WTC & Hutch (JJ)
Erin & Field (erin)
Billiard Balls
Qui Tam Case
no collapse

Stories of September 11

by Douglas Longenecker

See Whistleblower Information

The author was close enough to the World Trade Center to hear a fast and low flying jet but only reports hearing an explosion. He also reports huge chunks of the building being thrown but reports no damage and a mushroom cloud like a small nuclear explosion.

He describes the destruction of WTC2:
"With a huge roaring sound the unthinkable was happening. Even though my view of the South Tower was partially obstructed by the North Tower, I could still see huge chunks of the building's exterior skeleton begin to pull away from the structure, fall across West Street and disappear in a vacuous cloud of smoke that mushroomed up like a small nuclear explosion.

He describes these large pieces falling toward his apartment, but does not report any damage to his apartment building.
"From my angle, it had looked like a number of the large pieces of the South Tower that had fallen across the street were headed directly onto Parc Place."

He also states,
"From our position we were lucky not to be hit with the full impact of the rolling wave of dust and ash. Instead, we were hit primarily with a discriminating acrid smell in the air and a few dust particles in our mouths and hair."

Stories of September 11


Contributed by: Douglas Longenecker
Contributor's location on 9/11: Battery Park City, NYC
Contributed on: August 26, 2003

It was by the mere location of my residence that I became a witness to one of the most reprehensible and fiendish attacks ever committed against innocent, civilian lives. My story is not one of great heroism or cowardice but one of survival and self-realization

I was there that morning. That sunny Tuesday morning. Not because I wanted to be there. Not because it was my job to be there. Not even because it was my duty to be there. But simply because that was where I lived. 225 Rector Place. Or Parc Place as our apartment building was commonly known in our neighborhood.

Tuesday began like any other day for us. Sue was up and out by 6:30. I stayed in bed for another hour or so and then got up to hit the pavement. Instead of going for my daily run I went straight to the computer to send some follow-up emails to new recruiters and H.R. directors that I had met the day before. Interestingly enough two of them had asked me the exact same question, ?Outside of advertising what would you consider your dream job to be?? My response to both of them was ? ?photojournalist.?

The time was 8:30 a.m. and I was still busy banging out emails in hopes of, at the very least, scheduling an interview for later in the week. I was in the process of spell checking the last one when I heard a boom followed by a scraping sound (that is best described as the sound that the blade of a snowplow makes as it first hits the road) then a second, smaller boom. And then quiet. It was enough to make me stop what I was doing ? just for a moment. Then fire sirens could be heard. Since there was continuous construction work on West Street and a fire truck could be seen at the World Trade Center on Liberty Street practically once a day, nothing appeared too unusual. So, I finished spell checking my e-mail and pressed ?send.? The time stamp on the e-mail was 8:54 a.m.

With the last e-mail gone and the sounds of police, fire and ambulance sirens growing ever louder, I decided to look out our window and see if I could catch a glimpse of what was going on outside. When I looked out all I could see was paper raining down on the street below like it was a ticker tape parade in the canyon of heroes. This was definitely not right. My gaze immediately followed the trail of paper up to a high floor of the north tower of the Word Trade Center. From my vantage point all I could see was the south and west sides of the towers. A quick, first glance from this angle revealed very little except that a fire had broken out on a floor of the north tower ? Nothing more. With a more prolonged fix on the scene, I was able to determine flames were ravaging at least two floors while smoke was billowing from the opposite sides of tower one. This was not right at all. Something was wrong.

With ?photojournalist? still fresh in my psyche as the answer to my dream job, I rushed into the closet to find my camera and then made a frantic dash to our building?s roof deck. As usual, the elevators didn?t seem to go fast enough ? especially now. The doors finally opened to the penthouse floor and I ran down the hall, up another flight of stairs and I burst onto the roof deck.

All was calm up there. Not that I was expecting complete chaos but in the time it took me to reach the roof deck from our apartment a number of scenarios had been running through my mind. Happily, none of them had occurred. As I walked over to the east side of the roof it became a bit clearer to me. This was not just a fire but must have been some kind of horrible mistake. There was only one other person on the roof at the time. An older gentleman with mustache and a belly that protruded from his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. He must have been continuing an extended vacation as it looked like he was laying out basking in the warm, morning sun and cool breeze from the harbor. We didn?t utter a word to one another. We just looked at each other as if to say, ?This is pretty fucking serious.? He noticed my camera around my neck and motioned that he?d be back.

Once he was gone I retrained my focus to the burning offices and the street below. By now the fire was worse and emergency crews were coming from all directions. I clicked off 5 or 6 frames and then felt an urge to find out what was going on. I thought there must be something on the news about this by now. As I was leaving the roof deck, the man who was there earlier had made his return trip. This time with his camera in hand. Again, we said nothing to one other. So, with that awkward, silent parting I raced back downstairs to #8A.

I opened the door and went first to the television, hit the power button and then went to the dining room window to see if there were any new developments. Before the picture could even materialize on the TV and before I could get to the window there was an extremely loud and extended BOOM. This time the sound was unmistakable. The sound was definitely an explosion. As I stared out of the window I was in shock ? horrified to now see both the twin towers were ablaze. More paper and debris continued to fall and people on the street were beginning to scramble for cover. As the TV news team was relaying the information that a second plane had crashed into the South tower, the reality of the situation was beginning to be realized by everyone at the same time. New York was under attack!

At that moment a million different questions seemed to run through my head. Should I evacuate and take the ferry off of the island? But which one ? Staten Island or New Jersey Waterway? Should I pack clothes and other things for Sue and I? What about our neighbors? What about the cat? More importantly, what about Sue? Were any other parts of the city being hit? Could this really be happening? I decided the only thing to do was direct my attention to what was unfolding in front of me.

Current status was that the buildings were burning and the emergency crews were either already on the scene or on their way. How much worse could it get? That being my thought process, I changed into clothes that were more in line with what I envisioned was appropriate for a? photojournalist.? While I was preparing to go outside and perform my dream job, I was also able to see television coverage of the gaping whole in the North face of the North tower. My objective was to cover the towers from all sides. Head North and circle all the way around back to my starting point at Parc Place.

Dressed in a t-shirt, cargo shorts and sneakers, I pocketed an extra roll of film grabbed the cell phone, palm pilot and keys. Loaded with my gear I took another peek outside to make sure what I thought was going on was in fact real. Confirming the situation, I headed for the door. Before leaving I placed a quick call to Sue to find out what she knew and inform her of my plan. Her voice mail picked-up. I needed to stay calm and keep the message brief. Beep. ?Sue, they?ve blown up the towers and I?m going out!? Click. So much for staying calm. I turned to the cat, ?By Jazzie, I?ll be back later.? And off I went.

Neither Sue nor I were living in the city when the World Trade Center was first attacked by terrorists in 1993. When I had first started working in New York I would make the commute through a combination of New Jersey Transit and Path trains. During my first month of this commute the 3rd anniversary of that attack took place and nearly everyone on my train had been touched by the experience and had a story to tell. Now eight years later, it was our turn to experience first hand, the horror of terrorists.

The ride down on the elevator took forever ? stopping on every floor. I figured everyone would be running for cover but when the elevator doors opened to the lobby things weren?t as crazy as I had expected. I found it quite strange. While two of the world?s tallest buildings were burning out of control not more than 200 yards away, Parc Place was still receiving all sorts of deliveries. Felix definitely had his hands full with requests for information as he continued to direct the flow of everyday building traffic Dry cleaning, breakfast from the diner, courier service, routine maintenance and house cleaning personnel all continued going in and out of the building.

Like everyone else in the lobby I checked in with Felix to find out what he knew. He was always the go-to-guy in order to get information. Nothing went on, in or around Parc Place without him knowing about it. On this day however, Felix was at a loss. It only took a few minutes to understand he didn?t know any more than the rest of us. He was however doing a good job of faking it by telling stories from other witnesses who had already passed through the lobby. Realizing my once reliable source of information was now beginning to repeat what little actual facts he knew I decided it was time to move on.

Out the front door of Parc Place I made a left heading towards our sidewalk between the building and West Street. The usually barren sidewalk was overflowing with people. Some hysterical, some crying, some yelling. And practically all of them on a cell phone. Where were all these people coming from? I made another left. Now heading North toward Albany Street I was like a salmon going up stream against a swift moving current of office workers. At the corner of Albany and West Street the tree-lined sidewalk gave way to my first view of the horror from street level.

By now, fallen burning debris had started small fires in nearby parking lots. As I continued to fight my way closer I heard someone say, ?look, there goes another one!? Another what, I thought. As I stared up in disbelief I couldn?t believe what I was now watching. It didn?t take long to figure out that ?another one? meant a person. And ?goes? meant jumped.

In all, I witnessed 12?15 people leap to their death. Some looked severely burned. Some looked as if they were trying to hang on to the exterior structure through broken out windows but were overcome by the heat and the smoke. Others appeared to understand their fates were already doomed if they stayed. So they decided to step off their ledge and fall together hand-in-hand, 90 - 100 stories to the street below.

As difficult as it was to watch that type of event it was equally as difficult to look away. It was evident that I needed to change direction. In part due to not wanting to get close enough to see the end result of the poor souls who had determined their chances were better off surviving a fall of that magnitude and in part due to tiring of fighting the constant southward flow of people. South. Everyone fleeing the World Trade Center and World Financial Centers were running South to the Staten Island Ferry. Many probably took the ferry to and from work everyday as their regular commuter transportation. Today it would be their lifeboat and escape to safety.

Breaking free from the flow of people fleeing for the Staten Island ferries I spilled out close to the Battery Tunnel entrance. There I took time to clear my head, reassess what was going on and focus on a plan of action. Still wanting to continue on, I needed to proceed north again. This time my path led me East around Exchange Place over to Broadway. The side streets that lead to Broadway were barren except for a curious few. Quickly a police officer warned me that I couldn?t go any closer and advised that I head south toward the Staten Island Ferry. Not wanting to do that I pressed on. East, over to Broadway via Exchange Place.

There were many more onlookers here. I swung the camera off my shoulder and checked the remaining number of exposures and the computer settings. No time for the novice to operate manually. Auto-mode was the call for the day. Now I was moving north again and approached Trinity Church as the first recognizable landmark. Here I took a few pictures and listened to other?s conversations about what they had seen earlier this morning, where they were when it happened and what was going on now.

Repeatedly, people mentioned that the towers were designed to withstand impacts from an airplane. True enough. Each of the twin towers was belching smoke, flames, debris and people and yet, each was still standing. The towers were not swaying. They didn?t look like the leaning tower of Pizza. And seemingly the entire city?s fire and police departments were on the scene. It was now just a matter of evacuating everybody from the buildings and putting out the fire.

Looking on, the towers remained virtually indestructible. Invincible. Defiant. The growing crowds from Trinity Church to the park at City Hall began feeding on this as a source of strength. No longer were people running away from the scene. Rather, people were beginning to gather along the new perimeters being established by police ? Courageously standing tall with the slowly dieing towers of the World Trade Center.

I guess because of the camera and photojournalist ?disguise? the police allowed me to move around freely and go about my business. I was now at the base of the World Trade Center. While at the corner of Liberty and Church Streets my freedom to move about at my discretion was replaced with a direct order to ?Move? for fear of my safety. This was a new directive and given in a much more stern manner. The previous warnings to back-up had been more voluntary in nature and most normal people had obliged.

The policemen who were now assigned to setting up a perimeter had become extremely serious about moving people away from the scene. You could see it in their faces. They were more focused and more determined not to let anyone pass. The perimeter was further extended in each direction and directives for everyone to move north become more intense. This was no longer viewed as ?parade duty? by these police officers but as basic
survival tactics.

Did I miss something? Another attack? What about the rest of the city? What about Sue? What had happened to bring about such a change? Nothing seemed to have changed from my perspective but with such a drastic change in demeanor I heeded their advice and moved on. Besides, my first roll of film was exhausted and I needed to reload.

At this point, I didn?t mind the cops ushering me further North. It was the direction in which I originally had planned to go. I was out here to document the attack and I wanted to cover the damage from all angles before heading back home. So, I continued my trek up Broadway looking to turn west as soon as possible. My plan was slowly beginning to deteriorate. As the safety perimeter increased in radius my opportunities to head West to North Battery Park City become nearly impossible. Police were on every street corner of Broadway not letting people pass and pushing them northward. Vesey St., Barclay St., Park Place, Murray St. Finally, while an officer was talking with another civilian at Murray and Broadway, I made my break back west. I was quickly forced north again but after one more block I ran down Chambers Street headed for West Street.

At this intersection there were three public schools a college and most importantly, the entrance to North Battery Park City. Students were everywhere and lines for public phones were ridiculous. But with cell phones virtually useless the wait was worth it in order to make contact with a loved one to let them know you were O.K.

While at the corner of West and Chambers Street I notice that I was well into my second and last roll of film. I begin to ration pictures and heavily evaluated ?photo opportunities? before preparing to make my final push back home. Being 5 blocks North of the WTC and 6 blocks from home I realized that for the most part, I had completed my mission. Now I needed to get myself home, get to the cat and figure out what to do next. However, police and fire department personnel were not permitting anyone to go south or cross the street into North Battery Park City. For now I was stuck. I could see my home. I just wasn?t allowed to go there.

As the reality of my current situation began to sink-in a deafening noise redirected my attention back to the flame and smoke engulfed towers. What I saw stopped me and everyone at the corner dead in our tracks. With a huge roaring sound the unthinkable was happening. Even though my view of the South Tower was partially obstructed by the North Tower, I could still see huge chunks of the building?s exterior skeleton begin to pull away from the structure, fall across West Street and disappear in a vacuous cloud of smoke that mushroomed up like a small nuclear explosion.

Unbelievable. This couldn?t be happening. The indestructible? The invincible? The defiant? How could this be? Before any of us could think it through any further the mushroom cloud of smoke and ash was heading our way threatening to envelope us if we didn?t move. Instinctively, all of us ran up West Street as fast as we could. Together, students, office workers, construction workers, fireman, policemen, EMTs, all of us who were there on that corner, sprinted away from the unknown danger that seconds ago had demolished a 110 story building.

Fortunately, that section of West Street was extremely wide and not confined or restricted with a number of high rises. Once North of the movie theater and the Embassy Suites hotel the smoke and ash combination dissipated quite a bit before finally reaching us one block North from where we had just been. From our position we were lucky not to be hit with the full impact of the rolling wave of dust and ash. Instead, we were hit primarily with a discriminating acrid smell in the air and a few dust particles in our mouths and hair.

I dusted myself off and went through the internal bodily checklist. Everything was fine. Nothing a little cleaning couldn?t clear-up for both the camera and me. But now, the enormity of what just happened was setting in. From my angle, it had looked like a number of the large pieces of the South Tower that had fallen across the street were headed directly onto Parc Place. Because the smoke was still so heavy at the base of the WTC nothing could be made out visually. For the second time that morning I was left with so many questions. What else has been destroyed? What was the status of Parc Place? What happened to all the people? What about Jazzie? What do I do now?

My heart was in my stomach and I wanted to puke. There was a new rush of emergency vehicles screaming down West Street vanishing into the smoke that was once the South Tower. I only seemed to be in the way there so I headed back to the pay phones that I saw on Chambers. While I was walking I continued to try and contact someone on the cell phone - anyone.

I kept redialing Sue?s work number, my in-law?s home in New Jersey and my parent?s in Florida. By now they must be aware of what was happening and I?m sure my mother was a wreck. My parents had visited us in our new apartment only three weeks earlier and they knew just how close we were to the World Trade Center.

It seemed pointless but I kept trying to get through. It was like trying to buy concert tickets over the phone. Someone has to be able to get through - just not me ? not now. On Chambers the line for pay phones was way too long. I went east to the end of the block and headed north. At N. Moore Street I spied a pay phone with only four people in line. I quickly lined-up in the queue but also continued to feverishly work the cell phone keypad. Still nothing.

The line was moving. Slowly but surely I had advanced to the point where I was number two in line. ?C?mon, C?mon. Let them know you?re OK and let someone else use the phone.? I thought. Then there was another loud rumbling sound and screams of tragic disbelief. Deep down I knew what was happening but I jumped out of line and ran over to Greenwich Street and looked South to confirm my worst thoughts. Like a spouse who dies of loneliness shortly after their loved one has departed, the North Tower had come down only 38 minutes after it?s mate had imploded and been forever erased from the city?s skyline.

Now my mind was racing again. The situation was deteriorating very fast and I was still not able to get in touch with anyone. I went back to West Street to see if I could somehow cross over and head back down to my apartment.

When I got there I found another rush of activity. This time the emergency vehicles were heading in our direction away from the fallen city icons. As I looked further down West Street not only were the vehicles fleeing the scene but rescue workers were now running towards us in retreat. What was going on? And almost as if on cue, a police van screeched to a halt in front of a group of us. An officer jumped out and yelled at all of us, ?Run! Run as fast as you can!? He didn?t have to say it twice. Before he could finish we were off and running for our lives, again. This time however, I knew what we were running from. As we began to flee I heard the officer say that there was a gas main leak.

As we evacuated the area and ran North up West Street we picked-up other stragglers. They weren?t aware of the potential danger but when you see people running as if from the bowels of hell itself one doesn?t wait around to ask questions. One simply joins in the mass exodus. By now the little group of us that had begun our retreat from N. Moore Street had grown to a large size mob. Somewhere above Houston and West Street I couldn?t run anymore. What was the point?

I dug into my pocket for the cell phone. Maybe by now the call volume had gone down. Sue?s work phone ? Nothing. My parent?s phone ? Dead air. My in-laws home number ? It was ringing! Chris, my brother in-law, answered. I let him know it?s me and immediately he asked where I was and if I was all right. I began to inform him of my location but my lips began to quiver and my throat became so tight I could barely speak. I realized if I continued this way that he?d hear me break down. So I paused and he asked again where I was and if was all right. I took a big gulp of air, gave him my coordinates (Barrow?s and West Side Highway) and informed him that physically I was all right. I began to go into detail of my ordeal that morning but was rudely interrupted by someone who wanted to use my cell phone. Annoyed, I looked over at the guy to say ?piss-off? when I saw a man in bluish-green scrubs and a stethoscope around his neck standing next to an ambulance. The sight of him snapped me back to the real issue at hand. He wanted to use my phone to try to get in touch with co-workers of his who were at a triage unit that had been set-up at the base of the World Trade Center. I asked Chris to call my parents and Sue to let them know I was on the move and told him EMTs needed my phone and that I would call later. Once off the line I handed over the mobile phone with no guarantees on ability to get through. The doctor made a number of feeble attempts to connect but to no avail. He thanked me and gave it back after about five minutes of trying.

At that point, the time of day had no meaning. I was lost in a city swirling with astonishment, disbelief and shock. I wandered into the Village and sat down on the steps of a brownstone to ponder my current set of circumstances. I couldn?t go home. Sue was at work uptown well over a hundred blocks North (which was like a world away at that moment ? just as well). Jazz was alone or worse?dead. The battery on the cell phone was winding down. How could I be so self-absorbed? Everyone in New York knows how many people work in the World Trade Center. How many tens of thousands of people were now dead? How many families were desperately reaching out to loved ones who were no longer with us?

The faces of anyone left on the street said it all. I needed to make contact with the outside world to help figure out what to do. My judgement was becoming cloudy and I didn?t know where to go or what to do. At one point I overheard someone say that all bridges and tunnels to the city were shut down but the ferries were still taking people across the Hudson to New Jersey. For a moment that seemed like a good idea as compared to staying on this now isolated island of terror. Not only was I isolated from the rest of the world, I was isolated from Sue and our home.

Finally, I got through to my in-laws again. For some reason the 908 area code was reachable. This time it was my mother-in-law, Linda was the one to answer. It was very comforting to hear a mother?s voice (even if it wasn?t my mother, per se). We chatted for a bit and I described some of my adventures that morning. Before passing me over to Mike, my father-in-law, she informed me that they had made contact with my parents and informed them I was all right. But Sue was still unreachable. Mike and I talked for a while and he helped me figure out my next steps. I would make my way up to Sue?s School at 94th and CPW. In the meantime, they would continue to try and reach her by phone and e-mail to update her on the plan.

It wasn?t until around noontime that I was able to connect with my Parents directly. I was still walking aimlessly in the Village at around the Sheridan Square Park area. When the phone on the other end of the line began to ring I stopped to prop myself up against an iron fence. My mother answered and immediately wanted to know if it was me. I had expected this to be a joyous call but instead I was choking back streams of tears trying to confirm that I truly was safe. As the conversation progressed I regained my composure. Still running high on emotion and adrenaline from the morning?s events I told them briefly of all that had happened. I informed them that I needed to conserve battery power and that I would call again as soon as I was able. We gave our love and said good-bye. That felt really, really good. I thanked the Lord for that opportunity and asked for the strength to carry on.

Feeling replenished I was again on the move. Back to West Street for the long haul from Christopher St. to Columbia Grammar & Prep School. The next landmark was Chelsea Piers. The large, up-scale, sport complex and marina were revamped as a temporary morgue. It was also a staging area for doctors, EMTs and rescue crews. Ambulances were lined up the entire 6-block length of the pier. A woman was handing out free water to anyone who wanted or needed it. I must have looked like I needed it because it was not offered but practically forced on me. I was parched and my mind was beginning to wander. So, the water at Chelsea Pier was a welcome oasis.

Once again on track, I decided to continue north on 10th Avenue ? Up to the Javits Center. Along the way I tried to phone Sue again. The batteries were just about out of power but this time it was ringing! I couldn?t wait to hear her voice. ?Hi. You?ve reached the voice mail of Sue?? Wouldn?t you know I got her voice mail. Well at least I got through. It would be good to leave a message and let her know I was on my way. Beep. ?Sue. I lo?..? My voice trailed off and I couldn?t even finish a complete thought. Too embarrassed of my inability to express myself I was forced to hang up and start walking faster.

As I approached the Javits Center there were people gathered around cars listening to the latest news updates from the radio. Even Howard Stern was broadcasting the news and events of the morning. I?m not sure why that was so surprising but the image of various types of people (Black, Hispanic and White) huddled around the car with the doors and windows open and the radio turned up for all to hear made me think of my escape from N. Moore Street that morning. Each of us from different walks of life, ethnic backgrounds and religious beliefs. Each of us standing side-by-side. Each of us running for our lives. Now, each of trying to figure out how to move on.

Tenth Avenue, which was normally quite busy with traffic at that time of day, was as quiet and still as an early Sunday morning. I kept walking north until I couldn?t go any further. ?ugh. Only at 52nd street (and 10th Ave.). I searched my pockets and wallet and scraped together $9.00. Traffic had increased some since the Javits Center. I tried hailing a cab, hitch hiking ? anything to get me to Sue faster. Finally, an off-duty taxi pulled over. ?Oh great.? I though as I reluctantly got in. The driver was of Arab decent. It?s a shame how the events and news of the day changed my perceptions. Unfortunately, that?s human nature. That being said, I was taken to where I wanted to go from someone who was off-duty and didn?t have to stop to pick me up. The ride had saved at least another 2 hours of walking time and I was now standing directly across from Sue?s school. To date, it has been the best cab ride of my life.

On the sidewalk outside of the front door I collected myself best I could. Rang the buzzer and proceeded to the front desk. The regular desk attendant was not there. This meant that I had to speak to the desk person to be admitted into the school. Beginning to become emotional, I managed to communicate that I was there to see Sue Longenecker. They must have been expecting me because as soon as it registered with this person that I was Sue?s husband she sent me straight through. Sue was on the other side of the building helping with dismissal. As I walked through the labyrinth of hallways to the other side I could feel the pressure, the anxiety and the love welling up inside of me. Biting my lip was not going to be enough. Now I was starting to pass by other teachers whom I knew ? and knew me. I couldn?t even make eye contact with them for fear of divulging my current and overflowing emotional state.

Finally, around the last corner of the last corridor there she was?helping students and parents reunite after an extremely emotional day. I came up from behind and tapped her on her shoulder. She turned around and we embraced in a hug that I never wanted to release. Our hold was tight. The tears were streaming down both our faces. No words were needed. We were both safe in one another?s arms.

Other people were looking at us now. Not that we were causing a scene but because for many of the staff and faculty, my presence represented their first ?real? human image of the tragedy that was still unfolding just 6 miles to the south. I remembered clinging to Sue for a long time and that I never wanted to let go. However, no matter how good it felt to be in her arms again it would always be bitter sweet, as there were so many couples, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters who would never again hold each other close.

For us, the day ended with a positive note of affirmation. Our ordeal was still far from over but we were the lucky ones. And we knew it. For too many others, the day would fade into night with no contact from their loved ones. Night would slowly become the next morning and people full of false hope would continue through out the day with a promise made to an early autumn wind, searching for even the smallest glimmer of life from those whom they treasured most.

Cite as: Douglas Longenecker, Story #9438, The September 11 Digital Archive, 26 August 2003, <http://911digitalarchive.org/stories/details/9438>.
Archival Information: 6127 words, 31686 characters
How do I know that this item is factual?
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WTC & Hutch (JJ)
Erin & Field (erin)
Billiard Balls
Qui Tam Case

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