Michelle Williams WTC Report 9/14

Michelle Williams' 9/13/2001

received 9/14/2001

Everything is different now, again.

It is 4:45, I just got home, and I am too exhausted to write but I'll fill in the details tomorrow. We were at Ground Zero. Hayley, Tessa and I although I was split up from Tess the whole time and Hayley for part of it. We got in by way of the Salvation Army. I'll explain later.

Most important... Salvation Army: totally, incomprehensibly, disorganized. Police, Firefighters, National Guard: worse off that the Salvation Army. Thousands of police on the ground digging, fire people on top of buildings, removing debris, tossing it on the buildings where the cops are digging. Far more food and supplies than needed, nowhere near enough people to hand them out. NO ONE in charge.

Firefighters covered in asbestos and filth asking ME where the health services are. Hayley and I walking *directly beneath* that part of the building still standing, the skeleton like fingers stretching in the air, and not only are people not telling us to leave, they are asking for Tums and Gatorade and where the bathrooms are and where they can get medical help. We saw all of it, not just near it, but next to it.

We walked every side, passing out dry shirts (it started to thunderstorm like mad) and socks and water and granola bars and then people, firefighters, cops, medics, coming to us for answers. There are people trapped under there, not because we lack funds or manpower or equipment, but because we lack organization. We started to walk home, from Ground Zero, to the East Village, because they were afraid the building was going to collapse, and were given a ride by some guys who had brought over some earth moving equipment from their John Deere store in Jersey.

They had sat for 12 hours with no one telling them what to do or where to go and gave up.

There is no communication. I have to get back as soon as I can. There are thousands of men standing twenty feet away from dry socks and since I am not there they soak. I cannot go back to work any time soon. Not to tuna and wine. I can't do it. My arms are lacerated, my hair is full of asbestos. And the firefighters were taking pictures of *us*. Of *us*.

Bodybags, cadaver dogs, men searching for their partners, men laughing with joy at the thought of clean socks and a red bull. Anyway. More later.

Love, M.