Everybody has their story:

I was working over at Landor when the attack happened.

Anyone who was in New York that day will tell you it was one of the most perfect days weather-wise imaginable. It was a beautifully sunny, mild day, the air was fresh and had a tiny breath of cool in it hinting of the approach of autumn.

As is normally the case, I was frantically trying to make it to Tarrytown to catch a train, running oh-so-close to missing it. As circumstance would have it, the radio was on WCBS so I could keep track of the time. Just as I passed the hospital on the north side of Sleepy Hollow they broadcasted a plane had hit one of the WTC towers.

At first, it occurred to me (as would be the case with many New Yorkers) some idiot in a small plane on a sightseeing expedition had engaged in “distracted flying” (much like distracted driving), strayed to close to the building and made a name for him or herself with their stupidity.

My speculation was interrupted by a roadblock the local police had set up. Moaning over the inconvenience (and slightly nervous by the prospect of getting some undeserved ticket), I hastily strapped myself in while making my way as the police checked for lapsed registration and unbelted drivers.

Getting through the roadblock, the radio announcer noted in a bewildered tone, the station was “getting reports a second plane had hit the towers.” The words removed any sense of an accident from my thoughts, something very bad was happening. Of course, not being around a TV, I thought two small planes hit the buildings, in my most wild imaginings I couldn’t think passenger jets would be used as weapons.

Finding a parking space, I hurriedly gathered myself and ran the block or so to the station platform. The nagging feeling it might be a good day just to skip going in, whatever was going on started to creep up on me. It could be a rough day to get in and out of the city. Besides, I had already been through my share of snowstorms, hurricanes, floods, decapitations and multi-car accidents. Something goes on in those situations, I can’t really explain it, except to say there’s an analysis going on, a taking stock of what’s happening and figuring out the worst case scenario.

I put my walkman on and listened intently while the news reports just kept coming and getting worse and worse. The surreal part was standing on a train platform in the suburbs as people walked around unaware that anything was even wrong. It was just a really beautiful morning and people were waiting for their train on they’re way to work, simple as you please. Crowded as any other day, most people just had a sip of their coffee or buried themselves in the paper passing the last few moments of ignorance as the train slowly pulled in.

The train I was catching goes express after Tarrytown and boarding, people on the train were just unaware of what awaited them in Manhattan that day. Could you imagine watching what happened on TV and then getting on a train to take you into Manhattan?

I sat in the back of a the first car as the train pulled out. Shortly, a passenger came through, having had an animated conversation with the motorman. When he came closer I asked him if the motorman said whether or not we’d be going in to Grand Central and he replied we’d probably be the last train in.

Several of the passengers around me looked up, getting concerned and asked why we’d be the last train into Grand Central. The man and I replied because we were under attack.

Before the train pulled into Yonkers (the next station), they reported a plane had flown into the Pentagon. I figured whatever was going on, I wasn’t going into the city. As the people around me pressed for more information, I made it plainly clear to them the wisest course of action would be to get off at the next station and to catch the next train going north which is what I (and as it turned out a lot of other people) did.

The platform at the Yonkers station on the Hudson line is right on the river. It’s at a point in the river where if you go further south the river curves in eastward to the northern tip of Manhattan and then the coast of Manhattan juts back out west. It gives you a really beautiful view of the skyline of the city as you look south.

Looking down the river from the southbound platform, instead of the familiar skyline I was used to, I saw what appeared to be two enormous chimney stacks belching smoke as if from some monstrous factory, plumes reaching impossible heights. Everyone on the platform just looked at the sight of the two buildings aflame in disbelief.

I tried to find a phone - of course none was working. I went back to the northbound platform and caught (what would turn out to be) the last train out of the city for several hours, back to where I had parked.

Ultimately, I found a working pay phone next to a phone switching building (which is something to keep in mind the next time you’re in a situation where the phones aren’t working the way they’re supposed to). I made phone calls to people I needed to and made my way home to watch those tapes replayed over and over as the day unfolded.

Things I remember from the days that followed:

• People were really, really nice to each other.

• Worrying whether someone I knew had been in the building.

• Walking around the city and seeing all those handbills put up by people trying to find other people.

• The nasty smell which reminded me of burning plastic that you would catch on a breeze when the wind shifted sometimes.

• The constant sound of sirens racing up and down the streets of Manhattan for weeks afterward.

• The empty, numbing feeling that persisted days after the attack.

• Everything south of 14th street being closed (the forbidden zone).

• Everything south of Houston being closed when they opened up the village, and seeing all the heavy equipment parked along Houston.

• Feeling very bad for the Pakistani taxi driver in the cab I took going out on night in the village.

• Walking up to meet a friend for lunch and forgetting the armory on 26th St. was the relief center for families, walking through a crowd of scared, grieving people with missing handbills and newsmen everywhere.

I feel pretty fortunate:

• I wasn’t in the city.

• A friend who worked in the building had taken that week off for vacation.

• A relative of a relative had a meeting canceled which would have put him right there when it happened.

Still, another friend lost her father.

My sister had three neighbors die (firefighters) leaving behind three families.

Everyone else I know or love was intact afterward…