Final Conversation Between Michael Cantatore & Gregory Reda On September 11, 2001

I wanted to share the final conversation one of my fellow WTCSN members had with his brother on September 11, 2001. This is from his facebook post on September 11, 2013. In the timeline of events, this was transpiring while I was trying to escape the same tower that Greg was in. During this exchange, I am in the stairwell and Greg is stuck at the top of the North Tower (World Trade Center) on the 95th floor.

Copied from Michael Cantatore's Facebook Page:

Please remember the events of September 11, 2001. Michael Cantatore feeling depressed at World Trade Center Site September 11, 2001 · New York, NY What does 9/11 mean to me? Here's part of it, my version of the 9/11 timeline. My last conversation with my best friend and brother Gregory Reda, via our work Blackberry pagers. Please read with discretion.

8:51 GREG: Where are you?
8:52 ME: I'm home. Where are you? Call me asap.
8:55 GREG: Can't call. Big prob at wtc. Stuck on 95 with 6 others. Stuck in my corner. Call wtc security pls. Let them know. 8:55 ME: Hang in there. Will call.
9:01 GREG: Still ok. Fire on floor. Can't get off.
9:01 ME: Talk to me. Where are you? Are you ok?The other building has jest been hit.
9:09 ME: Where are you?
9:09 ME: Who is with you?
9:10 GREG: Lourdes cube. Approximately 12 other people. Safe but fire in core but safe.
9:10 ME: I assume all power is out??
9:12 GREG: Boris alva ken jack yuen carlos ken astrid janet Mike waye alex and ?
9:12 GREG: Yes
9:13 ME: Are you getting cell service?
9:15 GREG: No cell
9:15 ME: Has anyone tried the stairs? Is smoke getting in? They have(nt) confirmed it but this has got to be terrorists attacking the buildings with planes.
9:19 GREG: Fire in core.
9:22 ME: IS the floor smokey? Can u gather fire extinguishers?
9:25 GREG: Very smokey. Broke windows. Can't get to core. Both hallways blocked. Stuck in corner. Call Nicole. Tell her am ok for now. Love her. Pray.
9:30 ME: Did it hit your floor or under you?
9:32 GREG: ?
9:32 ME: A plane slammed into our building then a second slammed into wtc2 18 minutes later.
9:45 ME: What's going on? 9:52 ME: Where are you? Page me ASAP 9:55 GREG: Getting worse. Smoke and fire. Get someone pls. 9:55 ME: Bud, there is no way anyone is getting up there. Any time soon. Are you ok? We jus saw 2 go down.
10:03 GREG: Fie here Love yous
10:03 ME: We love you too. Keep talking to me! Tell me what you want nicole to know. Consider making a run for it if you can. *This message was marked as delivered. My next message, sent about two minutes later came back as not delivered.

Approaching the 12th Anniversary of September 11, 2001

As we approach another anniversary of the 9/11/01 attacks, I reflect upon the changes in the last 12 years.  There have been many both personally, professionally, globally and within our society.  My daughter turned 16 this year, I turned 40, and my husband will turn 50 - all milestone birthdays.  I'm sure the next few days will bring much more than just reflection.  Brian is having surgery tomorrow (wasn't a date we'd particularly have requested but have to go with it) so that will be able to keep me preoccupied.

Last year presented me with many physical obstacles and I was very thankful to start 2013 and put 2012 behind me.  2013 has been much better health wise!

At this time of year there are many things being done in an effort to get others to Remember September 11th, 2001 and for some of us - there is no way in the world we could possibly forget it.  There isn't a day that goes by that I don't remember it.  While I couldn't possibly articulate the horrors from that day (and I try to not focus on them), I am able to do a better job of articulating the positive things and the beauty that have arisen out of the devastation.  

Last month, I had the opportunity to meet Mr. Michael Hingson in person.  He was another survivor from the north tower (a complete stranger) that inspired me to keep going that day.  When the Kansas City Star interviewed me after I finally made it back to Kanas City that week, I recalled the blind man (http://www.survivorsnet.org/programs/writing/story2.html) and his guide dog from the stairwell.  Roselle has since passed on but I met Michael's new guide dog, Africa and got to discuss our experiences in person, something I've never been able to do with another survivor from the same tower over the last 12 years.  It was a beautiful, emotionally tangible time.

I was once interviewed by one of my young relatives and asked to summarize my experience that day into a single sentence.  What a tough request.  However, my response was, "I got to experience the beauty and destruction of humanity, while witnessing history, all in the same day."

I'm sure that I will be posting more on Facebook or blogging over the next few days...

https://www.facebook.com/pages/91101-Survivor-Artist-Shannon-McMahon-Beavers-Loy

https://www.facebook.com/shannon.loy

The 11th Anniversary

I was just too emotionally drained yesterday to post anything.  Each anniversary is different but every year I usually wish we could just skip September 10-12.  Those 3 days are just exhausting emotionally. It seems that every year brings something a little different and I think because the events of September 11, 2001 were on such a grand scale it always rocks me to my very core.  I feel pain to the depths of my soul that is almost indescribable.

While I know I shouldn't be, I'm amazed at the diverse responses you get from people.  One will say, "you should be over it by now," while another one wants to tell you exactly what they were doing when they heard about September 11.  Usually I am very gracious and patient but occasionally (with my inside voice) I snap and think, "if you only knew."  I guess it is because I'm only human but anyone that knows me well knows that I don't like to show my moments of weakness.  It is hard enough to have them but then to have them publicly takes it to a whole different level.

I have discovered (since I'm not fond of surprises) I can usually brace myself and be somewhat prepared for what lies ahead of me.  It is the 10 pm call from a news reporter on Mother's Day asking your reaction to the capture and death of Osama Bin Laden that throws me off.  With the anniversaries, I know they are coming, I know there is no avoiding it so I've learned how to get through them.  However, those other 'little surprises' really throw me a curve ball.  I think in some way those surprises are reminiscent of that day.  Every step and every turn held a new surprise, one that was literally a matter of life and death.  In some ways it was like being plucked up and dropped into the set of some crazy movie or dream, only with no script or rehearsal - absolutely surreal.

Yesterday, my husband left for a doctor appointment before I did.  We kissed each other good bye and he said, "I'm really glad you didn't sit down" as he walked out the door.  Last night I told him that I was glad I didn't sit down as well but I had desperately wanted to.  I'm glad I didn't strike Rodin's "The Thinker" pose until much later in the morning because I wouldn't be typing this if I'd succumbed to the strong desire to stop and think.

I look back at what a naive young woman I was.  For me, the thought of a terrorist was something from Back To The Future (one of my favorite movies) and most certainly not anything I had to consider or think about.  I think it is much of the naivety that helped keep me safe that day.  If I'd known that I would spend an hour standing in line to die, unable to breath, I would probably not have headed into the stairwell.  If I'd known people were jumping to their death and I would have to dodge the falling bodies while walking through blood and human remains, I wouldn't have gone into the courtyard.  Of course, instead I'd been in the building when it collapsed.  If I'd known there was even a remote chance that either of the buildings would collapse, I wouldn't have lingered to take a photo.  If I'd known the chards of glass be falling like the blades of a guillotine, I wouldn't have gone through the glass doors into the mall.  If I'd known the port authority officer (or whoever she was) at the door into the courtyard was yelling at me for my own safety, I wouldn't have been angry with her.  What I do know is that if I had known most of those things, I am certain I would have made other deadly choices.

I am comforted to know that on some physiological level, I can rely on myself to make good decisions when in a moment of crisis.  It seemed like every time I exited one situation I found myself in another unbelievable one.  As I came out of the stairwell into the lobby, it looked like a bomb had exploded and I had to wade through water to exit.  I saw what I thought was someone burning in the elevator and thought about how I wish I could help them but was certain that if something could have been done the firefighters would have already taken care of it.

I'm glad I didn't turn right and head to my hotel even though I'd spent an hour thinking about going to my room as soon as I got out of the building.  I'm glad that while I had no idea where I was or where I was going they shooed me away from the building (regardless of how frustrated it made me at the time).  I'm glad that when I turned around after snapping a photo and saw the huge chunks of steel pummeling toward me that my brain immediately said, "get down and the street isn't good enough."  I'm glad that there was a subway entrance just a few feet in front of me.  I'm glad that I lingered in the subway long enough for my tower to collapse, unbeknownst to me.  I'm glad the vendor in the subway wouldn't let me use his phone to call home and the pay phone wouldn't work.  I'm glad that God shielded me from the knowledge of what was really happening until I was in a place where I could process it (at the shelter).  Most of all, I'm glad that my cell phone didn't work that day because I was ready and prepared to die except that I hadn't said goodbye to my daughter and family.  In retrospect, I'm glad that I was the young 28 year old naive woman - it helped save my life.

I'm glad that one of my closest childhood friends opened his home to me and provided me with some sense of normalcy and security on the evening of September 11, 2001.  Little did I know that while I was naive in my thinking, he was wise in his.  When he told me goodbye at the train station 11 years ago today, he quoted Andy Warhol and said maybe this was my 15 minutes of fame.  I was so overwhelmed and in shock that I hadn't a clue what he meant at the time.  Both of us were artists, close friends and had shared lots of high school memories together.  I didn't understand how such a horrific experience could possibly be something I would gain fame from.  I didn't really want fame in the first place but if I had to have fame I wanted it to be from my artwork.  Looking back, I understand what he meant but it has taken 11 years to come to terms with it.  I guess Andy Warhol didn't say that your 15 minutes of fame would be for something you wanted it to be for - that wasn't part of the deal.

How did someone that hates politics because of the divisive nature it brings, someone that likes cultural diversity and religious freedom, someone that aches from the destruction of humanity and evil end up in the middle of this mess?  I will never know the answers to all of my whys and what ifs but I know that God knows.  I'm sure I'll spend many more years pondering them but I can take solace in the fact that it really doesn't matter because God knows and in the end, that is really what matters.  I hope that when I stand before him on judgement day he tells me, "I know I didn't give you a road map but job well done."

I stumbled across an account written by a fellow survivor from 9/11/01 and thought I'd share it.

55 Flights of Stairs
By Bill Hay

On September 11, 2001 at approximately 8:48 am/et, an evil atrocity against the United States was committed. The responses to these attacks have varied from anger, rage, fear, to uncertainty. Others have responded with acts of compassion and bravery, some sacrificing their own lives to save others. President Bush told the Nation: "We’re at war".

As some of you might know, I witnessed this attack and also was a party to this terrible event. While a U.S. Marine, I had been shot at in three wars and hit in two—at least in those instances I knew who the enemy was. This atrocity was unlike anything I have seen in my 73 years, and God willing I will never have to experience anything like it again. I would like to take this opportunity and means to relate my experiences as they unfolded on 9.11.2001, the day that changed a Nation.

The World Trade Institute (WTI) of Pace University invited me to be a guest lecturer on Mexican Logistics. At 8:30 am/et on September 11, I was standing behind a podium at their facility on the fifty-fifth floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center (WTC) and began presenting an eight-hour seminar. We had just completed self-introductions when suddenly we heard an explosion that was followed by the rocking of the tower. The explosion did not register with me, but the rocking did - first thing that went through my mind was an earthquake. I soon realized that this was not the case when I looked out a window and saw flames and debris falling from the floors above.

My next words were, "Pick up your personal effects and lets get the h*ll out of here!" I did not follow my own instructions. I left my laptop, course outline, and briefcase containing everything I owned of value. Still, I got out with my life, what else could I ask for? Everything else is replaceable.  The class started down the fifty-five flights of stairs along with hundreds of other people. 

There was no panic; people were taking their time and helping those who needed it along the way. At about the thirty-second floor, we met firemen that were on their way up. They were laden with hoses, axes, crowbars, etc. These brave firemen were the first ones to tell us that a plane had hit the building. Somewhere along the way down someone must have opened a water vending machine, because all of a sudden small bottles of water were being passed up and down the stairs. People were taking a sip and then passing it on to the next person. Up until the twentieth floor, the stairwell was full of smoke and some water.

We did not hear the second explosion when the other plane hit the South Tower. It took about thirty minutes to exit the North Tower and get onto the street. Upon exiting this building, we were immediately ushered over to Broadway. It was not until two days later that I found out and I thank the Lord that all my class members and the WTI staff were safe and accounted for.

Once out of the building, I thought I was now out of danger. I was wrong—I then heard another explosion. Looking over my shoulder I saw both towers in flames and a giant ash and debris cloud coming down Broadway at hurricane speeds. I turned down at what I believe to Ann Street in hopes of avoiding the raging cloud. A few minutes later, I was engulfed with ash and debris from the top of my gray hair to the bottom of my cowboy boots. Thank God I wear glasses; they are the only things that saved my eyes. The dust was so thick; I could not see my hand in front of my face. Everything and everybody was coated with a layer of soot.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cloud finally dissipated enough that I could see three men coming towards me. I was informed by one of them that I could not exit that way and would have to go back to Broadway. It was in this street that I met Ellen. I took her in hand and we headed back towards Broadway. Ellen too was in the North Tower and had walked down from the seventy-second floor. When we reached the corner Ann Street and Broadway, a man I assume was the manager of the Starbucks was all but dragging pedestrians off the street and into his coffee shop. He and his associate were providing tap and bottle water, paper towels to clean our faces, plus anything else we may have needed without cost. I will always remember the kindness and generosity of these Starbucks employees.

A short time later, a city bus pulled up in front of the Starbucks. Wanting to see the sun and sky again, Ellen and I got on the crowded bus without any idea as to the destination. The first stop the bus made was at the edge of Chinatown. Not knowing my way around the city, I did not want to get too far from what is now known as "ground zero" so we got off the bus here. It was not more than two minutes later, when a young lady named Pam Lundquist came up to us, saw our appearance and offered the hospitality of her apartment. Over three hours had passed and this was the first opportunity that I had to call and let my wife Mary and my office staff know that I was fine and that I would give them all the details later.

For the next four hours we did little but watch the demise of the World Trade Center on television. Ellen and I were fed and loaned some clothing. Late in the afternoon, Pam and Keith, one of her roommates, escorted us back down to "ground zero" along the river waterfront. By this time the ferryboats were running. We took Ellen to the pier so she could get home to Bayonne, NJ. Pam and Keith then walked me back to my hotel on Gold Street, the Holiday Inn Wall Street. After that, they then had a good five-mile walk back home. Just for the record, Pam Lundquist is my guardian angel. To this day I do not know what I would have done if it had not been for her generosity and kindness.

The scene of lower Manhattan walking up from the river is almost indescribable. The streets were covered with one to four inches of ash and debris. Not a single taxi, bus or automobile was moving on any of the streets. The only things on the roads were emergency vehicles. Your legs were the only means of transportation, and the number of pedestrians could be counted on two hands. Nothing was open. Nothing was moving. This part of the city was dead.

Less than an hour after I got back to my hotel, the power went off. The gas and water were the next to go. Dinner that night was half of a tuna sandwich and a beer that I shared with another hotel guest. On Wednesday morning, the hotel conditions had not improved other than somehow the kitchen staff managed to serve coffee, danish and orange juice. For $9.95, you could have cold cuts, hard rolls, and cold cereal. I passed.

I checked out of the hotel and went looking for better accommodations with two other guests. We walked up to Canal Street, a distance of about three miles. From there, we took a subway up to "Time Square" (Forty-seventh and Broadway) and checked into the Doubletree Hotel.  I spent the better part of the next two days on the phone trying to get a flight back to San Diego. As everyone knows, all the flights were cancelled and the airports were shut down and nothing was moving or flying into or out of New York. I couldn’t even get a phone call through to any living person at the airlines and only got recorded messages telling me what I already knew: "All flights have been cancelled. All airplanes are grounded until further notice."

Around 6:30 am on Friday the 14th, my luck changed for the better. I finally got through to Ms. Irene Baker, an America West agent in Phoenix, AZ and told her my sad tale of woe. Again I received the same response as before - no aircraft are flying in or out of the New York area. Then, I got a great idea: if got down to Philadelphia, could she get me home from there? The answer was yes, but you definitely could not consider it a direct flight. I would leave Philadelphia at 6:47 pm/et and travel by way of Columbus, OH and Las Vegas, NV. I would have to layover in Las Vegas that night and take a 9:10 am/pt to San Diego and home the next morning. After a few minutes of waiting, she was back on the line with confirmations and seat assignments. I was going home.

Ms. Baker called my wife Mary with my itinerary and instructions to call her at her home if I had any problems along the way. I took a quick shower, checked out of the hotel, walked ten blocks in the rain to the Greyhound Bus Depot, and left New York City at 11:30 am on the Philadelphia Express. When I arrived at the Philadelphia station, I crossed the street and took the subway out to the airport. I checked in with America West using only a credit card with my picture on it and a faxed photocopy of my passport the office had sent (the original lies beneath the WTC Tower 1 rubble, along with anything else I had with me on September 11). My bag was inspected by security, I got something to eat, got on board my flight, and began my trip home. Next stop Columbus, then on to Las Vegas. I checked into another Holiday Inn at 11:30 pm/pt that night.

Saturday at 6:30 am/pt, I joined hundreds of other passengers waiting in the America West check-in line. It began outside the Las Vegas International Airport on the street. After two hours I had just gotten inside the terminal building and my flight was scheduled to leave in forty minutes. There were still dozens of people ahead of me in line but I knew I had to do something if I wanted to get on this flight. I walked to the first class check-in agent, gave her my name, and asked her if she could help me. The agent told me not to worry and that they had been looking for me. She assured me that I would get on the flight even if they had to hold it a few minutes (they didn’t need too). Upon arrival in San Diego, I don’t know who was the happiest: Mary and my family or I.

My thoughts and prayers are with everyone affected by this horrible tragedy on September 11, 2001. Thankfully, events of terror like this are infrequent and definitely not "the norm". However, questions will still remain and be asked by many like: Where is God in all of this? How could He allow such evil to happen? Although we do not always understand God’s ways, we can still trust that He is in control of the world. We know that all that happens to us is working for our good if we love God and are fitting onto His plan (Romans 8:28).