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THE PROVINCE Sunday, September 8, 2002

REMEMBERING

SEPT. 11

This is the amazing story of Robin Lamprecht, a former Vancouverite, who escaped from the

103rd floor of the World Trade Centers Tower 2 when all hell broke loose on Sept. 11

I stood up to speak ... and saw this plane coming in

By Adrienne Tanner
Staff Reporter

Reuters

On Sept. 11, Robin Lamprecht was high in Tower 2 (left) and saw the strike on Tower 1. He was still in the building when this picture was taken, but by then had walked down to the 40th floor.
Im one of those guys I like the early morning hours. They are very peaceful for me. I like to get ready slowly and then I have time to sit and read the newspaper. On this morning, however, he selected a black-and-white-flecked Armani sports jacket and tie instead of summer casual clothes and hurried for an earlier commuter bus into Manhattan. It was Sept. 11 and Robin, who works for the international insurance giant AON, was speaking at a third-quarter lookahead meeting. Robin led off the presentations and from where he stood at the front of the room had a clear view of Tower 1. I stood up to speak to the 10 people and in the distance I just saw this plane coming in, this great big plane. There was one final moment of peace, followed by a monumental explosion. It was truly the biggest thing Ive ever seen, Robin says. I mean, Id never seen a fireball. Years ago, there was a movie about a fireman called Backdraft. And I was always amazed. Id always wondered how fireballs like that happened, how they could whisk out and kill people. Flames burst from the neighbouring building. It was big, the size of three or four stories, Robin says. Everything stopped then. We sort of all looked at each other and I said, Lets get out of here. s Liz Lamprecht, his wife, was styling her hair 25 kilometres away at their home in suburban Scarsdale, N.Y., when she heard a break in the news. We have had a report that a plane has hit the World Trade Center. She popped her head around the corner. There were no pictures yet, just television announcers talking. Her mind jumped immediately to the bombing at Oklahoma City. Quite frankly, I knew immediately it wasnt a mistake. It was a

It looked like a catastrophic mistake as the airliner surged closer, closer and then vanished behind Tower 1 of the World Trade Center. Or so it seemed to Robin Lamprecht as he watched the plane approach from a conference room window on the 103rd floor of Tower 2. That morning, Robin had risen just before 5 a.m., as was his custom.

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Catherine, a plane has hit the World Trade Center. I dont know where Dad is
Liz Lamprecht, calling her daughter in Vancouver
thought Id be alright. s Liz spoke first to her son Mike in Chicago, trying to reassure herself at the same time. Mike, he had a big meeting today. He might not even be in there. So well think good thoughts. If anybody will make it out, its your dad. Hes a survivor. When they hung up, Liz returned to the television and with each devastating image, grew more and more hysterical. I was more than crying. I was screaming. It was a hot day, and the sound carried through the open windows. Although none were close friends, most of the neighbours knew where Robin worked. I know my neighbours, I like them. But when we moved here we only expected to be here a couple of years and then move back to Vancouver, Liz says. That was six years ago, but I still havent put down the roots I normally would. Drawn by her cries, the neighbours huddled outside in an uneasy group, wondering if they should knock. s The stuffy stairwell was surprisingly calm. Robin loosened his tie, removed his jacket and started the descent with a handful of others. Intermittently, a voice on the building intercom urged office workers to stay put. This building is secure. Please remain at your desks. After 10 flights, he remembered his briefcase, a weathered, leather warhorse, the kind that becomes really close to you. He paused for a second and considered going back. s Liz had waited long enough. She needed to tell her daughters. Lindsay, 26, then a law student at the University of B.C., did not pick up the phone, so Liz left a message. She got through to Catherine, 28, who wakes early for work at InfoMine, a Vancouver-based mining website. Liz broke the bad news. Catherine, a plane has hit the World Trade Center. I dont know where Dad is. s Maybe it was the shock or maybe the intuition she has come to trust. Of the two Lamprecht girls, Catherine is the pragmatist. The one less apt to panic. And even though she understood the danger, she did not for one second believe her father would die. I knew he was OK, that there was not even the remotest possibility he wouldnt make it out. Her father was a worrier, definitely not the type to linger and gawk at a disaster site. She threw on a pair of jeans and drove to Lindsays apartment in south Vancouver. When she arrived, Lindsay had spoken to their mother and was watching television. By the time I turned it on, both buildings had been hit, Lindsay says. My roommate asked me where Dads office was. She could not remember. I said, Probably right above those holes where the planes are. I didnt know which tower, I just knew he was near the top. s Robin had reached the 40th floor by the time the second plane hit Tower 2. The building shook with a force stronger than any earthquake Robin had experienced. For the first time that day, he thought terrorism. It never left our minds that these buildings had been attacked years ago. You knew it every time you came into that building. There were extra precautions everywhere. The stairwell was steaming hot now, filling with a fine smoke and packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people fleeing the building. Robin thought of Zulu, his favourite film, and what it said about discipline and grace under pressure. He remembered one particular scene in which a British officer preparing for battle orders a subordinate to button up his waistcoat. Discipline causes you to forget quite what youre facing, Robin thought. At that point I decided, If youre going to die, look smart. He tightened his tie, put his jacket back on, fastened all the buttons and kept walking down.

Ric Ernst The Province

Catherine (left) and Lindsay Lamprecht were in Vancouver on the morning of Sept. 11 when their mother frantically called them. Lindsay was a UBC law student, her sister a mining website employee.
beautiful, clear day. There was not a cloud. This was not a plane in the fog, lost. She thought about calling her daughters in Vancouver. Too early, she decided. They will still be sleeping. All the while, her mind raced, trying to recall exactly where her husband worked. Of course she knew his office was in the World Trade Center. But which tower? s Robin walked to his office down the hall to pick up his wallet and jacket before he left. I could see right across to World Trade Center One and smoke was billowing out of the building. Robins office was empty. Many of his colleagues had already piled onto the elevators. Not Robin. Ever since he was a child, he has feared elevators. The lift in the highrise apartment building where he grew up in Durban, South Africa, constantly broke down. The elevators he took daily from the 78th floor of Tower 2 to his office on the 103rd floor were not much better. A few months earlier, a young AON executive had been injured when the elevator hit the top of its own shaft and bounced him into the ceiling. At age 60, Robin was not in top shape and had problems with his blood pressure. But I felt I could handle the stairs. If I just paced myself, I

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THE PROVINCE Sunday, September 8, 2002

REMEMBERING
From previous page
s Surely I would know, Liz recalls thinking. Weve been married for 34 years. Surely I would know if he was no longer here. s Catherine left Lindsays, returned home and tried to prepare for work. Although her heart told her that her father was safe, she could not stop crying. Her mother sounded so traumatized, the fear was rubbing off. My sister was upset, too, and in my family when one of the girls starts crying, we all cry. s Robin left the stairs at the mall level, where a police officer directed him to an exit. Outside, the street was filled with people staring at the wounded towers. It was like New Years Eve. People did not realize the dangers. They were not more than 15 or 20 feet away from the building, looking up and filming with their cameras. Robin pushed through the crowd and walked as fast as he could toward nearby Chinatown in search of a telephone. He knew Liz would be panicked. His rule with the kids had always been to call home the second things went wrong. Long before cell phones were in vogue, he bought them all mobiles for their cars in case of emergencies. There were long line-ups for every public phone. Finally, he persuaded a concierge to let him make a brief call. Liz, he said. His voice was so rough that at first she was not sure it was him. Liz, he said again. Robin, she answered, Where are you? Oh, lovey, he sighed. s Liz had called the girls to tell them their father made it out alive. But as Lindsay watched Tower 2 fall, she felt a rush of panic all over again. I didnt know exactly where he was. When it fell, I didnt know if he was far enough away. Catherine again felt sure he was safe. I knew he was far from the buildings. Thats the way he is. Lindsay checked back in with her mother, just to be sure. She said he was hot-footing it away from the building. That did sound Dad-like. s New York was shut down. Still walking through Chinatown,

SEPT. 11

AP photos

Robin Lamprecht and wife Liz in their home in Scarsdale, N.Y. They have two properties in B.C. and plan to retire here.
Robin paused to rest his feet which ached in his thin, leathersoled shoes. Beside him, a man in a parked car sat listening to the radio. Suddenly, the announcer started to scream. The buildings imploding! Robin turned in time to see one of the towers come down. A controlled demolition job. Thats exactly the way it came down, falling, bit by bit. Seeking the familiar, he walked to Finos, his favourite midtown restaurant. The staff was shocked at his appearance. Mr. Lamprecht, you look terrible, remarked one waiter who recognized Robin as a regular. I said, I was in the World Trade Center. The guy gave me a big hug, sat me down at the bar and gave me a beer and plate of antipasto. He called Liz again. It was then he learned that the first tower to fall, the one he had watched crumble to dust, was his. s Lindsay watched all the television she could stomach and then went to her afternoon international law class. She left her cell turned on because although she knew her father was safe, she had not yet spoken to him in person. Robins call came just as the class discussion turned to the attack. A lot of students started talking about how it was the result of bad U.S. policy. At that point,

Robin Lamprecht returns to the seat at a restaurant bar where Braho Kolenovic, right, consoled him on the morning of Sept. 11 after his escape from the collapse of the Trade Center towers.
I didnt want to sit and analyze the legal aspect of it. Lindsay and Catherine have lived in Canada for 12 years but were both born in the United States and lived there long enough to become patriotic in a way some Canadians find irritating. I have a big American flag, as all Americans do, Lindsay says. That night, she hung it from her balcony. I got a call from my landlord saying were not allowed to hang anything. I thought she was nuts. I felt so not at home. Lindsay sought comfort at the American embassy, where she lit a candle and placed a sign. For my father a survivor from the 103rd Floor. s Catherine was showered with support from her Canadian friends and colleagues. The attitude among the general public was a different matter. It faded very fast then it was very anti-American. I didnt want to be here any more. I wanted to be around people who felt the same way I did. She was itching to sit in the same room as her father but her mother forbade her to fly. It almost felt like he wasnt alive. I wanted to see him, touch him, hug him. Her mothers no-fly ban was lifted at Christmas. It was the best ever holiday, she says. Catherine revelled in the patri-

THE PROVINCE Sunday, September 8, 2002

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I got a call from my landlord saying were not allowed to hang anything I felt so not at home
Lindsay Lamprecht, who hung a U.S. flag from her balcony
television game show contestant for giving a wrong answer. She attributed it to unresolved anger and urged him to see a counsellor. And she begged him to retire to B.C., where they have a home in Horseshoe Bay and a cottage on Vancouver Island. But he is very much a dotting the i kind of person. He just wants to finish his working years. s Initially, Robin resisted his wifes advice. Theres no doubt what I want is to retire in Vancouver. Ive got two daughters there and it is the place to live. But Ive worked for 44 years. A lot of who I am is what Ive done. And so he continues to commute to AONs temporary offices in midtown every day. He did, however, seek counselling. Of course, you always think youre a strong guy and you can handle this. But Robin realized Liz was right. He was angry. Furious for the way the disaster was handled. Furious at the announcements which lulled some people in the tower into believing they were safe. He was saddened beyond description by the death of 175 colleagues. By the request of a coworkers widow who asked Robin to find out who her husband called in the minutes before his death. She wanted to know what his last words were.

For me, and this will sound corny, my dads always been my hero, always. And this only confirms that hes amazing
Catherine Lamprecht
He grieved for the loss of a neighbour, a young man who rode the same commuter bus. Often, Robin had watched him kiss his wife at the door and smiled at the sight of his two young children racing to greet the bus at night. After Sept. 11, at the neighbourhoods request, the bus temporarily changed its route for the sake of the children. Robin stopped the counselling sessions last month. Im not sure its doing me a lot of good. s Catherine says her father tried his best to hide it, but he was a different man at Christmas time. He was so damaged, so sad. He pretends hes not and puts on the most amazing face. She sums it up in one word haunted. s Today, life for Robin is both normal and transformed. He still travels, but less often and always requests a hotel room below the seventh floor. He still flies, heading to the airport three hours early in case of security delays. Sometimes he breezes through so quickly the airline offers him an earlier flight. He always makes the switch but considers his fate in a way he never did before. Is he getting off the bad plane and getting on the good? Or today, will it be the other way round?
atanner@pacpress.southam.ca

Colin Price The Province

The note Lindsay Lamprecht left outside the U.S. consulate in Vancouver: For my father, A survivor from the 103rd floor. By coincidence, The Province had photographed the note at the time.
otic display. People complain about how it is in the U.S., that there are too many flags, how tacky it is. I loved it. And then there was the family. For once, everyone set aside their petty rivalries and got along. Catherine says her fathers experience put everything into perspective. He spent many years trying to get us all to be happy together, so now we just are. If anything, the 9/11 disaster confirmed for Catherine what she had always believed. For me, and this will sound corny, my dads always been my hero, always. And this only confirms that hes amazing. s Liz has noticed a sea change, both in her community and her husband. Like Robin, most people have their faces back on. But the trauma is still there, sitting one quarter-inch below the surface, she says. It is not uncommon to be in a group talking and 9/11 is not the topic of conversation, but something will come up and someones eyes will fill with tears. You give them a little hug, pat their shoulders and the conversation goes on. That would have been extremely odd a year ago. For a while Robin, too, was acting strangely. Liz caught him lashing out at a