California Apparel News

Sept. 11, 20019:15 a.m.

My hotel phone rings. It’s my roommate calling from Los Angeles. “Are you okay?” she asks, sounding very concerned.

“Yes, I’m fine. Why?” I ask, not knowing of any of the events that have just occurred.

“Turn on your television,” she says in a panic.

When I turn on the television, there it is. Tower One of the World Trade Center on fire. I have no words.

Less than 30 minutes later, live on television as I sit in my hotel in midtown Manhattan, another airplane crashes into Tower Two. I turn on my cell phone and immediately there are several messages waiting to be heard. They all say the same thing: “Are you okay?”11:00 a.m.

I go downstairs to the mezzanine restaurant. A large crowd of people sits in front of a big-screen television watching the news. Some are crying. All are in shock. As each minute passes, the devastation begins to sink in. A whirlwind of questions and thoughts are storming my head: “Is this really happening? Are we going to war? What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?” And the question that I am afraid to ask because it suddenly seems feeble and even shallow: “Will the fashion shows go on?”12:15 p.m.

My good friend Tommy, who lives in Brooklyn, happens to be in Manhattan today. Like everyone else, he was going about his daily routine when he heard the horrible news.

“Why don’t you come to the hotel until it’s safe to go back to Brooklyn?” I ask him. He’s reluctant to stay near Times Square, which is near the hotel, since it’s a major tourist attraction and could be a danger zone. But we agree to meet.

Before I leave, a hotel employee comes by the room to see if I need my minibar restocked.12:45 p.m.

Tommy arrives with news about Bryant Park.

“I was just eating over on Sixth and 38th, and all of a sudden I just saw everyone running up the street away from Bryant Park. It was crazy—-like there was a bomb threat or something. I’d say the shows are definitely cancelled.”

Outside, the streets of Manhattan are empty. Security is already heightened atthe hotel. A man with a list is standing in front of the glass doors at the entryway, not letting anyone in without checking their names or their showing a hotel key. Around the area, local bar-and-grills are filled with people watching the situation unfold on the news. Nearly all other businesses are closed.People are desperately trying to communicate on their cell phones with little or no luck. There are no cars or taxis driving in the streets, only police, ambulances and fire trucks rushing by with their sirens, and a few buses.3:00 p.m.

Tommy and I go as close to downtown as possible to see it all with our own eyes. In the West Village near downtown, streets are closed off and there are people everywhere trying to get a closer look or trying to find an alternate route to their destinations. On every street corner, police officers are desperately trying to take control of the crowds that have gathered, steering people out of the streets so buses, trucks and other vehicles can get by and telling spectators to continue walking. In the distance, we can see the smoke rising into the sky.

Wemake our way to a corner where a perfect view of the twin towers was once visible.

“I can’t believe it,” he says, looking into the distance, still trying to comprehend the depth of what was happening. “There is no more World Trade Center.”

To the left of us, big empty blue dump trucks sit parked along the street, while other clean-up vehicles are being prepared to go in. Police vans and cars, some with blown-out windows and covered in dust, drive out from what they are now calling “ground zero.”

There are people trying to get through the police blocks who say they live in the area. Most do not have the appropriate identification and are not let through. Others carry their passports, driver’s licenses and other papers knowing that this is the only way they will be allowed to cross the area to get to their homes.

We decide to leave. I don’t want to contribute to the commotion already happening on the streets.

We pass a neighborhood church and decide to go in to say a prayer. 5:00 p.m.

Still in the West Village but away from the police blocks, I can see an even thicker smoke rising into the sky than what I’d seen before. Another building collapsed. Police vans are patrolling the area and people are still speculating. You can’t hear the noise from where we are, but you can still feel the emotion. 7:00 p.m.

It’s beginning to get dark, and there’s a calmness that seems to be settling in. People in Washington Square Park are playing with their dogs and sitting on benches. A man is playing his violin. People are sitting around by the fountain.

Some time between 7:30 and 8:00, there is a roar in the sky that sounds like an airplane. People start looking upward, scared. The roar silences and everyone realizes it must be a military jet patrolling the sky.9:00 p.m.

Back in midtown Manhattan, I’ve never seen the streets so empty.

The idea of going home to Los Angeles is sounding better and better each minute I watch the news, although I’m not sure how or when that is going to happen. “I just want go home” is the last thing I ever imagined myself saying while here in New York during Fashion Week. But in this case, as the shows will not go on, it’s hard to even think about fashion, or anything else for that matter, other than being safe