Below the towers, thousands watched as debris hailed from the building. We saw paper falling from the windows; some speculated that it was office workers trying to alert rescuers. Some saw pieces of flesh. Trapped workers were falling from the building, a ghastly sight as the bodies tumbled head over feet like rag dolls. After one jumper leapt to a certain death, a man turned to me and said, "That's the ninth I've seen." Watching the flames lick the north tower, one couldn't imagine the choice: Jump or burn to death.

Speculation immediately turned to terrorism. President Bush will react soon, someone said in the crowd. Another: "He'd better react." Floor traders from the nearby New York Mercantile Exchange tried to get their belongings. Workers tried to get a water shuttle home to New Jersey.

And then, the second explosion. It transformed what had been a scene of disaster into a mass panic. Parents with strollers, hotel maids in uniforms, Wall Street workers in dress shoes and heels started walking briskly uptown, going anywhere else. Police grew more insistent: Leave now.

Staying clear of the scene and hugging the shore of the Hudson River, I lingered. Then a second boom, and a third. I then joined the throngs headed north at a slow jog. In about 200 yards someone declared the unthinkable: One of the towers is gone.

Heading north, next to Chelsea Piers, volunteers were giving away cups of water. New Yorkers turned friendly, offering advice and directions. Then, suddenly, the second tower started to fall. The crowd walking north gasped, and we watched. The tower collapsed in on itself, leaving just the exterior shell. Seconds later, that, too, fell in.

People reacted in their own ways. At 33rd Street and 10th avenue, a man held up an American flag, inviting horn-blowing. Four blocks away, a young man sat on a fire hydrant, and stopped to read scripture.

– Noam Neusner (9/11/01)