balanced life. “Never A Bad Day”. Cherish what you have, not what you don’t have.

That’s why we all need to stop and take a moment today to remember those who lost their lives in the horrific attacks, and the loved ones they left behind who are still grieving every single day.

Light a candle tonight, say a prayer in remembrance of those lost during 9-11. Always in our hearts and
never forgotten.

Don’t ever take anything for granted. You never know what can happen in life, so remember to tell all your loved one’s EVERY DAY what they mean to you and how much you love and care for them. Including your pets! – Treasure Today, As Tomorrow Is Never Promised.

I really hope this abbreviated version of my story helps to put a human touch on the tragic events that occurred on this awful day 20 years ago. Maybe I will get the courage to publish my entire story one day.

Lastly, may G-D bless the FDNY, NYPD, PA NY/NJ, EMT and to all the First Responders who deliberately put themselves in harm’s way, every day, to assist others. G-D bless all the men and woman in our Armed Forces who are protecting and keeping us safe every day. And Lastly – G-D Bless America.

Never Forget – Never, Never, Never Forget.!!! #neverforget

Thank you for taking the time to read my story, love to all…

~ Gregg