A record drop on the New York Stock Exchange ordinarily would be a day to forget. But Monday was a day many here will always remember.
Lower Manhattan climbed to its feet in a successful, if toddling, first step back from the terrorist attack that left it closed to the public for nearly a week.
The stock exchange reopened after a four-day closure, its longest since 1933, and thousands of workers returned to Wall Street for the first time since fleeing in panic Sept. 11.
For many, the opening itself was a milestone and an occasion for simple thanks.
“People were thinking about more than trading stocks today,” said trader Dennis White, 42, as the market wound down. “One guy is missing his father, another is missing his brother … there are other things to be talking about.”
Indeed, acquaintances stopped to greet each other on the financial district’s bustling sidewalks, and colleagues embraced like long-lost friends.
“Really good to see you, brother,” said clerk Sean Smith, 25, wrapping a hug around a friend he last saw as they escaped through smoke-filled streets last week. Like many who lost relatives and friends, Smith learned later that day that his cousin and his roommate were among the 5,000 missing or dead.
Symbolic success aside, progress pales against what remains to be mended.
Many buildings in the financial district still lack power or phone service. Dozens of residential buildings in the area also remain evacuated while they are inspected for damage. And, of course, the recovery operation on the smoking ruins of the World Trade Center continues slowly, two blocks from the exchange.
Financial markets will need to rebuild as well. The Dow Jones industrial average lost 684.81 points Monday, its largest one-day point drop ever.
Still, the exchange broke out in mild applause as the closing bell neared. The honor of closing the session went to Oliver Howard, a security officer at the exchange who helped 130 employees of the NYSE housed at the World Trade Center evacuate during the attack.
The stock sell-off was sharp and costly, but some said it could have been worse.
“With five days of selling pent up, the loss is not that bad,” said Frank Ali, a broker with James O’Callaghan. “It’s just important that we’re here.”
In a common refrain, Jesse Greenwald, a specialist at the American Stock Exchange, took the long view.
“You can always make your money back,” Greenwald said. “But you’re never going to bring your friends back.”
A day that ended in modest relief began with uncertainty–both financial and personal. Many of those returning wondered not only what the market would do, but also who among them might not be returning to see it.
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“I can’t help but scan all the faces, looking for people I know,” said attorney Domenick D’Angelica, as he walked to an office two blocks from the exchange. “You want to see if everyone is OK.”
For some, the uneasiness began long before they reached the office.
Subway lines disabled by building collapses forced some commuters from Brooklyn to ride a city ferry to Manhattan.
Jane Cagney, 55, an administrator for a Wall Street law firm, said taking the ferry was the first of many things that she expected would make life in New York unfamiliar. “Everything feels weird right now,” she said.
Reaching the financial district, workers showed identification to police officers as they moved slowly through checkpoints at intersections surrounding the exchange.
The scene was unusually quiet, the only sounds the groaning of diesel generators and the crunching of footsteps on dust-covered streets.
As the closing bell neared, lower Manhattan had begun to resume some of its old rhythms. Except for a closed zone several blocks around the recovery site, most streets had been reopened by rush hour. Even the vendors hawking phony designer purses had reclaimed their street corners.
“It will take some time, but we will restore the confidence of the nation in the markets and in the economy,” said Robert Fagenson, vice chairman of Van Der Moolen Specialists, a member of the exchange. “This country is all right, and this country will be all right.”
While the exchange emptied out after the closing bell, Rabbi Shmaya Katz plodded slowly toward Wall Street, pushing an empty suitcase on a baby carriage.
He and his family fled their nearby apartment in the hours after the attack, and he hoped to retrieve some clothes and toys for what they expected to be weeks spent with relatives.
“What we don’t have is only a minuscule inconvenience, considering what we have,” said Katz, his black coat and hat dusty from a week of wear. “And that, my friend, is life.”