We listened intently and learned that another plane had crashing into the Pentagon. I knew we were at war. We cried, prayed and followed with the rest of America the horrors yet to unfold with the collapsing of the towers and news of the forth plane crashing in Pennsylvania. It was surreal. I recalled the scenario from a Tom Clancy book, Executive Orders, where his storyline has an airline plane crashing into U.S. Capitol while the president is speaking.
Many years before, in 1985, we had seen the physical results of a local bombing by Muslim terrorists at the military support center we used in Brussels Belgium. Fortunately, no one was killed including the terrorists who were not willing to die delivering their message. During the next three years, our children were guard at school. We found ourselves always alert and at work we had continual threats against the European F-16 Co-production program and the NATO oil pipeline.
I retired from the military and we returned to the United States. Like most Americans, we lived without fear of attacks by terrorists. Most people could care less about the treats we and others experienced overseas as they were not relevant to them in the United States. And like most people, after the first car bombing at he World Trade Center, we returned to focus on the routine aspects of life. After all, after 22 years in the military we were home - safe in America - right?
Wrong! On 9-11, 2001, we were confronted with the truth. After the attack, even our county in the Ozark Mountains had enhanced security placed on our local hydroelectric dams. Many Arkansans checked their firearms and prepared for the worst. Since 9-11-2001, we have seen many actions and changes in the name of National -- now "Home Land" - security. We have seen new wars as the U.S. took the fight to our enemies in other countries.
Before moving on from the remembrance of this 10 year anniversary, let's read the words of an Arkansan who was present at the World Trade Towers on 9-11, 2001. Below, Rick Calhoun introduces the article by his nephew who was present that day at "ground zero."
by Rick Calhoun, Contributing Author: Dear Family and Friends:
As many of you may know, our nephew Steven Calhoun, was present at "ground zero" on 9/11 and Yahoo News has posted his story under the title, "Eyewitness Account From the Base of the South Tower." "Raining Glass" was Steven's title for his short and unfinished account.
Steven was working as a stage manager for the New York Port Authority showcasing various talent throughout the summer such as jazz, rock, dance troupes, etc. as an attraction for tourists. The distance separating the Twin Towers was only a few hundred feet as can be seen in the below photo. Steven was sitting in a production trailer next to the stage against the Trade Tower when the first plane crashed into the Tower above his head raining glass and debris onto the World Trade Center Plaza below.
The account was unfortunately never finished. At the end of his account after Steven and his crew left Cosi's restaurant and bar, the first tower collapsed on the restaurant, underground tunnel and other buildings in the immediate area. By this time, Steven was approximately eight blocks away and headed east.
My brother Mark, Steven's dad, removed most of the graphic language, but otherwise the story remains as written by Steven.
On this the 10th Anniversary of 9/11, let us all pray for healing for the families who lost so much on that tragic day.
May God bless the United States of America. ~ Rick Calhoun
Rick Calhoun is First Vice President, Crews & Associates, Inc., Little Rock, AR and Chairman of Arkansas Advanced Institute (AAI).
The following is an eyewitness account by Steven Calhoun, a 23-year-old stagehand, who was working the stage at the base of the south tower on September 11, 2001."Raining Glass" by Steven Calhoun: . . . I'm as tired as I've ever been. Seven thirty site call and it'll be a long day if the rain upsets the Marley. That type of matting has no business living on an outdoor stage... but whatever, we make it work at their word and the dance companies love it: wedding bells. I'm all groggy as hell trying to coordinate our load-out with Tony and two Port Authority suits. Union will be protesting on the plaza all next week and the PAPD might want us to sit on the stage for a while. That'll mean yet another week on top of eighteen.
Stage at World Trade Towers
I try to stay out of the conversation, sip at my coffee entertaining thoughts of riding my bike through the city. God, I love it. It's an old Dyno Air I picked up from a shop on the east side somewhere down around the rows of bars I like to kill time in. Bikes By George! I always wanted a nice BMX when I was a kid, so I dropped a neat little penny on getting it geared to where I can keep up with the city traffic.
Our crew chief, Brett, comes in with a few of the stagehands and it looks like the vinyl matting is OK and we can take 5 for the rest of the day until the show loads in. I've forgotten who the talent is today at this point no one really knows, they just show up and we set the stage. Tony breaks the bad news about the delayed stage load-out and I shuffle over to shoot trouble...
What!... there's a sound I know... but I can't place it.
It is loud... white... noise.
It's absolutely screaming... overhead... building from nowhere.
It's a jet engine.
Oh it stops quickly
A moment of silence is followed by a low rumble and then the metallic crashing of a mile long coal train starting from a dead stop.
It gallops down and around us with gathering speed and intensity as we fall over each other busting out of the production trailer.
We all stand on the aluminum stairs looking stupid as hell when someone yells something or another about "the glass guys!! THE GLASS!"
I look up and see a huge cloud of orange and black and glitter.
Wonderful.
Just what we need: a bomb or somebody's private jet ran into the building... oh, maybe a movie stunt has gone horribly wrong...
Something's not right because there are millions of pieces of glass shimmering; hanging in the air.
It's kind of pretty against the grainy blue sky.
We all had thoughts like this since we stood there staring before reflexes take us over and one by one we scatter for shelter. Two guys crash back into the trailer. A couple guys and... who--wait, yeah this is me... sure, who else's eyes would I be seeing through? I'm a dumbass and now I've got tunnel vision... am I drunk? I cut north around the building to get to the east entrance while Tony and... yeah, that's Brett-- they and a few others continue on across the plaza.
Glass rains down before I get to the revolving doors.
Mikey and Jeff dive under the upstage left stair case as I duck in one of the steel frame alcoves of tower one. Joe dives underneath the stage.
I pull my jacket up over my head.
Thoughts of catching a piece of glass in the head race around.
I'll huddle in closer and try to press my body flat against the window.
I see the inside through a giant window frame. I'm trapped. I'm stuck in this window frame and I am going to die here, alone... death by glass. Brilliant. The plaza level floor is empty of people so I'll just stand here and watch everything fall. Super, I'll just remember every little detail... wait, will I?
Damnit it's loud that's metal hitting the plaza now... big pieces of steel... heavy metal... heheh, Def Leppard... Pyromania... someone's gotta scope on us. This is so loud that it's knocking the wind out of me. I can't breathe and it won't stop raining little burned pieces of office building.
I pray for the first time since I was what, 6?
God, it just makes me feel alone and pathetic.
"Hey, hey Steve, you OK?"
I drop my jacket and turn to see Joe on all fours pointing at my cell phone. He's still underneath the stage.
I automatically step out and pick it up... Mikey and Jim are huddled under the stairs.
"Hey, you guys OK?"
They don't move or respond... oh god,
"Are you guys OK?"
Nothing.
Killer gives it a try:
"HEY! YOU GUYS OK!?"
They snap to and scramble out
"Yeah...YEAH"
I look down to make a call but this isn't my phone.
I've never seen this phone before. It's all banged up and the crystal is leaking through the display.
I drop it and help Killer out. He's got to have been through something like this before... ex-military? I don't ask... but he kind of checks us out for cuts or whatever.
A second wave of rain is starting in... copy paper like ticker tape... fluffy flakes of insulation float around us like snowflakes and I'm breathing fire. All the light stuff is finally making its way down as I walk over to stage left where Mikey and Jim meet me with a stereo freak out.
"What bodies? what are you talking about?"
And yes... yes yes yes they're right and I'm seeing nothing good.
There are bodies strewn about the left side of our stage. It took an eternity to look at them and realize what exactly it was I was seeing then I didn't want to believe my lying eyes because all this wasn't happening and I must still be asleep.
Oh, that's it, I've overslept... this is a bad dream.
So kid, wake up.
I'm not waking anyone up anytime soon.
So now can I please freak out... but everything's so far away... I'm in the backside of my head.
Scared to death we head back to the trailer. We find Tony on his inoperable cell phone and the rest of the crew standing around. A trade center security guard walks over and asks us if everyone's AOK and to please stay where we are. We tell him about the bodies, but he doesn't want to hear this, but still he radios it in over the cackle of a hundred broad band voices; staticky.
I look around but why can't I focus on anything?
Shattered filing cabinets, pieces of office chairs, books, mangled audio CDs, steel column fascias from the building and more glass and paper than anyone will ever see like that in their lives blankets the entire plaza and on out to the streets.
It's sinking in and I can't stop it... all of this debris had to come from more than one floor, two floors five floors... five acres of working space? But, we are alive while we work and our occupations are our livelihoods. Five acres of living space... strewn carefree across the plaza and streets. I trip over a coffee maker, remarkably intact... Krups.
Tony starts laughing with a look of the lost in his eyes. His phone doesn't work. It's contagious and a few of us start to laugh; curse.
Wait, I'm laughing now too.
Our tongues come undone...
"What was that?"
"A bomb"
"But wasn't there a plane?"
"A plane dropped a bomb onto the tower"
"No, a plane flew into the tower"
"Oh god, there are bodies over there!"
"Think they were from up top or caught down here?"
"Oh god"
"Yeah, let's get out of here"
"That guard told us to-"
"Yeah, whatever, let's just go"
We all head east jogging across the plaza... it seems the wind is picking little pieces of glass off the building. The fountain is still going at it, churning water down the sides of a globe suspended on some cubist tree trunk. Still going at it. I don't even know when that thing was installed... early seventies? No, wait, the plaza is kinda new...Tony stops.
He spins and heads back to the trailer.
Convinced he'd lost his mind, another guy and I go with him.
When we catch up, he's in the trailer trying to make phone calls while we stand there dumbfounded. The other guy, is it Chuck?, tells Tony that every news station in town is all over this and that everyone got the hint not to come in later this afternoon.
"So, now... what did you come back for?"
"Oh, uh my bag"
"Well, while I'm here"
I run to the back of the trailer and grabbed my green bag with all my CDs and player in it.
I grab my Estwing hammer...
"Ah, I'll just grab my tools later"
"All set?"
"Yeah, let's go"
A hundred pound guard is dragging bicycle stanchions across the east side of the plaza. It seems silly and insignificant but it's something to do. We join in and help her. The steel barricades are light as a feather so I start running with them. I push, let go and they'll slide the twenty or so feet to Jim and Killer's hands where they drag them on up to complete a barricade line.
We do this for a while and then with job done and lungs on fire from fiberglass or asbestos or concrete dust we continue on around to Xando Cosi's to where the rest of the crew are standing with cell phones in hand. Man, the cell towers have got to be slammed, or gone nobody's calls are getting through. We hover under the overhang of Building 6 while bits of glass strike and chip the sidewalks with a random regularity.
My phone too is dead so I risk it and skip out to the kiosk with the three pay phones and dial my dad with my calling card.
"Mark here"
"Hey don't say anything just listen...OK?"
"What's going on?"
"Don't talk, please just listen to me I'm O.K., everyone on site is fine I think a plane has just run into the Trade Center above my stage, and everything's falling around us"
--"what kind of plane?"
"Oh I don't know, a big one, oh, and my cell is down call everyone you know that knows I'm here... let them know I'm OK, OK?"
"Oh, OK."
"I gotta go, I'll be alright, thanks, bye"
I hang up and motion to some business looking man to let him know that the payphones are working.
I patted him on the shoulder as he ran out and I ran in under the overhang like we're trotting on and off a football field.
Brett and Tony are talking about the stage while pressing cell phones hard against their ears.
"Think we'll make show tonight?"
"Oh yeah, no problem Tony, we'll just sweep some glass off the Marley, it'll be fine.."
Well, what else was there to talk about?
Killer's braving the glass with a metal folding chair held above his head. He's pacing around motioning people to get inside--he stops and looks way up over the stage. His mouth opens to say something but no sound comes out.
I follow his line of sight and look up to see a bag of laundry falling down alongside the building. It has come open and bits of clothes are following behind. Some crash into the stage. Other bits crash through the roof skin and on through the steel scaffolding where they land onto the stage with resounding booms.
When the little colors of clothes streak through the roof skin and hit the stage I realize that people are wearing the clothes.
I try to lie down.
I regain my balance and turn away to the east. I press my hands against my face in hopes of rearranging all this.
Still hoping to convince myself to wake up I stare at the Century 21 Department Store across the street. I bought a quick suit for my boss--Mike Z's wedding.
In the windows I can't look away from the Trade Center burning with huge black clouds billowing around it. A gray streak...?... another gush of orange and black. The plane had finally blown up?
Wait.
Surely not, the fuel tanks in the wings would have been torn apart upon impact, that's why the fire was already so bad up there.
All these thoughts are instantly cut short by an aural reminder of how serious all this was... a second train was crashing and reverberating through the buildings around us. We fall all over each other again as we run into Cosi's.
Inside this time, the rain of steel and glass isn't so bad. This is like watching a movie from a theater chair. The televisions above the well stocked bar need no sound track to accompany what it is they are showing. Two gray and ominously tall towers churn out smoke and fire. The reception's bad-that's right, I bet the station's towers are on top-it looks as if one of the buildings is leaning to the left a little. I want to leave badly.
The on-duty manager of Cosi's scrambles around with a set of keys... high school janitor... and clears everyone out of the restaurant and into the foyer. I ask for a beer. His brow furrows.
We all stand with cell phones in hand while security comes by to lock all the doors and take charge. I wish I'd just grabbed a bottle of something to pass around.
"everyone remain calm and evacuate through the subway station below"
My phone rings and everyone looks on in a mixture of disbelief and envy.
"He-hello?"
"Steven, Steven!? hello? oh my god, get out of there-"
"Mom?... I'm OK"
"-They've hijacked planes and they're trying to take down the building, god, get out,"
"Mom? Hello?"
The line cuts out and I tell everyone what they might of known but didn't want to believe. Someone actually wants us dead and this isn't an accident.
Upon hearing this Tony tells the guard with the keys that if he continues to lock the doors we'd just kick them out anyway, and something about how there was absolutely no way in hell we are going downstairs at any moment in the near future. There's smoke down there anyway.
Most of us that agreed stayed, while the rest trotted down the escalators, attaches and briefcases in hand.
I pipe up my brilliant plan of action...
"I don't know... but the second it's clear, I'm heading east 'til I hit water and then I'm going north,"
"Sounds good, let's go"
"But our tools are back in the trailer"
"Forget your tools, I'm going..."
I think Mikey actually went and got his tools... I should have gotten my bike, you know?
Postscript: Steven made it to Central Station and got on one of the last trains that left New York City that day. His boss arranged to have him picked up and driven to Boston that night where the next day he caught an 18 wheeler to Arkansas and Steven was home by that Thursday. He never talked about what happen that day but you could tell it had changed him. We will never know how much, Steven was a musician and song writer and in 2004 he went back to New York city to live. The title to one of his songs was "ghost in these memories." Steven passed away in January 2006.
SEE ALSO:
What I Learned from 9/11 by Ken Marrero, Blue Collar Muse
Tags: Recalling, Remembering 9-11, personal account, Raining Glass, World Trade Towers, Steven, Calhoun, Rick Calhoun, Bill Smith, Arkansas To share or post to your site, click on "Post Link". Please mention / link to the ARRA News Service. Thanks!
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