Susan Wagshul-Golden was finishing up a phone call at work when the first hijacked jet struck the World Trade Center four blocks away.
The New York police lieutenant felt a shock wave at 8:49 a.m. and hurried out of her office, believing a truck had plowed into the building.
She hurried outside but didn’t panic. Not yet.
Wagshul-Golden had no idea Sept. 11, 2001, would become a day to haunt Americans, or that she would have a front-row seat to the tragedy she still sees in her dreams.
“You have history happening and you’re living through it,” she said. “Everybody has their own story. Everybody was impacted.”
The impact of that day sent 43-year-old Wagshul-Golden to Pierce County in 2007. She wanted a place where she could better balance her life, where she didn’t hurt looking at the horizon, where her young son didn’t worry about mommy tangling with bad guys.
Wagshul-Golden, now the director of campus safety and security at the University of Washington Tacoma, left New York but couldn’t leave 9/11 behind. That day still shapes her thoughts, feelings and experiences.
She never leaves home without a change of underwear and hair gel, just in case disaster strikes and she has to work another 36-hour shift. She sees more value now in networking and building partnerships before events push people together.
A letter of commendation from her old chief hangs next to the door of Wagshul-Golden’s office, praising her efforts on 9/11. She keeps her war-torn lieutenant’s badge and World Trade Emergency Center access cards tucked in a drawer, but close at hand.
On 9/11, Wagshul-Golden was still celebrating her promotion to lieutenant. Her campus security job at Borough of Manhattan Community College started 17 days before the attack.
Her office was on the main campus, mere blocks from the twin towers. When she saw the gaping hole in the first tower and realized it had been no accident, she ran for Fiterman Hall.
There were 1,200 students inside the 15-story building, which sat 25 yards from the smoking towers.
She and her colleagues immediately began evacuating the structure. Wagshul-Golden held the doors open with one arm and consoled crying students with the other.
She watched people jump out of the towers. She saw thick black smoke. Then she heard the sound of a freight train, moments before a second plane struck the second tower.
“It looked like something out of a movie,” Wagshul-Golden recalled.
Shards of glass fell from the sky. At least two students were hit as they tried to flee. The security chief yelled that the tower was coming down so she grabbed a woman’s arm and pulled her along as they rushed for the loading bay.
Wagshul-Golden earned the nickname “Lt. Lightning” for her mad dash to safety. She emerged with gray dust covering her new blue uniform and a determination to do whatever was needed.
Eight law enforcement agencies quickly moved into the college’s gymnasium and set up a command center. Wagshul-Golden kept track of who was coming and going and helped recover the many bodies.
Missing routine hygiene made her feel human in the midst of inhumane actions.
She took a pair of men’s boxers and cut them on the side to fit because nobody had donated women’s underwear to the command post. She took a “polar bear” shower to rinse off the sweat, dust and grime of the day. She missed hair gel to keep flyaways out of her face.
She lay on her cot in the crowded gym and waited for fellow officers to snore before she felt at home enough to sleep.
“Just getting through the day was hard,” Wagshul-Golden said. “But you got to see the positive part of New York; everyone pulling together. We had a lot of resilience and determination.”
She continued working at the college for a year after the attack and then headed west.
Since arriving at UWT, Wagshul-Golden has worked on putting together a campus emergency response team, and training faculty and staff members on how to respond when disaster strikes.
She also spends more time enjoying life, taking trips with her son and playing with her dogs.
“It’s ingrained now how life is precious,” she said. “I have a different attitude. You have to enjoy life.”
Stacia Glenn: 253-597-8653
stacia.glenn@thenewstribune.com
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