I still carry you around: A moment-by-moment account of the week that changed New York City and me forever

By JE Thompson

In this compelling autobiography, the author shares her account of 9/11 and the days that followed. Before going to sleep each evening, she furiously documented the chaos and humanity that surrounded her and New York City. Not wanting to forget anything, she detailed the long days wandering the island, volunteering at the Armory, and circumnavigating Ground Zero. Then she stuffed the story away for 20 years, too raw to read it. In 2021, she finally unearthed the manuscript and shared her story. What follows is a personal documentary of a city in crisis after the September 11, 2001, attack on the World Trade Center.

Written by a born and bred New Yorker, "I still carry you around" is raw, powerful, and unforgettable. She breaks down her account of 9/11 and the days that followed by offering an in-depth exploration of life during one of America's most painful weeks.

Here's how she spent her week:

• 9/11: Making my way downtown
• 9/12: Gotham in limbo
• 9/13: Mobilization at the Armory
• 9/14: Armory, second shift
• 9/15: Armory, final day
• 9/16: Suburban refugees
• 9/17: Business, not as usual
• 9/18: Approaching Ground Zero

A true American tragedy and a moment like no other, the healing process continues. Within these pages, the author opens her heart to share a real and honest account of a time that we will never forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667800189

Book preview

Graphical user interface, text, application, email Description automatically generated

To gumbomojo (1959-2010)

You came back into my life on 9/11/2001

and left it on Black Friday 2010.

What we had in between was lagniappe.

I still carry you around

© 2021 JE Thompson. All rights reserved.

First Edition 2021

www.istillcarryyouaround.com

ISBN 978-1-66780-018-9

Huge thanks to Claire Sheridan, writer and editor extraordinaire, for your relentless encouragement and generous (multiple) read-throughs of my manuscript. And to Ann Marie Almariei, your stunning cover design brings my story to life. I know it was difficult for both of you to approach this project in a rational way. There was nothing dispassionate about what happened that week, and I know this stirred up painful memories. Thank you.

Cover Design by Ann Marie Almariei

Front Cover Photo by iStock/Chris Martin Photo

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of quotations in a book review.

My account of 9/11 is based on personal observations written during the week of 9/11/01-9/18/01. Please forgive any inconsistencies, errors or memory lapses that may have arisen from this very in-the-moment account. All mistakes are my own.

Printed in the U.S.

PREFACE

9/11 TUESDAY: MAKING MY WAY DOWNTOWN

9/12 WEDNESDAY: GOTHAM IN LIMBO

9/13 THURSDAY: MOBILIZATION AT THE ARMORY

9/14 FRIDAY: ARMORY, SECOND SHIFT

9/15 SATURDAY: ARMORY, FINAL DAY

9/16 SUNDAY: SUBURBAN REFUGEES

9/17 MONDAY: BUSINESS, NOT AS USUAL

9/18 TUESDAY: APPROACHING GROUND ZERO

THE AFTERMATH

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PREFACE

It takes only two numbers spoken aloud to conjure up a visceral, full-bodied reaction. What follows truly is a brain dump. Talking about nine/eleven was simply too difficult while I was in the thick of it. Instead, I sat down at my laptop to document what was happening around me. I started writing at the end of that very long and horrifying Tuesday and didn’t stop until a week later, after I made a trip downtown and paid my respects to the Twin Towers.

I simply hemorrhaged words. The thought of grabbing my camera to capture the turmoil in the city repulsed me. My salve was prose. Friends worldwide frantically phoned and e-mailed me all week long — when they could get a line in — to see how I was holding up.

I sent the e-mail below to anxious friends in Scotland, Ireland, England, New Zealand, Australia, Canada and the United States and attached my account of the events of that first day.

From: Johanna Thompson

Date: 09/12/2001 04:45 P.M.

To: Norman, Iain, Deirdre and Peter, Paula, Andy, David and Lorraine, Sydney, Debbie, Alice

Subject: the little picture

So many of you have called or e-mailed me to see if I was okay. Thank you for all your thoughts, your love and caring. Here in the city, we’re sort of in limbo. Even volunteering to help is difficult, because too often we become a hindrance to the rescue/recovery efforts. Last night I spent hours walking around the city, taking notes. You’re seeing what’s happening on the news: all the heroic feats, the tragedies, the fear. Let me share with you what the many New Yorkers may have seen and felt yesterday. My day was far less heroic. It’s much harder to see the big picture from this vantage point. So here’s the little picture.

9/11 TUESDAY: MAKING MY WAY DOWNTOWN

It’s just a few minutes past 9 a.m. on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Today is primary day for New York City and I vote as soon as the polls open and then head uptown to my office. I climb up from the subway at 49th Street and Eighth Avenue and walk my usual route to Worldwide Plaza, where I work at an ad agency. As I near the electronics store on the mezzanine level, a small crowd hovers around the entrance, collectively staring up at the wall of televisions. Jeffrey, a co-worker, rushes up to me and I ask him what’s up.

They bombed the World Trade Center, he says quietly, urgently.

It barely registers, so unreal a thought this is. Then I, too, look up at the TV screen. It doesn’t even occur to me to turn south, where the Twin Towers stand. Besides, they’re obscured by nearby buildings.

On the elevator to the fifth floor, I anxiously glance up at the Captivate news screen just above the row of floor numbers, hoping for any updates. The news is spreading. There’s an uneasy vibe and no one speaks while they wait for their floor.

As I exit the elevator, I make a beeline to the nearest conference room where a huge media console sits, but the TV control panel isn’t working.

Others have already crowded into the sixth-floor conference room as I arrive from downstairs. It’s practically standing room only; it’s so packed. People are hovering outside the doors as well. I slip past them, spy my friend Oksana, and slide into a chair next to her. There are about 30-40 people in the room; all eyes trained on the screen as we watch the scene play out. They’re replaying the footage of planes crashing into the Twin Towers.

The first tower was hit at 8:46 a.m., the second at 9:03 a.m. — just as I was coming up from the subway. There’s a collective gasp. Holy shit! Fuck! Some have tears in their eyes; others are clutching their cell phones. One man makes a nervous but hate-filled comment about the goddamned Muslims that most of us ignore, which flusters him even more. Then the news presenters announce a plane crash in D.C. at 9:37 a.m. Another gasp. Just a few excruciating minutes later, it’s confirmed. The Pentagon has been hit. And at 10:03 a.m., yet another plane has gone down near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I slip out of the conference room, realizing that family and out-of-town friends will start calling.

Two relatives have already left messages, anxious for news. Are you okay? Where ARE you? When I finally get a line out, I reassure them that I’m okay. Then I call Dad, tell him I’m safe. This is World War III, he says. Dad is a former New York State Trooper, a former Marine and pretty conservative in his politics.

Then I send a quick email to Barry in Louisiana. My ex. We haven’t spoken in 4 years, but he’s all I can think of — and I know he’ll be thinking of me. Worrying. I’m okay, I write. That’s it. Two words.

Within seconds, I hear back from him. Thank God! I was so worried. I couldn’t get a flight up there and was about to drive up in my Jeep. Call me when you can. He left his number.

People at work are wandering around, not sure what to do. There are at least a few thousand employees at our New York headquarters, yet no announcements blare over our public address system. No words of support or instruction on next steps. I call my account executive to see if our 10 a.m. conference call with a client in London could possibly still be happening. The first things I hear after the she picks up are gasps of air, her voice breaking.

Do you need help, Jackie? Shall I come up? I ask, but she demurs. Our meeting is forgotten and I go back to the fifth-floor conference room, where the TV is now working.

After 15 tense minutes, I mention that it won’t be long before CNN crafts a special logo for the crisis. I know it’s cynical and tacky to mention it, but can’t hold my tongue. Not even 15 minutes later, though, my theory is proved when I check back into the conference room for yet another news update. In a red, white and blue graphic box, the stylized title appears: AMERICA UNDER ATTACK.

The fuckers, I said. And I didn’t mean the bombers.

The first tower collapsed at 10:28 a.m. By 10:30 a.m., there’s an exodus from Worldwide Plaza; people are heading home to regroup. Many are stuck at work —especially those living downtown and outside of Manhattan — and are trying to figure out where to go next. What to do next.

I decide to stick around. Who knows what’s in the air at this point? Rumors abound; they’re evacuating the city from midtown and farther south. Why head south to Gramercy Park, then, where I live? I venture outside to buy a drink at the deli. Over on Broadway and 49th, standing in the middle of the street (there is NO traffic), I look downtown and see the dark smoke billowing into the sky. Times Square is already barricaded off, I’m told by passersby. Otherwise, people are calmly walking around. Not hurriedly like commuters,