© Walter Goralski 2011
Made with Xara
Alex’s Story Part 3:
Then came a sound Alex will hear for the rest of his life, one he hopes he never hears again. A rush, a roar, and
then a faint, repetitive popping, getting deeper and faster as it went on. Pop, pop, pop…poom, poom, poom…boom,
boom, boom! What the hell is that?
This photo is blurry, perhaps because what it catches is so unbelievable. The south tower is falling, the pops and
pooms and booms the sound of an upper concrete floor slab crashing into a lower, causing both to give way. All 110 of
them. There is just a cloud of white over the scene, the pulverized remains of endless sheetrock partitions. Later, when
many of the bodies recovered consist of small pieces like a finger or toe, they will theorize that the aluminum studs used
to hold the sheetrock walls were shattered by the falling slabs and the shards ricocheted around the rapidly decreasing
space like sharp knives, tearing people left behind to tiny shreds.
People were screaming louder than before, running like maniacs to get away from the cloud. Alex held his ground
for one picture more, then two. Then the cloud began to churn its way up the street from the south, just beyond the
Burger King. Alex turned and raced north, pausing at the end of each short block to check the cloud and snap another
frame. It came close, but it did not catch him.
Alex ran all the way to Canal Street, where the people were calmer and the threat less real. He exhausted his
film there, before the north tower fell. After it fell, an eerie silence spread over the whole city. Alex looked at his watch. It
was a little after 10:30 a.m. Less than two hours had passed since it all began. He should be in accounting class. It was
going to be a very long day. In a daze, he made his way to Grand Central, where he took a packed but silent train to
Westchester.
Today Alex Goralski, twenty-nine years old, is a managing CPA for a Wall Street firm. It was months before he
could get a pass to venture back to his dorm two blocks north of Ground Zero. He had no idea why the area was sealed
off so tightly. They gave him two hours to go in and take what he could out. Most things, like his refrigerator and
microwave, were covered by a layer of dust as fine as powder. No one said it was dangerous, so he blew it off and
hauled the stuff out. For almost three years, Alex felt as if he had a sore throat and he coughed constantly. Then it
seemed to go away. The New York Department of Health includes his name as one of 71,000 in a database of those
who lived or worked within a mile of Ground Zero and his health is closely monitored. You can read about the "air as
caustic as Drano" and other issues.
© Walter Goralski 2011
Made with Xara
Alex’s Story Part 3:
Then came a sound Alex will hear for the rest of his life, one he hopes he never hears again. A rush, a roar, and
then a faint, repetitive popping, getting deeper and faster as it went on. Pop, pop, pop…poom, poom, poom…boom,
boom, boom! What the hell is that?
This photo is blurry, perhaps because what it catches is so unbelievable. The south tower is falling, the pops and
pooms and booms the sound of an upper concrete floor slab crashing into a lower, causing both to give way. All 110 of
them. There is just a cloud of white over the scene, the pulverized remains of endless sheetrock partitions. Later, when
many of the bodies recovered consist of small pieces like a finger or toe, they will theorize that the aluminum studs used
to hold the sheetrock walls were shattered by the falling slabs and the shards ricocheted around the rapidly decreasing
space like sharp knives, tearing people left behind to tiny shreds.
People were screaming louder than before, running like maniacs to get away from the cloud. Alex held his ground
for one picture more, then two. Then the cloud began to churn its way up the street from the south, just beyond the
Burger King. Alex turned and raced north, pausing at the end of each short block to check the cloud and snap another
frame. It came close, but it did not catch him.
Alex ran all the way to Canal Street, where the people were calmer and the threat less real. He exhausted his
film there, before the north tower fell. After it fell, an eerie silence spread over the whole city. Alex looked at his watch. It
was a little after 10:30 a.m. Less than two hours had passed since it all began. He should be in accounting class. It was
going to be a very long day. In a daze, he made his way to Grand Central, where he took a packed but silent train to
Westchester.
Today Alex Goralski, twenty-nine years old, is a managing CPA for a Wall Street firm. It was months before he
could get a pass to venture back to his dorm two blocks north of Ground Zero. He had no idea why the area was sealed
off so tightly. They gave him two hours to go in and take what he could out. Most things, like his refrigerator and
microwave, were covered by a layer of dust as fine as powder. No one said it was dangerous, so he blew it off and
hauled the stuff out. For almost three years, Alex felt as if he had a sore throat and he coughed constantly. Then it
seemed to go away. The New York Department of Health includes his name as one of 71,000 in a database of those
who lived or worked within a mile of Ground Zero and his health is closely monitored. You can read about the "air as
caustic as Drano" and other issues.
