On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was sitting at my desk on the 25th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. At the time I worked for Garban Intercapital, a bond brokerage firm, where I was employed for nearly 25 years before taking a different role in 2021.
I had taken off the day prior to play golf with clients, so that Tuesday started with an early arrival at 7:00 a.m. to the office. I was preparing for the day ahead like I would on any other morning, when unbeknownst to me the world would change entirely a little less than two hours later.
It was just after 8:45 a.m. when I heard what I first thought was a muffled explosion. Then, a shockwave hit, knocking me out of the seat at my desk. The building swayed violently. My heart raced as panic began to set in. I instinctively grabbed my things and ran for the stairwell. As I descended the stairs, an acrid smell filled the air, and I covered my nose and mouth, trying to avoid breathing in whatever chemicals or smoke had infiltrated the building. By the time I reached the mezzanine level, the damage was unmistakable.
Lights were blown out, glass broken, elevators burned out and huge pieces of shrapnel everywhere. When I made it to the ground floor I saw a woman who was badly injured leaning against a wall being attended to. She must have gotten caught in the fireballs from the elevator shaft.
There was a chaotic scene of people trying to get out of the North Tower, some moving slowly and others pushing forward in a panic. I was part of a group that was stopped by a Port Authority officer, who instructed us to run. “When I count to three, you run as fast as you can. Don’t look up. Don’t stop,” the officer told us. As I was waiting my turn to evacuate, I could see bodies and body parts strewn throughout the scene. Even though my legs felt like jelly, adrenaline took over. I didn’t have time to stop and hesitate over my next move.
As the group burst out of the building and into the chaos of the street, we heard a giant roar overhead. I instinctively looked up, just in time to watch Flight 175 crash directly into the South Tower. The explosion was deafening, sending a massive shockwave that rattled everything around us. It was then that I realized the true horror of what was happening. I was not just caught in a freak accident— my fellow Americans and I were in the middle of a terrorist attack.
I remember turning to Mike, a coworker who had been by my side from the start, and pronouncing, “I am never going back to that building ever again,” not having any idea the fate of the towers.
A Life-Saving Act of Kindness: Meeting Craig Katz
In the chaos of running away from the towers to safety, I tripped over someone who had collapsed on the sidewalk. In the melee, I assessed my injury. I noticed that I had split my knee wide open and was bleeding pretty badly. I was also wearing shoes with no socks and my feet were pretty torn up.
Mike helped me up. “We gotta go, man, let’s go,” he urged, and we began running again. We continued on, heading toward the Seaport. We were slowing down when we heard someone ask if we were okay.
“I’m not really okay,” I replied to the man. “We were in the Towers.” The stranger who had stopped to check in on us was calm and caring. His name was Craig Katz and he would become an important part of my story on 9/11.
Craig, Mike, another survivor and I continued walking north on the FDR Drive, away from the devastation. We had heard another explosion, and as we looked up, we saw the South Tower fall. Within seconds, the North Tower followed suit, collapsing in on itself. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It felt surreal—like something out of a nightmare. We were watching thousands of people perish in real-time, and had been inside those towers less than two hours earlier.
At some point, Craig asked where I lived, and I told him I was a couple of hours’ walk from where we were currently at. Craig didn’t hesitate. “Why don’t you come up to my place?” he said. “I have a comfortable pair of sneakers I can give you so you don’t have to finish this walk in loafers with no socks.” My feet were badly torn up from running, and my knee was still bleeding, but the thought of walking home in discomfort for another few hours didn’t seem like the best option. Craig’s simple offer of kindness was a lifeline for me.
Craig gave me a pair of sneakers, two sizes too big, but they were comfortable enough to keep me going. In total, my walk home would end up taking me close to eight hours.
Craig and I didn’t talk much during our journey to safety that day, but I am adamant that if I hadn’t met Craig, I might not have made it home. For me, the shoes became more than just a practical solution; they became a symbol of survival—a reminder of the kindness that still exists, even in the darkest of times.
It’s something that got me through and got me home to my family. If I hadn’t met him, I don’t know where I would have ended up, he definitely showed that day the best of humankind.
The Lasting Impact of 9/11: Lessons Learned and a Friendship Formed
It wasn’t until three years later that Craig and I reconnected. The thing that brought us back together was coaching youth lacrosse. I walked onto the field at a tournament, and there was Craig. This was fitting, as I would describe lacrosse as the medicine game. It’s used to heal and I truly think it held true very much so with our relationship.
Our friendship picked up right where it had left off, and the bond we shared on 9/11 only grew stronger. It was something I hadn’t known I’d needed, but it turned out to be exactly what we both did.
When the 20th anniversary of 9/11 arrived in 2022, I felt that it was time to do something meaningful with the shoes that Craig had lent me all those years ago. I asked Craig if he would be willing to let me donate the sneakers to the 9/11 Memorial Museum, as they were a major part of my survival story. Craig agreed and together we contributed the shoes, knowing they would carry with them the memory of that harrowing day and for me, the kindness of a stranger who became a close friend.
9/11 definitely changed the way I look at life and how I handle things. The biggest takeaways are not to sweat the small things in life and no matter how bad a day I am having, it’s not that bad. I have become a more alert person. Unfortunately, there are the not so great things that came out of it like PTSD and anxiety. I lost my best friend and mentor that day, along with many other good friends and people I knew.
But I also gained something invaluable: a friendship forged in the fires of one of the most tragic days in history. Craig, in his simple act of kindness, showed me the best of humanity when the world seemed to be falling apart. He didn’t think twice before offering me those sneakers, and those sneakers became a symbol of hope—hope that even in the most terrifying of circumstances, there are still people willing to help others, no matter how small the act may seem. It’s something I will never forget.
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