I had sold my house in Chatham, MA, and was in the process of moving down to Florida. I had lost my wife earlier that year (cardinal4's mom) and saw no reason to stay in Kennedyville. The movers had packed everything on 9/10 and on the morning of 9/11, they (mostly Russians) were loading the boxes into the van. I was in the basement with the crew chief when Cardinal4 called me and said to get to the TV. I sat on a crate in front of the TV until the house was empty except for me and the TV. The crew chief said he had to get moving, as he was a Lieutenant in the RI NG and had been summoned to the armory. After they left, I stayed umbilically connected to my Walkman until I could get near a TV.
My cousin lives in Manhattan and was a big shot with Dean Witter, who had several floors in one of the towers. I was frantically trying to locate Kevin for almost 48 hours. I finally got his cell on 9/13. He had left DW a few weeks earlier and was working out of his Park Avenue apartment and was quite safe.
"Worst Day in Living Memory" fails adequately to sum up our feelings.