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Thomas Hinton was a freelance photographer who covered September 11 for the Post. Here he remembers the perilous 29 minutes at Ground Zero between the collapses of the South Tower at 9:59 a.m. and the North Tower at 10:28 a.m.
“My life isn’t meant to be that short. It ends too soon. The years have passed too quickly. I have too many things to do.
These were the thoughts that crossed my mind as the Twin Towers collapsed around me.
My 26 years too short did not pass before my eyes as it is the case with some people near death. What I saw where things I hadn’t done yet. The farewells that I could never say. The relatives that I wish I could say one last time “I love you”.
Moments earlier, I was standing next to Richard Drew, another photographer, as we watched people flee from the burning World Trade Center. Now the south tower was collapsing into a volcano of dust, cremated glass, molten steel, and searing flesh. I ran to a building on West and Liberty Streets to try and find security inside – but couldn’t reach the lobby in time.
I was in complete darkness. I had no idea if we were buried under the rubble or just enveloped in the dense cloud of debris.
“I can survive 10 days buried alive,” I tried to reassure myself. I thought of stories from earthquake survivors.
Around me, men were screaming, punching, scratching and clawing at each other to find a way out of the black void. The air was filled with hot, acrid smoke. I felt like my lips were melting, but I couldn’t feel my skin. I was afraid my skin would be so badly burned that the nerves were gone. I held my breath for what felt like an eternity.
I’m not religious, but earlier that morning, as I saw desperate people leap from office windows, I started reciting the Ave Maria. Now, in the mortal darkness, I have started to repeat the prayer again – for myself.
“Hail Mary, full of grace…
Suddenly a shot rang out. A cop used his gun to blow up a window and the pack of people I was with fell into the lobby of the 1st World Financial Center building.
I got stuck between two columns. It was still very dark and we could only see one foot in front of us. We were looking for walls, panicked people trying to find our way, to find water, to breathe.
Moments later, a policeman took control and explained to the dozen of us that another window had been blown across the hall and we could get out. This cop was leading us to safety. He was calm and commanded our respect. I approached him to thank him and shook his hand. I would have liked to have had his name.
I climbed through the broken window. I found an Au Bon Pain, grabbed a bottle of water, and rinsed my mouth and nose. Then I grabbed a crate of water and started handing out the bottles. I walked to Liberty and walked east looking for people who needed help.
I saw a body under the pedestrian bridge. As I walked I realized he was alive and asked for his name. It was David Handshuch, another shooter. His legs didn’t look good and he was in pain. He had his camera bag almost tied around his arm. He explained to me that he had attached the camera bag to himself so that when they came with a stretcher his equipment was not left behind.
I returned to the path I had taken to escape the collapse of the south tower. I found two cops unable to reach anyone on their radios.
Back in the lobby, I found a photographer. He was leaning against a wall, straining to breathe. I handed him a bottle of water. On his knees he held a camera like mine. I asked him his name. “Ken Murray, Daily News.” I said, “You are doing better than me. I can’t find my cameras. He replied “Yeah, I have my digi”, short for shooter for a digital camera at the time. Recognizing the hallmarks of my own lens, I said, “I think you’ve found my camera.” He looked at it and sighed, realizing it wasn’t a digital camera he was holding but mine.
As I was walking down West Street, I found an FDNY EMT who wanted to set up an area to bring the injured. So I went to get them. We were next to half a dozen Hatzolah ambulances, their engines still running. I looked east and north and saw no one.
I took a picture of the sun through the dust. I should have been in the shadow of the south tower, but now it was no longer there.
Every now and then I heard a loud bang or a pop. I thought they were small explosions from vehicles buried under the heap.
Finally, a firefighter emerged from the cloud of dust. I could see he was injured and struggling to get off the pile. I rushed over to him. He was clutching his tank and mask in his left hand and I could see his right arm and shoulder were broken. I grabbed his gear and put his arm over my shoulder. He put his weight on me and I struggled to carry him. He was a giant. I took him to the marina on the Hudson. I figured it was upwind and that would be his best place to find help.
As I turned away from him, I heard the sound of a fighter plane above me. Strangely, it comforted me. I thought “Our guys are up there.”
I went back to the pile to look for more people. NYPD cop Pedro Velasquez walked past me, helping an office worker. I found the EMT that I had encountered earlier. There was no one between us and the pile. I looked, watched, listened, and found no one.
At one point, I looked up at the north tower which stood on its own. I took a picture of it and through my lens saw the huge antenna drop.
I shouted at the top of my head: “IT’S GOING DOWN!”
I looked around for the EMT and it was ahead of me in the WFC. I followed him. He ran up the hall stairs. I fell at the foot of the stairs, got up and reached halfway up the landing.
Then the darkness closed again and I realized that the wreckage of the North Tower was raining down on us. I knelt down and braced myself for the impact. I felt an explosion, then pieces of small debris and glass, then hot air and smoke, and finally silence.
Follow our coverage of the 20th anniversary of September 11 here:
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