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I was 5 blocks away, working as the PM on a construction project renovating 13 floors of an office tower. When I got into work, someone told me that a plane had hit Tower 1. I thought it was a light plane like a Cessna. When I saw it, I was dumbstruck. As we were talking the second plane hit Tower 2. I knew then that my construction schedule was shot.

After hanging around and seeing the towers collapse, I walked to the Village and tried to give blood at St. Vincents. They didn’t have enough bloodsuckers, so they bussed us over to Cabrini. In the meanwhile, I got really sunburned (I’m a redhead). I also borrowed a cell phone and called my wife, who told me that her best friend, who happens to be the god mother of my older daughter, was staying in the W Hotel in Union Square and that she had room for me.

So I got to stay in a luxury hotel room, with a woman who was not my wife, on her expense account. How’s that for a war story?