EDITOR’S NOTE: Ten years ago, John Hamlin watched the twin towers burn after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, and his life completely changed.
After having lived in New York since 1996, he returned to Port Angeles in 2010 to run his own company, Angeles Computer, and put his life back together after the horror of that day.
He tells what he saw in his own words.
By John Hamlin
“It’s going to be a beautiful day tomorrow,” I told my sister.
“You are on vacation. The first thing you should do in the morning is get to the top of the World Trade Center.
“The view will be awesome. Get there early to beat the morning commute.”
My sister, Lisa, and her little boy, Kelvin, agreed.
Thank God she’s never on time.
That morning, as she reached for the TV remote control to turn off the news and head down to the WTC, she saw the first images of the jet crashing into the tower.
As I got off the bus to walk the couple of blocks to my office, the first jet screamed past directly above.
I shook my head in typical New Yorker fashion, thinking the pilot is an idiot for flying so fast and low just to give passengers a view of the Manhattan skyline.
Then, everything changed as I watched the plane crash into the tower.
My stepdaughter attended Stuyvesant High School, located in the shadow of the towers.
I headed that way.
I remember a woman lying on the sidewalk crying hysterically.
Others went about their business, seemingly oblivious.
Someone said a small commuter plane hit the tower.
I said it was a jetliner.
No one realized it was war until the second plane hit the other tower.
The students at Stuyvesant had already dispersed by the time I got there.
Before starting the 70-plus-block walk uptown to home, I watched the towers burn.
I should have turned away and headed home.
Above the fires, people had to make the choice to either burn to death or jump to their deaths.
Some held hands as they fell, until the fall pulled them apart.
After a firefighter was killed by a falling body, firefighters started crossing the plaza in pairs, one leading the way, the other watching for falling objects.
Pieces of paper drifted down like giant snowflakes against the perfectly blue sky.
My brain didn”t know how to process this information.
It was a vivid, conscious nightmare. A giant snow globe of horror.
It was quiet as I joined the thousands of New Yorkers walking away from lower Manhattan.
There was no panic, but the shock was palatable.
People abandoned their cars and started walking.
Then, the sound of a jet pierced the surreal quiet.
The masses stopped walking and looked up, expecting to see another jet crash into the Chrysler Building or the Empire State Building. Someone said, “Here comes another one.”
But the jet was ours and buzzed Manhattan after initially being sent out over the ocean in the wrong direction.
There was a collective sigh of relief and nervous laughter as the mass of people began to move uptown again.
When the first tower collapsed, the horrible news spread through the crowds like an electric current.
Then, the second tower collapsed.
Soon after came the smell.
I”ll never forget the smell and pray I never smell it again.
It was the smell of electrical burning death, like that sick burning-hair smell mixed with acrid electrical fumes and acidic dust, mud, steam and smoke.
When I got home, everyone was there, safe and sound.
I told my son to never forget this day.
This attack is worse than Pearl Harbor.
The war to follow would be unprecedented.
They don”t want our riches, land or women.
They simply want us all dead.
And they are willing to die to kill us.
I did not personally know anyone who lost their life that day.
But my daily commute to work took me past the National Guard Armory every day.
For weeks, the walls of the building were covered with fliers and posters begging for any news about the missing.
I knew at the time the efforts to find these folks were futile.
The faces on the walls are burned into my brain.
These were not soldiers.
These were moms, dads, brothers and sisters.
The company I worked for went out of business due to the attack.
My wife and I grew apart as a result of the attack.
She went to law school and was determined to make a difference.
I became introverted, afraid to socialize, paranoid.
I was unable to focus on anything.
My days were spent on the couch watching television because it’s safer than going out into the world.
The images of the falling souls played in my head over and over.
Despair and fear ultimately led to financial problems, divorce and a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder.
My wife and I divorced, my son is off to college, and I”ve returned home to Port Angeles to rebuild my life.
On Sept. 11, 2011, I hope I am able to touch the remnant of the towers that, like me, has found its way to Port Angeles.
My recovery continues.
It’s good to be home.
