This piece is re-blogged each 911 so that we never forget that most infamous day in the history of our country. And that we remember the innocent lives taken in a split second through the cowardly maniacal acts of terrorists bent on overcoming not just this country but the world. We can mourn those we lost but we cannot bring them back--we do owe them our allegiance to see that this tragedy, beyond descriptive words never happens again. We can vow to do all in our power to stop the killing of innocent children, women and men all over the world. The tyranny will not stop until the free world stops it. How many more children and innocent people will be beheaded, tortured and mutilated?
This story is a fictional account of what might have happened on that day but the characters and places are real. The events that happened are real. Let's make a pledge this 911 to make it be the last of its kind forever!
The Meal Uneaten
The watch hanging from Ian’s belt loop under his white chef jacket read 8:15. The morning rush was in full swing. Patrons sat in the sunlit posh restaurant—some drummed their fingers with impatience, others read the Wall Street Journal. Many seemed barely awake, sipping coffee for a caffeine jolt.
Ian had worked the kitchen all morning, his third day on the job as a Sous Chef to the Head Chef. He had survived the breakfast rush; bagels with cream cheese and lox for the rushed, Quiche Lorraine for the ones too important to punch a time card. Still, most would be heading to their various jobs, many on the 104th floor below the restaurant. The conference room, a floor below the restaurant, on the 106th floor was catering a breakfast to the Waters Financial Technology Congress, serving seventy-one guests.
Ian was preparing for the lunch entrée special; a new recipe Chef Mike would be offering to the lunch crowd--numbering hundreds. Ian worked quickly, with dozens of cooks helping to prep the ingredients. It was a gourmet delight – an aromatic concoction of bow tie pasta swimming in a rich white cream sauce, consisting of sweet herbed butter, heavy cream, white wine and an imported parmesan cheese. Large shrimp lightly sautéed in the sauce were placed on top, sprinkled with crumbled Greek feta cheese, sweet basil and freshly ground black pepper. Parsley sprigs added décor to the plate along with a few strips of fresh grilled red pepper. Chef Mike was confident of his creative cuisine. He was not of his new Sous Chef and often hovered over him, making Ian nervous. He was glad Chef Mike would not be coming in to work until the noon rush. This entrée could not be made completely in advance and the chef wanted a few made up to insure the recipe was followed to the letter. He had a fine reputation to maintain.
As customers rose to go to their perspective jobs; many glancing out of the rows of large windows overlooking the panoramic business district of Manhattan and the
East River, the dining room was set up for
the lunch rush.
Ian had Chef Mike’s creation ready to be sampled as soon as he arrived for his shift. He was afraid his job depended on how well he had prepared the dish. Still, he had done his best and felt confident it would suit the perfectionist chef.
Blinding light and roaring noise shut out his world. Fire and smoke filled the entire 107th floor, screams of panicked customers and workers alike died out quickly as they were overcome by suffocation and burns. The delectable shrimp and bowtie pasta entrée was destroyed along with most of the kitchen. Neither Ian nor Chef Mike would ever know if it met the chef’s high standards. His new recipe would go uneaten, along with all the meals scheduled for that luncheon meal. Windows on the World,
’s noted and
loved restaurant was destroyed. It was 8:55
and the 104th floor was incinerated.
People on other floors were spared the direct impact of the first passenger jet, Flight 11 that slammed into the first tower of the
on September 11,
2001. The ones on the top floor, along
with the people in the restaurant were trapped. There was no way down. Many ran up the staircases to the top 111th
floor and climbed onto the rooftop hoping to be rescued. Ian ran with them. He helped the few people alive make it to the
roof. Helicopters tried in vain to
reach them but black billowing smoke prevented this, as well as bursts of
flame. People succumbed to the heat and
smoke and died. Others chose to jump off
the top of the building, rather than burn to death. Ian was one of them. World Trade
As he jumped, his thoughts were of his wife and their new-born baby girl. It was such a beautiful day that they had planned a picnic in
Park when his shift ended. Before Ian reached the ground, his
spirit left his body. He saw his body
splatter on the street below. He watched
as financial wizards, secretaries, businessmen, maintenance workers, became one
in the futile effort to escape the building.
He saw a second plane hit the second tower, taking more lives in an
instant. This plane hit closer to the
top of the second tower giving more time for people below those floors to get
out. Many made it, many more did
not. Ian’s spirit drifted through the
first tower, watching frantic people calling on their cell phones for help—some
realizing their plight cried and said goodbye to their loved ones.
911 operators, unaware of the gravity of the situation, gave wrong advice to many who called--advising them to remain inside until help came. Help, that was unable to reach most of them. Most of the ones who survived had ignored that advice and hurried to escape the building.
The second tower imploded almost without warning at 10:05 A.M., through time held no meaning for Ian. Thousands of lives were crushed into rubble. The ambulances and hospitals set up triages for the injured. Most beds lay empty, as few made it out of the towers alive. Except for the ones lucky enough to have escaped before the first tower imploded at 10:30, there were few patients to help. Ian observed the nearly 3000 souls wandering lost throughout the ruins. Many did not yet realize that they were dead.
The shock waves of horror extended past
its neighboring boroughs, rippled across the country, impacted the world. Manhattan had been attacked by
cowardly terrorists on her own soil. New
York City wept, Mayor Giuliani wept, the free world wept. And Ian wept. America
The Chef’s new entrée in the Windows on the World would go uneaten, never sampled for its flavor. There would be many uneaten meals that day and for many days to follow. Terror, death and inconceivable destruction had taken away the appetite of the City, the nation—most of the world. It left a bitter taste in the mouths of all those who lost loved ones and those who grieved with them.
Ian glanced through the rubble and saw his chef uniform buried beneath the debris. It held a quickly scribbled note of love to his wife and newly born baby. He hoped it would be found and given to her. He also hoped that she would tell his baby girl about her father—so that his memory would live on, even if he could not. Ian sensed that this most infamous day would never be forgotten. He wished for new twin towers to be erected for all the lost lives destroyed this day, taken so brutally. And maybe a new restaurant and new offices restored—not to replace those lost but to honor them. Perhaps there would be a new chef with an untried recipe that would be eaten and enjoyed. If that day arrived, it would signify healing in a shocked and saddened nation—a new beginning.
Ian turned to see a horde of people of all ages and occupations gathering together. He looked up and a bright, warm light spread across the sky. He saw arms outstretched to embrace those who walked toward the brightness. He joined them.
Seventy-three employees in the restaurant died that day, all seventy-one in the conference room and an unknown number of patrons. Remnants from the Windows on the World restaurant rubble included: a dinner spoon, soup bowl, salad plate, dessert plate and coffee cup. Also found was a table lamp, champagne flute, bottle of champagne, grill scraper—and a chef’s uniform.
Author’s note: The terrorists had counted on taking out from 30,000 to 50,000 lives that earth shattering morning. Their timing was a little off and many people had not yet entered the building. However, due to the toxins in the debris, such as mercury and asbestos, many of those who spent days, weeks and even years searching Ground Zero for body parts are now dying a slow and agonizing death due to cancers of the throat, lung and esophagus. Many more will die in the ensuing years—among them, families and small children whose homes were filled with this debris; which they were told to clean up themselves. The repercussions of disease from toxins spread to Staten Island, when they helicoptered the remains to the
Staten Island dump. The dump blew the toxins across the
seventeen-mile- long Island and many are dying of quickly striking and fatal
cancers. It is conceivable that the total count of those lost on 911 will reach
30,000 to 50,000 after all. Damn the terrorists!