The voice of Estelle Schneider, the assistant director of Facilities, Maintenance, and Engineering, boomed over the P.A. system, filling the hallways. “May I please have your attention. There is going to be a meeting in Paul Hall at 11 o’clock. Everyone is expected to attend. This is for students, faculty, and staff. Please join us in Paul Hall in about 10 minutes.” It was 10:45, the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001.

At Juilliard’s neighboring firehouse on Amsterdam Avenue and 66th Street, a memorial to the 11 firefighters of Engine Co. 40, Ladder Co. 35 who were lost in the disaster. (Photo by Ira Rosenblum) View slide show of images.

As students started emerging from the practice rooms, many were unaware of the horrific events unfolding in lower Manhattan at that very moment. “What’s going on?” one of them asked. She had not yet heard that terrorists had hijacked two airplanes, ramming them into the World Trade Center’s twin towers, reducing New York’s tallest skyscrapers, fixtures of the city skyline and international symbols of American economic power, to a heap of rubble.

Students, staff, and faculty members, most of whom had already heard the stunning news and were reacting with profound shock, poured into the Juilliard Theater, where the meeting had been moved in order to accommodate the overflow crowd. After a seemingly interminable wait, Dean Stephen Clapp and Laurie Carter, vice president for Student and Legal Affairs, appeared on the stage. As a result of the attacks on the World Trade Center, they explained, Lincoln Center Inc. had taken precautionary measures and decided to temporarily close down the entire complex. Students were to evacuate the residence hall. (Many had brought blankets, pillows and sleeping bags with them. Some even carried teddy bears.) When would they be allowed to return to their rooms, students wondered. No one could say. They were to remain on the S-level, where it was deemed safest. Students who needed to access higher floors would have to be accompanied by a staff or faculty member. Food would be provided to everyone free of charge by Aramark Services, the catering company that runs the School’s cafeteria, until things returned to normal.

Normal. In the context of what was happening, the word seemed meaningless.

Vice President Carter stressed the need for students to get in touch with their families, and asked that people who had functional cell phones share them. The I.T. staff, led by the department’s director, Tunde Giwa, set up makeshift computer centers, from which students could send e-mail. Equipment from the computer training room was dismantled and then reassembled at various locations most convenient to students, including the hallway outside the ID room and the main lobby.

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At the S-level computer center, Gil Hennessey, an I.T. staff member, assisted students with e-mailing their parents, friends, and other loved ones. “As soon as we realized the students had to stay on the S-level, we pulled computers out of a training room on the second floor and set them up down here and in the lobby for easy access,” he said, adding that students were allowed five minutes each at the computers.

In shock, or simply numbed, the crowd began to disperse, some taking advantage of the lunch being served in the marble lobby, others gathering in small groups to comfort one another. On the stairs of the Juilliard Theater lobby, a group of Drama Division students and staff huddled together somberly, too upset to put their feelings in words. “It’s just too soon to talk about it,” said Drama Division faculty member Ralph Zito, who was among them.

Others passed the time by playing games, or snuggling up in blankets, reading or dozing. Everyone remained remarkably calm. “I was in a friend’s room when it happened,” said Han Soo Kim, a freshman violinist, looking up from a chess board. “At first I thought it was a joke. It didn’t feel like reality.” His chess opponent, Yousun Chung, a second-year oboist, said: “At the beginning I was panicked, afraid there would be more attacks. I’m a little calmer now.”

At 2 p.m., a gathering in Morse Hall gave students, faculty, and staff members the chance to hear Frank Roma, the director of Counseling Services, who spoke about how to cope with the emotional impact of the catastrophe.

“This event is unprecedented,” he said. “Nothing like this has happened in America since the attack on Pearl Harbor 60 years ago… It’s like getting up in the morning and swinging your feet out of bed to the floor, only to find that the floor isn’t there anymore.”

After the morning meeting, groups of students, along with staff and faculty, waited in the lobby of the Juilliard Theater, talking quietly or just sitting in silence. (Photo by Ira Rosenblum)

Mr. Roma emphasized that people may experience delayed reactions, and have trouble sleeping or eating. These reactions are all “normal and not pathological,” he said, stressing that it’s “important to talk about your feelings with whomever you are comfortable talking to: friends, family, colleagues, teachers, counselors. People are having a hard time grasping the enormity of the event, hearing and understanding only the words themselves. Be aware of your fellow students and sensitive to their reactions; call our attention to anyone who seems to be having a serious problem.”

The crowd listened intently. When he finished, there was a period of silence. Then some students shared their own thoughts. Dawn Gardner, a third-year Drama student, said that, watching the horrific images unfold, she had “never felt such compassion for the Israelis and Arabs and what they’ve had to go through for so many years.”

One student offered to form a prayer group. Another suggested that the stage of Paul Hall be opened to those who wanted to express themselves by playing music. Others were eager to take action of a different sort. A small group gathered near the S-level elevators to learn how they could help at the American Red Cross, either by giving blood, or by volunteering in other ways.

“Our students were instantly prepared to do whatever was asked of them,” said Catherine Charlton, the director of Student Affairs. “More than that, they were asking what they could do to help, how they could volunteer. They completely stepped up to the task, organizing sign up sheets for off-campus housing, getting a group to help out with the blood drive at the Red Cross.”

As the afternoon wore on, another meeting was called in the Juilliard Theater for 5 p.m. At it, Dean Clapp offered some better news: the residence hall would reopen at 7 p.m. (Aramark would be still be serving dinner in the marble lobby.) Would classes be held tomorrow, many wanted to know; would staff members be coming to work? Those were harder questions to answer.

Everyone was told to check their e-mail, if they could access it, and to watch the Juilliard Web site, whose home page took on a function for which it had not been originally intended: a bulletin board. For the rest of that and the following days, messages were posted on the Web site, alerting students’ parents and friends around the world that our students were safe, as well as providing updates about the building and whether classes would be held.

It was a day none of us are likely to forget. It was also a day that showed how in the face of catastrophe, members of the Juilliard community quickly rallied forces, coming together to help one another get through one of the darkest moments in American history.