In Different Ways, a Community Reacts

Yesterday was both terrible and memorable for all Americans. It was a day of intense personal tragedy for many, and a day of indelible change for many more. So much changed yesterday, and for the Columbia and Morningside Heights community the ramifications will be felt for years to come. Today's New York Times calls what happened "one of those moments in which history splits, and we define the world as 'before' and 'after."'

Some Morningside Heights residents had already gone through Pearl Harbor and John F. Kennedy's assassination, events that had changed the way they viewed the world. For most in this community, however, yesterday was when the sense of detached security--of living in a world where personal pursuits superceded any larger events--literally came crashing down. What follows is a series of reports documenting the emotional and intellectual responses to yesterday's events.

East Campus -- 10:30 a.m.

When Nelson Brand, SEAS '02, and his EC suitemate Richard Lipkin, CC '04, heard about the collapse of the south tower of the World Trade Center, they immediately went to the roof to see what was left of the staple of the New York City skyline. A billowing smoke cloud had taken its place.

Not much later, a security guard cut their once-in-a-lifetime view short.

Yet the view turned out to be even better from their 18th floor window. Shortly after they came down, the students witnessed the collapse of the north tower.

"There's nothing much to say--it was there and then it wasn't," Brand, still shaken, said. "Those are buildings that guided you in New York. When I was downtown I would use those buildings to guide me, and now they're gone." -- Phil Wallace

Wallach Hall -- 10:30 a.m.

From the students who watched the tragedy unfold from their windows to those who stood glued to their televisions, there was a moment when Columbia seemed paralyzed. In the time before the sense of tragedy took hold, students stood in shock, mired in the visceral reaction of watching the two most prominent members of New York's skyline sink into the ground. People were rooted in a moment of such historical agony and import that to do anything but stare blankly in horror seemed unthinkable.

"I couldn't believe it, but I knew it was happening. So my friends and I went over to the top of Mudd," Adam Keilman, CC '04, said. "We just stood there in awe, in the actual sense of the word. It was absolutely mind-boggling, unbelievable, it was horrible. We couldn't believe this was happening, that a part of the skyline that we were so used to was just not there. We couldn't believe that this was happening."

For many students, the initial moments of paralyzed shock were followed by a sense of the day-to-day minutiae of homework, classes, and deadlines giving way to a need to do something to help. From rushing to St. Luke's to heading downtown, a melee of activity followed the initial paralysis.

"I was anxious, it was difficult to sit and watch the TV when you knew what was being filmed was basically your backyard," Alex DiGiorgio, CC '04, said. "My friend was insisting that nothing could be done, but it was a situation that I felt I had to see with my own eyes. I made my way down to NYU. ... There were people who were bawling, there were people who were preaching, there were people taking pictures and gawking. In a situation like this, there's no real right way to react, I guess." -- Jamie Hodari

SIPA -- 11:30 a.m.

The notice that went up in the School of International and Public Affairs at 10:45 a.m. said simply, "Please be advised that today's classes have been canceled."

At 11:15 a.m., at least 70 people sat in the school's fourth-floor lounge. A woman sat crying on a sofa, a male classmate attempting to console her. A female classmate hugged the woman and started softly crying herself. "I want to call my mom," the first woman said.

When at 11:20 a.m. CNN replayed the American Airlines jet crashing into the north tower, a student in a white T-shirt covered his mouth with his left hand and shook his head. To his left, a student in a green T-shirt buried her head in both her hands.

Randall Calabrese, a graduate student in modern Chinese history, sat toward the south side of the lounge.

"I don't even know what to think right now," he said. "When you read things like this, you study things like this, you look at them so impersonally. When it's on your doorstep--" he paused, looking for words. "I've met people who work there."

"It is a cliché," Calabrese continued, "but tragedy does bring people together. I've seen people putting their arms around people they obviously don't know, giving them consolation--at least, as much as they can."

A few minutes after talking with a reporter, Calabrese opened a folder and stared at a syllabus, clearly shying away from the images on the TV. "I've got to get out of here pretty soon," he had said a few moments before. "It's pretty heavy in here."

Outside, on Amsterdam Avenue, a line of cars heading north extended down the avenue as far as could be seen. -- Nick Schifrin

Lerner Hall -- 11:30 a.m.

The 300 participants in the annual Ivy League, Stanford, MIT conference had packed to go home. Their three-day conference on improving alumni relations was in its final day, and they were just beginning their first session of the day.

However, a 9:15 a.m. announcement from the Federal Aviation Administration suddenly changed their plans. New York airports had closed--they had nowhere to go and nowhere to stay.

"A lot of people were leaving today," Jessica Barry, a representative from Brown, said. "We've been calling husbands, wives, children."

Then the magnitude of the tragedy set in for this group, who are mostly in charge of alumni relations at their schools.

"Those buildings are full of our alumni," Barry said. "We're thinking floor by floor, who of our colleagues was in there. None of us can quite fathom what's going on." -- Simone Sebastian

West End -- 2:20 p.m.

James Leathery, a resident of Central Park West and frequent patron of the West End, sat at the counter of his favorite New York bar. He came uptown to give blood at St. Luke's, but was turned away because they weren't able to receive it.

He sat at the south side of the bar, stretching his neck to watch the big-screen TV that showed images of chaos and destruction in the financial district.

The bar was especially crowded for an early weekday afternoon. Sarah Eskin, the bartender, said she was working because the normal bartender could not get uptown. "It's busier than it's ever been," she said, comparing the 100 or so patrons to the number usually there on a Tuesday afternoon. "At 10:30 a.m. it was packed."

Leathery came to the bar hoping to see Jay, the bartender who was unable to show. He said Jay was a popular bartender and had been serving customers during the day for eight years. "It's just my favorite bar in the area," Leathery said of the West End. "It's a very historic bar."

Leathery had seen a crowd of students outside St. Luke's when he went there to give blood, and emphasized how impressed he was with them. "I was very much inspired to see how many Columbia University students had lined up to give blood," he said.

Around him in the bar, six television sets continued to show their images.

"There's so many people in here today," Leathery remarked, unsure how to describe how the news was affecting the people sitting around him. "This is the kind of crowd you usually have for the World Series or the World Cup." -- Nick Schifrin

114th Street -- 3 p.m.

Members of Alpha Epsilon Pi sat on the stoop outside of their house, trading stories of how they had heard the news--stories they will be telling for the rest of their lives.

"I was like, yeah right, funny joke. But then I turned on the news," Yuriy Krylov, SEAS '02, said.

Then the real attention-getter walked up.

Alon Popilskis, SEAS '04, hadn't been able to reach his uncle and cousins, who work several blocks from the World Trade Center. His parents had called him with the news at 9:10 a.m., and he had been trying to find his relatives ever since, but the tied-up cellular phone lines had made it difficult to get through.

"This just shows you how vulnerable America is," he said, a combination of concern and betrayal in his voice. "We're too cocky for our own good." -- Simone Sebastian

McBain Hall -- 4 p.m.

Reading the writing on the wall offered a glimpse into the effect of Tuesday's events on McBain Hall residents.

On many doors, scrawls on whiteboards reading variations of "Your sister called. She's in the city but she's fine," or "Your friend from Penn wants to know if you are okay," or "Give Blood Today!" showed the concerns facing students as they attempted to track down friends and family members.

Through doors held ajar, students could be observed crouching over their computers or chatting in small groups. A few sought solace in napping, and others appeared to be attempting to study.

Near the lounges in McBain Hall, the modulated voices of correspondents replaced the usual ruckus created by chattering students and blaring rap music.

"People are dealing with disbelief," said Whei Hsueh, SEAS '03, the Resident Advisor for the third floor of McBain Hall.

"A comment I hear a lot is that it's like something out of a movie like Armageddon," she added. "[There's] the footage of people running away and debris falling from the sky and the huge plane crashing into the building."

Kate Krontiris, CC '04, said the tragedies generated a variety of feelings for her, among them "anxiety," "exhaustion," and frustration at not knowing what to do. But it was these sorts of situations, she said, that generated "a weird sense of community." Strangers on the street had "no inhibitions about asking other people questions," she said.

A student in the McBain Hall stairwell whistled as he walked up the stairs. It wasn't whistling in the dark, but it was close. -- Katherine Isokawa

St. Paul's -- 5 p.m.

The setting sun cast a bright light into a filled St. Paul's Chapel as somber organ music played. The music was echoed into the chapel's courtyard, where an overflow of Columbia students and staff gathered to hear what was billed in the program as "words of assurance" from campus religious leaders.

Red-eyed students struggled to prevent a wave of tears, some sat with their heads between their knees, others with their hands over their faces.

Assembled at the front of the crowded sanctuary was a rainbow coalition of campus religious figures representing a myriad of faiths.

University President George Rupp was also present, opening with a speech framing the theme of the service--community support.

"Whoever is behind the [terrorist act] is intent on drawing us apart, dividing us," he said. "This is a time when we must come together."

Rabbi Jennie Rosenn, while encouraging communal togetherness, reminded listeners of the reality of the tragedy, saying that assurance might not be possible as there are "serious things to be scared of."

Several blocks away at St. John the Divine, the theme was peace in the face of war. From outside, a slow organ version of "Let There Be Peace on Earth" could be heard flowing from the sanctuary. -- Rob Saliterman

Barnard -- 5:30 p.m.

"I feel scared--confused about how people can feel so much hatred." "Sad and confused." "WHY?"

These words, written on a sheet of paper posted on a wall, summed up the feelings of the Barnard community.

At 3 p.m., President Judith Shapiro offered consolation to the entire school on Lehman Lawn. Afterwards many people returned to the television in the Brooks Living Room.

While watching the CNN replays, students spoke about their initial reactions and criticized the press. "At first it was unbelievable," said Jill Swantner, BC '05. "My parents are in Washington, D.C. It took me hours to get through, but they are OK."

Annie Russell, BC '04, who lives in Sulzberger on the 16th floor, took immediate action when her roommate's mother called to tell the two about the situation. "We opened the shade and sure enough we saw flames billowing toward Brooklyn. Three minutes later this little plane crashed into the other [tower] and we saw the explosion," Russell said. "We turned on the radio and it was terrifying. As I was listening I was frustrated because [the press was] geared towards who did it [rather] than what happened."

Lilli Rhiger, BC '04, agreed. "'Hunt them down and make them pay' is a horrible reaction."

Rhiger said students should react with reverence for the lives lost and try to "find out what we can do."

Upstairs in Sulzberger Parlor, Steve Jaime of Barnard Facilities prepared mattresses for those who would be spending the night. "I know this girl--we went to the same university. She worked there and I don't know if she survived," Jaime said as he distributed pillows and towels. "It's horrible. After work I'll go to Red Cross to donate blood." -- Michelle Lee

Central Campus -- 6:30 p.m.

George Rupp encountered quiet Low Library steps as he left work. After exchanging a pleasant word with staff on the steps, he walked off in the warm evening air.

The steps were largely empty except for an impromptu prayer meeting whose participants congregated near College Walk.

The group of about 75 listened as Pastor Charlie Drew spoke about the impermanence of the towers, something temporal, as opposed to the permanence of faith.

"The towers seemed permanent," he said. He left unsaid that they were not. Between remarks, he and members of Emanual Presbyterian Church sang songs, prayed together, and discussed how best to help the relief effort.

But even with the chorus, the center of campus was eerily quiet. People sat alone, reading or in silent contemplation. Those who spoke to each other did so in hushed tones.

On South Field the seemingly perpetual soccer and frisbee games took place in silence. Players passed and kicked, but no one called for the ball, no one strategized out loud, no one argued about the rules.

As the service ended, the church group joined in singing "Amazing Grace." The words of the final verse were obscured by the sound of surveillance planes overhead. -- Michael Mirer

Broadway Residence Hall lounge -- 7 p.m.

Students talked quietly in the first floor lounge of Broadway Residence Hall and Hogan Hall Tuesday night as residents of Broadway, Hogan, McBain Hall, Watt Hall, and the 113th Street brownstones gathered for support from the University staff.

They spoke quietly to each other, asking about families and expressing general support.

"I've seen more open doors in Broadway than I've seen in the past two years here," said Fabian Chrobog, CC '02, residential advisor to floors 10 and 11 in Broadway. "I encourage people to keep it up."

"People are cooperative, being there for each other," Igor Marfin, SEAS '03, said of Broadway residents. Marfin said he was amazed with the overwhelming effort in the blood drive. "I called out to the residents, and they responded." -- Katherine Haenschen

College Walk -- 8 p.m.

"By the glorious morning light, and by the night when it is still, the guardian Lord has not forsaken you, nor is he displeased." So began the Q'uranic passage that participants read in last night's Muslim Students Association prayer vigil.

"The themes of [the Q'uranic] passage we read were hardship, getting through hardship, and seeing the light after hardship," said participant Nabil Shahid, SEAS '04.

Despite the atmosphere of support, catharsis, and prayer, no one ignored the subtle xenophobia and overt threats that follow any act of terrorism on American lives. In the e-mail announcing the vigil, the MSA included a warning by the Council on American-Islamic Relations that included the caveat: "Those who wear Islamic attire should consider staying out of public areas for the immediate future."

The e-mail also reminded potential participants that, "In the first few days following the 1995 attack on the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma, Muslims reported more than 200 incidents of harassment, threats, and actual violence."

Many of the participants took the vigil as an opportunity to reinforce the fact that today's events were clearly at odds with Muslim belief.

"If there's a terrorist and he's a Muslim, then people think every Muslim is like that," said participant Kamal Walker, CC '04.

"But what we're saying is that those Muslims don't know the first thing about the faith," Shahid said.

"If people see Ireland and they see Catholics and Protestants killing each other, they don't think that all Christians are like that, but we don't get the same treatment. If people kill innocent people in the name of Islam, then that has nothing to do with what Islam really is and with the way it should be practiced," said Ahmed Saleh, Columbia GRE Prep student. -- Jamie Hodari

Low Plaza -- Midnight

Hundreds of tiny candle lights, held by hundreds of students, dotted the stairs under Low Library. A candle-light vigil entitled "Unite" to commemorate yesterday's tragedy began with a reading of John Lennon's "Imagine."

"Imagine all the people, living life in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope some day you'll join us and the world be will be as one," read an organizer.

She called for a moment of silence, during which everyone stood immobile. The sounds of jingling keys and rustling candle wrappers echoed against the stoic face of Butler across South Field.

Sitting again, attendees listened to student testimony. Most students said a few words about making peace and were rewarded with tempered applause. One student emphasized retaliation.

"Your country's been invaded today. That's an attack on everything this country stands for. We have to retaliate. Maybe not us personally, but this country was built on revolution. There's definitely justice that will have to be paid for today," he said, spitting on the ground.

He was met with near silence.

Steve Hofstetter, GS '02, said it was his worst birthday.

"Sept. 11 is going to mean something different from now on. For the last 20 years, it was just my birthday, but I spent today calling friends and family. It was the first birthday I've spent without smiling." -- Adam B. Kushner