WITNESS TO TERROR
By:Kara Alaimo
Editor’s note: This is the first of a series of articles written by Hillsborough residents who witnessed the attacks on the World Trade Center. Because of the monumental importance of these events, we invite residents to submit their personal eyewitness accounts. Anyone interested in submitting an article for future publication should send it to Witness, 307 Omni Drive, Hillsborough, NJ, 08844, or send e-mail to [email protected]
Hillsborough High School graduate Kara Alaimo was ready for a day of classes on the campus of New York University, two miles north of the World Trade Center, when two highjacked commercial airliners struck two of the towers. Below is her account of the events she witnessed and her prompt answer to the call for help.
It was roughly a quarter to nine Sept. 11 when I grabbed my books for my 9 a.m. physics class and walked to the door of my dorm room on the New York University campus.
Suddenly, there was a loud noise and my roommate asked if I knew what it was. My exact words were, "It sounds like a plane’s landing on our roof."
I said goodbye to my roommate and walked down three flights of stairs and outside of my building. On the sidewalk, people pointed and exclaimed that a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center. I looked up and there was a huge hole in the middle of Tower One.
Witnesses explained they had known that the plane was flying too low and had wondered what was going on, but everyone was shocked that it had actually gone into the building.
As I walked down the street, I used my cellphone to leave a message for my mom in Hillsborough: "Mom, turn on the news. You won’t believe this. A plane just hit the World Trade Center."
I don’t think anyone realized the magnitude of what was happening at that point. I said a prayer that everyone was OK and guessed that some lunatic was on drugs or needed attention that morning. I figured we’d read the pilot’s life story in Wednesday’s tabloids. I went to class.
My professor mentioned nothing about the event, although a few students wondered aloud what was going on. We were dismissed after a few minutes because no one had questions about our homework.
When I walked outside, both towers were on fire. Dark smoke curled into the sky and the buildings were slowly beginning to melt. In disbelief, I stood watching what was happening with a growing number of people outside my dorm on Fifth Avenue. It wasn’t until about 9:30 that I saw the first emergency vehicles race down our street.
By then, I had snapped pictures of the blazing towers. When onlookers with binoculars pointed out desperate people jumping off of the top floors, we all became hysterical and I went inside.
The phone was ringing when I walked into my room. It was my roommate’s ex-boyfriend, and I assured him that my roommate was OK and I had just seen her outside. Then he told me that the Pentagon was also on fire. I ran outside and at first people didn’t believe me when I told them the Pentagon had been hit, until others came outside with the same news.
There were people jumping off of the towers and we knew they were going to die and there was nothing we could do to help them. Our city and capital were under attack, and we had no idea whether or not anything else would be hit.
Our dorm’s nearness to the Empire State Building terrified us all. There was talk of bombs aboard the planes and we worried that there might be something toxic in the air.
Also extremely unnerving was the fact that we were unable to place outgoing calls and our cellphones had stopped working. News stations quickly broadcast the fact that all entrances and exits to the city had been sealed. I felt trapped.
Luckily, a couple of incoming calls went through, and I was able to speak with my family. I was also able to go online and assure some friends of my safety, although my message stipulated, "If nothing else is attacked then you know I am OK. I’ll call as soon as I can."
My friends and I wondered what we could do to help, and soon it became known that blood donors were needed. We walked the three blocks to St. Vincent’s Medical Center to make blood donations. The lines of donors already went on for blocks and wrapped around the side of the center, but I was brought to the front of the line because I have type O blood.
Doctors and nurses and EMTs lined up in the streets, as did translators who could communicate with the victims.
I knew the towers were on fire and that the loss of life was going to be devastating, but I never realized that the towers were actually going to collapse and be gone. When Tower One collapsed, the ground shook and the people of New York shook.
When I look at the skyline now, I can’t imagine that when the smoke clears there won’t be a structure, a foundation, or anything just an unbearable void where there used to be business and culture and history and human life. Sept. 11 was the worst day of my life. I have never felt so helpless or been so sad or emotionally and physically drained. But I was one of the lucky people in New York City that day.
Tuesday night, I went home to my family. There are countless people whose loved ones will never come home to them, and I don’t think it’s possible to begin to comprehend their grief.
Wednesday morning I visited Total Repair Express, the Hillsborough medical business that I worked for throughout my high school years. The owners of the company, local residents Gwen and Christian Mills, called all tri-state area employees in to the office to mourn our country’s losses together. I think that’s what we all need right now to talk about what has happened and help each other cope and unite as proud citizens of the United States of America.
I know that one day I’ll tell my children about the "Attack on America."
I’ll get the same look in my eyes that my parents do when I ask them about the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated and my grandparents do when I ask about the day Pearl Harbor was bombed. I’ll tell my children the facts and the final death toll that I am so terrified of hearing.
But I’ll also tell my children how I felt when I saw the lines of people wrapped around St. Vincent’s to donate blood. I’ll tell them how I felt when my answering machine flooded with messages from family and friends and co-workers and acquaintances making sure I was OK. And I’ll tell them how I felt when I drove around Hillsborough Wednesday morning and saw the American flags that people had hung outside their homes.

