But the news grew only more senseless with the report that a second plane had hit the remaining tower--and that a third had hit the Pentagon. Now it seemed that rumor had outpaced reality; none of this could be true.

But sorting out fact from fiction proved to be harder than anticipated, and we determined to get on-the-scene coverage in an attempt to get the story straight. But the A, B and C subways--the lines servicing the World Trade Center--were quickly bogging down. Giving up on the subway lines, I emerged at 8th Avenue and West 14th Street and walked over to Broadway. The first realization--a total non-sequitor--was that all of the Village eateries were empty--no patrons, no servers. Of course, they were all on the sidewalk, flooding into streets devoid of all vehicular traffic. Their hands cupped over their mouths, people stood wide-eyed, staring up at the site of one tower--Tower Two--engulfed in smoke, the other involved apparently only on the upper third. Smoke billowed from certain floors and what seemed small sporadic fires dotted its facade.

As I crossed the first police line, outside of St. Vincent's Hospital, onlookers confirmed what was unbelievable--that one of the towers was down. People sat on curbs, sobbing as the roar of ambulances rose.