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This chapter describes how, when the South Tower came down, boats of all kinds amassed along the water's edge, cramming their decks and interior spaces with evacuees, trying to deliver as many people off Manhattan as possible. This unregulated effort raised Coast Guard concerns that overcrowding would cause problems on the water. Although low water had hit the Battery at 8:50 a.m., the currents in this portion of the Hudson River were determined by more than just the tide. Sometimes the current continued to pull downstream even as the flood tide began. Such were the conditions on the morning of September 11; many mariners reported a “ripping” ebb well into the ten o'clock hour. This complicated the waterborne evacuation.

This chapter highlights the experiences of mariners during the waterborne evacuation after the 9/11 attacks. On the morning of September 11, mariners brought specialized capacities to all manner of diverse tasks. The on-the-fly, solution-oriented approach — along with the steadfast willingness to help — proved invaluable on that grim and forbidding day. By late morning, an armada of different vessels, from dinner yachts to tour boats to tugs, had responded to the disaster unfolding in Lower Manhattan. Hearing the pronouncement that a full-scale evacuation was now under way eliminated any doubts Spirit Cruises Operations Director Greg Hanchrow might have had about filling the Spirit Cruises dinner boats with passengers. In some respects these vessels, designed to load and offload large numbers of people quickly and efficiently, could not have been more perfect for the mission. Wondering where he could disembark so many people, Hanchrow called the general manager of the Lincoln Harbor Yacht Club in New Jersey, Gerard Rokosz, whom he had known for years, and learned that the New York Circle Line Sightseeing Yachts had already begun ferrying passengers to that location.

This chapter discusses how, instead of establishing a top-down command and control structure, the Coast Guard — from the top brass down to the on-scene rank and file — allowed for the organic, needs-driven, decentralized response that played an enormous role in the ultimate success of the waterborne evacuation. This approach, in turn, allowed mariners to take direct action, applying their workaday skills to singular circumstances, without being stifled by red tape. No one had foreseen the sudden need for evacuating a huge swath of Manhattan Island. Yet as terrorized people continued to flee to the waterfront, more and more boats turned up to rescue them. As greater numbers of vessels and evacuees amassed along the shoreline, streamlining operations became the biggest challenge. The only solution was to get organized, and that organization was implemented in large part by Lieutenant Michael Day and the pilots operating aboard the New York, which continued its barrier patrol. Their efforts were made easier by the relationships that both the Coast Guard and the Sandy Hook Pilots had with the New York harbor community.

This chapter examines how Chelsea Piers facilities, located directly up the Westside Highway from Lower Manhattan, had served a major role in disaster response from the earliest hours of the 9/11 attacks. The piers offered water stations for people fleeing from downtown and became a key debarkation point for the waterborne evacuation, delivering more than 10,000 people off the island from its docks. Then, the following day, more than 30,000 people arrived to volunteer their help and connect with other New Yorkers. In the days that followed, thousands of uniformed personnel were fed in an events center at Pier 60, hundreds of rescuers slept and showered in Chelsea Piers facilities, and truckloads of donations and supplies were assembled and processed for delivery to the trade center site. By Wednesday, the flood of private citizens' donations had been supplemented with massive corporate contributions arriving in bulk. Meanwhile, the Coast Guard was confronted with two opposing missions: protecting potential targets of a second-wave attack and continuing commerce in a port that regularly handled approximately 6,000 inbound and outbound containers daily, the closure of which created complications worldwide.

This chapter details how New York Waterway Port Captain Michael McPhillips, who was in charge of waterborne transportation for the New York National Guard in the days following the evacuation, was among the many first responders who spent weeks breathing the toxic air. McPhillips wound up developing pulmonary issues and end-stage liver disease that he said resulted from dust exposure, and he was forced to retire from the industry. Still, he considers his ability to serve at Ground Zero an honor. It is impossible to know exactly how many of the mariners who participated in the evacuation wound up suffering from illnesses related to their service. Even counting the overall number of mariners involved in the boat lift itself poses challenges. The World Trade Center Health Program (WTCHP) counted at least 120 mariners currently registered with the program, 53 percent of whom are suffering from at least one illness or condition that doctors and researchers say is related to World Trade Center exposures. Meanwhile, in addition to the 414 first responders who lost their lives that day, some 2,000 were injured, some so badly they could no longer serve.

This chapter details the experiences of both mariners and passengers during the waterborne evacuation across the New York harbor following the attacks of 9/11. The longstanding tradition of mariners assisting those in peril is as ancient as seafaring itself. Stemming from a moral duty rooted in pragmatism about the implicit dangers of nautical life, the obligation was signed into U.S. admiralty law in the aftermath of the April 15, 1912, sinking of the RMS Titanic. This rule, however, did not apply to the situation in Manhattan on September 11. At least not technically speaking in most cases. But that did not stop the boatmen and boatwomen from New York harbor and beyond from feeling compelled. At stake were notions of identity, of mariners' acclimatization to taking and mitigating risks, of what can be called “professional honor.” Without planning or protocols, many undertook the evacuation out of a sense of duty, unquestioningly, applying to this land-based calamity their mandate from the laws of the sea. The compulsion to rescue, stitched into the fabric of nautical tradition, propelled mariners into action, as did the sense, for many, of New York harbor as home.

This chapter describes how, after both towers of the World Trade Center fell, Lower Manhattan had become an achromatic world churning with dust and paper. Desperate, ashy people pressed up against the railings along the water's edge. Though “a sea of boats” had already rallied — tugs, tenders, ferries, and more, pushing into slips and against the seawall to rescue as many as they could — more boats were needed. Now, just before 10:45 a.m., the Coast Guard formalized the rescue work already under way by officially calling for a full-scale evacuation of Lower Manhattan. At 11:02 a.m., the Coast Guard's evacuation calls were echoed by New York City's then mayor, Rudolph Giuliani. At this point, the mission grew exponentially. Now it was not only those caught in the immediate aftermath that needed transportation, but “everyone south of Canal Street.” In fact, workers were streaming out of buildings much farther north than Canal, all looking for a way home. While these people might not have been in immediate danger — though even that was unclear, given that the extent of the attacks was still unknown — they were still stranded, disoriented, and reeling.

This chapter provides a background of the waterborne evacuation that happened after the events of 9/11. New York harbor was, and is, a busy place — the third largest container port in the United States and a vital connection between New York City and the rest of the world. Manhattan is an island, and the realities of island real estate are what ushered the port's industries off Manhattan's shores and over to Brooklyn, Staten Island, and New Jersey in the 1960s and 1970s. By late 2001, maritime infrastructure had been replaced with ornamental fencing. On September 11, 2001, as the cascade of catastrophe unfolded, people found their fates altered by the absence of that infrastructure and discovered themselves dependent upon the creative problem solving of New York harbor's maritime community — waterfront workers who had been thrust beyond their usual occupations and into the role of first responders. Long before the U.S. Coast Guard's call for “all available boats” crackled out over marine radios, scores of ferries, tugs, dinner boats, sailing yachts, and other vessels had begun converging along Manhattan's shores. Hundreds of mariners shared their skills and equipment to conduct a massive, unplanned rescue. Within hours, nearly half a million people had been delivered from Manhattan by boat.

This chapter discusses how, in the instant the South Tower collapsed, the scale of the disaster had magnified, transforming the evacuation-in-progress into a full-blown rescue effort. The cloud rolling past the seawall blanketed the river's surface and blinded boat captains, forcing them to navigate by radar alone. But sometimes even the radar could not penetrate the particle-filled air. Nevertheless, ferry crews did not stop rescuing people: approximately 200 injured would end up transported aboard New York Waterway ferries by day's end. Despite the unprecedented scale of this disaster, mariners' “jack of all trades” capabilities proved essential in the aftermath of the attacks. Although the specific prerequisites have changed over time, attaining a Coast Guard “ticket” requires merchant mariners to complete training and earn certifications in first aid, CPR, and shipboard firefighting, among other specialized areas. On that morning, all that training was put to the test.

This chapter focuses on events after the collapse of the North Tower. Minutes after the pulverized remnants of 1 World Trade Center settled out of the air along Manhattan's western shore, mariners started evacuating people. Many people caught up in the unfolding catastrophe also had the duty of protecting children. Parents, teachers, daycare workers, and sitters were all forced to navigate their way through the danger while simultaneously soothing their frightened charges. Although they could not stop the planes from crashing or buildings from falling, people from all quarters rose up and stepped forward to provide whatever assistance they could. All along New Jersey's North River waterfront, emergency medical technicians (EMTs) and paramedics, administrators and doctors, firefighters and police were working to establish and supply triage centers. Instrumental to their efforts were ordinary citizens helping every way they could. Personnel from nearby hospitals, medical centers, and emergency management offices worked with fire department and hazmat crews to establish makeshift facilities to decontaminate, assess, treat, and direct evacuees to different transit options. Their efforts were supported by the contributions made by employees of local businesses, among others.