The Grand Central Disaster

By Marc-Yves Tumin

The Examiner offices are in the Lincoln Building. We're in Midtown Manhattan, on 42nd, between Madison and Vanderbilt. As events proved, we were on the threshold of disaster.

Wednesday, July 18th, began as just another day. It was hot. It was summer. It was the big city. You deal with it. I was working alone. I heard a sound like thunder, only it didn't stop. The rumbling grew louder and closer.

I looked at the clock. It was 5:55 P.M. The building started shaking; lights started flickering. Alarms started going off all over the place. I leaned across my desk. I pulled up a window and looked out. Other tenants were craning their necks, too. A commotion rose from the Big Deuce, 14 floors below.

There was yelling in the hallway. I pulled open the door. It was pure chaos. Panicked people were diving into the stairwells. Some were shouting, "The building next door blew up!" "It's coming down!" "Get out!" "Run!"

I grabbed my duffel bag and tore down the hallway. I leaped into the first fire stairs I saw. There were lots of middle-aged people trying to leave. Many were creeping at a snail's pace. Most were out of breath. I felt guilty about leaving them behind and slowed down.

We hiked downward in the dim light. People wondered aloud about their fate. I remember the sounds of different shoes. There were brogues. There were high heels. There were sandals. There were flip-flops. They were all running for their lives. Some people were saying, "The building next door collapsed." "Don't stop!"

"Hurry!" I thought this might be it, but I wasn't afraid. I just wanted to get home. I thought of Heaven, my friends and family. I tried to remember everyone I'd ever loved. I wondered who'd feed my moggies.

The lights kept flickering in the stairwell. I considered going back to search for the stranded. I thought of what my funeral would be like. The wave of people persuaded me to keep moving. I said the 23rd Psalm for anyone left behind.

In a few minutes, I found myself in the lobby. A security man told me the building next door had blown up. Only Honest Abe's statue was looking calm.

I could see it was a nightmare outside. Forty-second Street was an ocean of screams and sirens. It was a sea-fight in ancient Rome. A gritty brown acidic rain was drenching everything. It hurt your eyes just to look up. People were coughing and holding handkerchiefs to their mouths.

The Lexington end of 42nd was blotted out with dust. A tower of vapor rose hundred of feet above us. A huge roar muffled the sounds of frenzied people. Car horns were honking.

Drivers were making u-turns and going against traffic. Some people were walking in circles. Some were in shock. Some were crying. Most people near the Lincoln Building were running flat out. As they raced north up Vanderbilt, they kept looking back. They were gaping at the skyscrapers, expecting them to fall.

As I headed north, I surveyed the scene behind me. Crowds were pouring out of Grand Central. People's faces were desperate. Police and firemen clambered past them in the opposite direction. They were marching past the Terminal toward the unknown. I wondered if they'd live to see another day.

People were colliding with each other. I helped a young lady who'd sprawled on the asphalt. Her stuff was strewn in the middle of Vanderbilt. She was speechless and in shock. As soon as she got up, she started running again.

After a block or so, I headed east. I wanted to have a closer look at the disaster. People everywhere were trying to make phone calls. I rang my colleagues to see where they were. I called my family. I tried my friends at The Sun, downtown. No dice. It was tough getting through. I kept trying.

Finally, I reached a young woman in the newsroom.

On Third Avenue, I turned south. My shirt was soaked through to the skin. I was covered head to toe with thin brown mud. I remembered the terrorist attacks of September 11th. I recalled getting past the police cordons.

I relived making my way to Ground Zero. Battery Park was Pompeii. I was trudging up Lower Broadway. I slogged through a sea of ash. There were bonfires on the sidewalk. The second tower was collapsing. I was corralled in a dust devil of debris. I wondered then if I'd live to report it. I was thinking the same thoughts once more.

I don't think of myself as a brave person. Still, I remember feeling calm on September 11th. There wasn't time to worry about yourself. The scale of the tragedy was too great. There were too many people who needed help. Also, I had to see what happened firsthand.

That single impulse outweighed all else. It was the same on Wednesday. I wanted to see things for myself. I didn't want to read about them in the papers.

From time to time, I snapped photographs. Thank God, the Chanin Building at 42nd and Lex was intact. I worked my way around the tightening police cordon. Finally, I had a direct view of an enormous geyser. It was rising from the street at Lex and 41st.

The fire department was there and the crowds were calming. That's not to say that people weren't unnerved. As the minutes passed, you could feel the difference.

You could see they felt they were going to live. Some were chatting with each other. Others were calling home. Others taking pictures.

As on September 11th, I wanted to box the compass. I had to survey the disaster from all sides. The East Side was being transformed into a frozen zone.

Traffic on all the streets and avenues was gridlocked. Passengers in private cars, buses and taxicabs were imprisoned. I kept moving clockwise, south and west. It was also the best way home.

Across the avenue, a woman had kicked off her high heels. They stood there like little dogs outside a bank. I wondered if she'd return. And I wondered how many others were missing.

I headed north again. Near the corner of 42nd and Madison, I saw an ambulance. Somebody was wrapped up like a mummy in a stretcher.

At Times Square, the platforms were wall-to-wall people. The trains were packed beyond description. Happily, no one was pushing. Everyone was courteous. They knew they were fortunate to be alive. I let a few crowded trains pass. Finally, I was able to hop a local uptown.

Back in my neighborhood, I realized how disheveled I appeared. When I arrived home, I saw that my hands were shaking. I closed the door behind me and turned on the news. Then I got down on my knees and prayed.

As the evening wore on, I tried unwinding. Nothing worked. I tried chalking up the day as a fire drill. I simply couldn't. A greater reality kept intruding. I could hear its enormous approach. I could feel its giant shadow. I could sense its presence. It beat against the windows. It found its way down the stairwells. It scrambled through the streets. I knew the next time could be the real thing. And though I was exhausted, I didn't sleep all night.