One of the most profound experiences of my life was witnessing the tragedy of 9/11 first-hand. I and two of my business colleagues were attending a breakfast meeting on the 66th floor of 2 World Trade Center (WTC) on that fateful morning. Even though I live and work in Houston, I often travel to New York for business. The morning of September 11, 2001, I arrived at WTC at 7:05 AM, cleared security, was issued a photo ID card, and sent to the 44th floor of 2 WTC. I joined my associates Chris Hughes and Dave Congden in a 66th floor dining room with commanding views up the Island to the north and off to the east to Brooklyn. I sat on the south side of the table so that I could enjoy the view. We started going through drafts of an investor presentation. We were joined by Bill Smith of Morgan Stanley. A little after 8:45 AM as we were going over some details, I looked out the window and saw an American Airlines jet flying very low and headed straight at us. We all watched from the window and saw the plane rocking back and forth as if the pilot was struggling for control. We realized the plane was about to crash. Moments later we heard the jet engines, the plane disappeared from view and there was a tremendous explosion that shook the room. We ran to the window and could see debris raining down—papers, pieces off the building—an unbelievable shower of junk. Above us, maybe 30 floors or so, we could see that 1 WTC was on fire. My first thought was not that the plane had flown into the building, but that it had somehow flown between 1 WTC and 2 WTC and scraped 1 WTC with its wing. My mind refused to accept the possibility that the plane had been purposely flown into the building.. Bill Smith had been through the World Trade Center bombing in 1993 and he immediately said everyone should leave the building. I know Bill saved a lot of lives that day by getting all his people out of the building. We didn't argue with him, we grabbed our stuff and headed for the emergency stairs. Dave, Chris and I started down the stairs, which were beginning to fill with people, including people from floors above us. No one but us seemed to have any idea why we were being evacuated. So, the people going down the stairs were pretty relaxed. It was a long walk carrying two bags (one of which contained my ten pound manuscript and the other my trusty laptop). Around the 45th floor, I decided to call my wife, Paulette, to tell her I was okay. I had trouble getting a clear line on my cell phone but finally reached her and told her that I was safe—a plane had collided with the building next door. I asked her if she knew what happened to the plane. I was astonished when she said it had flown into the building—she was seeing the huge hole it had made on TV. She said that the TV commentator was saying it was a small private plane. I told her I had seen it and it was a commercial jetliner, an American Airlines jet—either a 737 or a 767. Then I lost the connection and couldn't get her back on the phone. We went down maybe ten more flights—were at the 34th or 35th level—and we had been climbing down for about 15 minutes when there was a dull boom in the distance and the building rocked violently—almost enough to knock you off your feet. The lights blinked and people screamed and started running. I couldn't imagine what would cause the building to rock so violently. The only thing I could think of was that an unexploded fuel tank on the plane that hit 1 WTC had exploded. We finally got to the second floor—there was lots of smoke and debris was piled up in the plaza outside. Security, MTA personnel and NYPD officers directed us to the escalators and through the retail area on the first floor towards the subway station. I don't know what happened to those brave people who helped us find our way out. I know they saved many lives. At the entrance to the station were a couple of people lying on the ground, receiving medical attention‹I couldn't tell how badly they were injured, We walked down the train platform to a set of stairs that led above ground to the street (the intersection of Church and Chambers Streets). There was a delay at the stair because it couldn't accommodate all the people who were trying to get out, but we finally made it. There was no pushing or shoving or panic of any kind. I finally got up to the ground with my two bags and the street was absolutely jammed with people looking up in the sky at the wounded buildings. That was the first time I saw the gaping hole on the north side of 1 WTC and the fire blazing out of 2 WTC—about 10 floors above where we had been meeting 30 minutes earlier. I couldn't figure out what had happened. I called Paulette again and she told me about the second plane hitting 2 WTC. Both of us were almost in a state of shock by then. For the last 30 minutes, Paulette hadn't known if I was alive. I decided I didn't like being even this close to the buildings (it looked like I was maybe a quarter mile away) so I started walking north. I had lost sight of Dave in the emergency stairs because so many people came in between him and me, but I had stayed in touch with Chris until I lost him in the crowd on the street. I knew they had both gotten out safely. As I walked along, I sent an email on my Blackberry to the office and some friends to let them know I was okay because cell phone lines were jammed. I kept walking north and east, past the Federal Courthouse at Foley Square, until I spotted an off-duty cab and convinced him to take me uptown. Along the way we heard that the Pentagon had also been bombed and a rumor that there had been a car bomb set off in front of the State Department. I was frantically emailing my office from the back seat of the cab. We had gone a few blocks when a lady flagged us down and asked if she could ride uptown with us. Turns out she was going to Madison Square Garden because she had gone to a Michael Jackson concert there, recently, paid $228 for her ticket, and they hadn't let her keep the stub. She aimed to go back there and get that stub for a souvenir. I tried to tell her she might have picked the wrong day for that mission, but she seemed set on carrying through with it. We were listening to the radio and heard the report that 2 WTC had collapsed. I looked out the rear view window and sure enough it was gone from the skyline. Then later the same thing happened with 1 WTC. The cabbie got me up to about 47th street. I got out and walked the rest of the way to the Hines office at 53rd at Third. The Hines office was abuzz with activity, people watching the tragedy unfold, people trying to pinpoint locations of all Hines personnel and see that all Hines buildings in New York were secure. Some of my other colleagues from Houston decided to rent a car and head home immediately. We found an available rental car at an Exxon Station in Greenwich, Connecticut. We walked up First Avenue toward the Willis Avenue Bridge, caught a cab at 75th Street that took us to the other side of the bridge where we had arranged to meet a Town Car that could take us to Greenwich. We drove straight through from Greenwich to Houston. I didn't sleep well for a long time. I still have nightmares about that horrible day— airplanes falling out of the sky, that sort of thing. I was pretty sore from the 66 floor walk down the stairs but unbelievably grateful to be alive. Watching the full story on television filled me with anger and sorrow. I felt so sorry for all of the people that lost their lives and for their families. I wondered if the firemen and emergency workers who helped us escape were alive. I determined that I would never be a passive victim of terrorism and increased my physical workouts so that I had a better chance of winning a fight. Like most Americans, I grieved and held my family tighter.

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