By Scott E. Fernqvist

Editor’s note: Scott Fernqvist, who grew up in Los Altos and interned at the Town Crier, is currently attending New York University. This is his account of the Sept. 11 events.

When I left for class on Sept. 11, I never thought to bring a toothbrush or extra socks and underwear. I never stopped to think about whether or not my cell phone was in my backpack, or if my dorm room windows were closed. Why would I? Tuesday began like any other day, with a quick shower and breakfast before hopping onto NYU’s purple and white bus bound for campus.

Minutes following my arrival to campus, I noticed streams of local workers and students staring and pointing in the direction of lower Manhattan, where my dorm is located. However my dorm was not the object of fascination. Billowing smoke twisted around one of New York’s most recognizable buildings, the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers. Any feeling of shock was subdued by my tiredness at 9 a.m. and the assumption that a small fire was burning and would be extinguished promptly.

However that tiredness and indifference was transformed into utter shock once my friend Matt frantically described what he witnessed just minutes after I went inside and stopped looking at the smoky towers. Two commercial jets crashed into the World Trade Center towers. Someone in the crowd that grew around Matt shouted “terrorists!” and it was at that moment that I realized what those flames meant: we were under attack.

Despite the catastrophic events that were unfolding blocks away, my professors decided to hold class, since many students showed up oblivious to what happened. My two classes on Tuesday were my first and last classes of the week at NYU. Unable to return to my dorm six blocks from “ground 0,” I sought refuge with friends and family. In my first e-mail to my family in Los Altos, I wrote “I heard newscasters comparing this day to Pearl Harbor. Since I wasn’t alive during that time, this act of terrorism is taking on a face all its own. Just wanted to let you all know that I am doing OK.” I communicated with my family via e-mail because most phone lines were down.

I can’t say that I have been truly homeless after Sept. 11. My friend let me stay in her apartment located uptown. I was happy to be as far away from lower Manhattan as possible. Any inconvenience I experience from being away from all of my belongings appears insignificant as missing person signs still hang on almost every post and bare wall in New York. I am constantly reminded that life is a blessing.

You have probably heard newscasters talking about the unity of New Yorkers following the tragedy. This is not clichéd flattery. The attack on New York’s World Trade Center managed to destroy human life and buildings of monumental proportion, but only strengthened the foundation of an already resilient city. At the National Cathedral, Billy Graham eloquently described America’s amazing ability to unite in the face of acts intended to break down American spirit.

Of course there were times when I wished to escape from New York and the signs of this tragedy: the smell of burning electrical wire, the noise of ambulances passing by, and the cries of strangers. But at the same time I am thankful for being part of a city that learned to express its humanity through the generosity of volunteers, ubiquitous patriotism, and inspiring messages etched into makeshift memorials found throughout the city.

I will probably move back into my dorm within the next couple weeks. However, it won’t be the same as when I left. I won’t see the Twin Towers from my bathroom windows or go shopping at the World Trade Center’s mall. An altered view and shopping destination strike me as trivial concerns when I sit and wonder where this country is headed.