B2 THE PROVINCE • Sunday, September 8, 2002

By Adrienne TannerStaff Reporter

It looked like a catastrophic mis-take as the airliner surged closer,closer and then vanished behindTower 1 of the World Trade Cen-ter.

Or so it seemed to Robin Lam-precht as he watched the planeapproach from a conference roomwindow on the 103rd floor ofTower 2.

That morning, Robin had risenjust before 5 a.m., as was his cus-tom.

“I’m one of those guys — I likethe early morning hours. They arevery peaceful for me. I like to getready slowly and then I have timeto sit and read the newspaper.”

On this morning, however, heselected a black-and-white-fleckedArmani sports jacket and tieinstead of summer casual clothesand hurried for an earlier com-muter bus into Manhattan.

It was Sept. 11 and Robin, whoworks for the international insurance giant AON, was speak-ing at a third-quarter lookahead

meeting.Robin led off the presentations

and from where he stood at thefront of the room had a clear viewof Tower 1.

“I stood up to speak to the 10people and in the distance I justsaw this plane coming in, thisgreat big plane.”

There was one final moment ofpeace, followed by a monumentalexplosion.

“It was truly the biggest thingI’ve ever seen,” Robin says. “Imean, I’d never seen a fireball.

Years ago, there was a movieabout a fireman called Backdraft.And I was always amazed. I’dalways wondered how fireballslike that happened, how theycould whisk out and kill people.”

Flames burst from the neigh-bouring building.

“It was big, the size of three orfour stories,” Robin says. “Every-thing stopped then. We sort of alllooked at each other and I said,‘Let’s get out of here.’”

■Liz Lamprecht, his wife, was

styling her hair 25 kilometresaway at their home in suburbanScarsdale, N.Y., when she hearda break in the news.

“We have had a report that aplane has hit the World TradeCenter.”

She popped her head aroundthe corner. There were no pic-tures yet, just television announc-ers talking.

Her mind jumped immediatelyto the bombing at Oklahoma City.

“Quite frankly, I knew immedi-ately it wasn’t a mistake. It was a

‘I stood upto speak

... and sawthis planecoming in’

This is theamazing story

of RobinLamprecht,

a formerVancouverite,who escaped

from the

103rd floor ofthe WorldTradeCenter’sTower 2 whenall hell brokeloose onSept. 11

— Reuters

On Sept. 11, Robin Lamprecht was high in Tower 2 (left) and saw the strike on Tower 1. He wasstill in the building when this picture was taken, but by then had walked down to the 40th floor.

R E M E M B E R I N G S E P T . 1 1

B3THE PROVINCE • Sunday, September 8, 2002

beautiful, clear day. There was nota cloud. This was not a plane inthe fog, lost.”

She thought about calling herdaughters in Vancouver. Tooearly, she decided.

They will still be sleeping.All the while, her mind raced,

trying to recall exactly where herhusband worked.

Of course she knew his officewas in the World Trade Center.But which tower?

■Robin walked to his office down

the hall to pick up his wallet andjacket before he left.

“I could see right across toWorld Trade Center One andsmoke was billowing out of thebuilding.”

Robin’s office was empty. Manyof his colleagues had already piledonto the elevators.

Not Robin.Ever since he was a child, he has

feared elevators.The lift in the highrise apart-

ment building where he grew upin Durban, South Africa, con-

stantly broke down.The elevators he took daily from

the 78th floor of Tower 2 to hisoffice on the 103rd floor were notmuch better.

A few months earlier, a youngAON executive had been injuredwhen the elevator hit the top ofits own shaft and bounced himinto the ceiling.

At age 60, Robin was not in topshape and had problems with hisblood pressure.

“But I felt I could handle thestairs. If I just paced myself, I

thought I’d be alright.”■

Liz spoke first to her son Mikein Chicago, trying to reassure her-self at the same time.

“Mike, he had a big meetingtoday. He might not even be inthere. So we’ll think goodthoughts. If anybody will make itout, it’s your dad. He’s a survivor.”

When they hung up, Lizreturned to the television and witheach devastating image, grewmore and more hysterical.

“I was more than crying. I wasscreaming.”

It was a hot day, and the soundcarried through the open win-dows. Although none were closefriends, most of the neighboursknew where Robin worked.

“I know my neighbours, I likethem. But when we moved herewe only expected to be here a cou-ple of years and then move backto Vancouver,” Liz says.

“That was six years ago, but Istill haven’t put down the roots Inormally would.”

Drawn by her cries, the neigh-bours huddled outside in anuneasy group, wondering if theyshould knock.

■The stuffy stairwell was sur-

prisingly calm.Robin loosened his tie, removed

his jacket and started the descentwith a handful of others.

Intermittently, a voice on thebuilding intercom urged officeworkers to stay put.

“This building is secure. Pleaseremain at your desks.”

After 10 flights, he rememberedhis briefcase, a weathered, leatherwarhorse, “the kind that becomesreally close to you.”

He paused for a second and con-sidered going back.

■Liz had waited long enough. She

needed to tell her daughters.Lindsay, 26, then a law student

at the University of B.C., did notpick up the phone, so Liz left amessage.

She got through to Catherine,28, who wakes early for work atInfoMine, a Vancouver-based min-ing website.

Liz broke the bad news.“Catherine, a plane has hit the

World Trade Center. I don’t knowwhere Dad is.”

■Maybe it was the shock or

maybe the intuition she has come

to trust.Of the two Lamprecht girls,

Catherine is the pragmatist. Theone less apt to panic.

And even though she under-stood the danger, she did not forone second believe her fatherwould die.

“I knew he was OK, that therewas not even the remotest pos-sibility he wouldn’t make it out.”

Her father was a worrier, defi-nitely not the type to linger andgawk at a disaster site.

She threw on a pair of jeans anddrove to Lindsay’s apartment insouth Vancouver.

When she arrived, Lindsay hadspoken to their mother and waswatching television.

“By the time I turned it on, bothbuildings had been hit,” Lindsaysays. “My roommate asked mewhere Dad’s office was.”

She could not remember.“I said, ‘Probably right above

those holes where the planes are.’I didn’t know which tower, I justknew he was near the top.”

■Robin had reached the 40th

floor by the time the second planehit Tower 2.

The building shook with a forcestronger than any earthquakeRobin had experienced.

For the first time that day, hethought terrorism.

“It never left our minds thatthese buildings had been attackedyears ago.

“You knew it every time youcame into that building. Therewere extra precautions every-where.”

The stairwell was steaming hotnow, filling with a fine smoke andpacked shoulder-to-shoulder withpeople fleeing the building.

Robin thought of Zulu, hisfavourite film, and what it saidabout discipline and grace underpressure.

He remembered one particularscene in which a British officerpreparing for battle orders a sub-ordinate to button up his waist-coat.

“Discipline causes you to forgetquite what you’re facing,” Robinthought.

“At that point I decided, ‘Ifyou’re going to die, look smart.’”

He tightened his tie, put his jack-et back on, fastened all the but-tons and kept walking down.

Ric Ernst — The Province

Catherine (left) and Lindsay Lamprecht were in Vancouver on the morning of Sept. 11 when theirmother frantically called them. Lindsay was a UBC law student, her sister a mining website employee.

‘Catherine, a plane has hit the World Trade

Center. I don’t know where Dad is’

— Liz Lamprecht, calling her daughter in Vancouver

Continued on next page

R E M E M B E R I N G S E P T . 1 1

B4 THE PROVINCE • Sunday, September 8, 2002

■“Surely I would know,” Liz

recalls thinking.“We’ve been married for 34

years. Surely I would know if hewas no longer here.”

■Catherine left Lindsay’s,

returned home and tried to pre-pare for work.

Although her heart told her thather father was safe, she could notstop crying.

Her mother sounded so trau-matized, the fear was rubbing off.

“My sister was upset, too, andin my family when one of the girlsstarts crying, we all cry.”

■Robin left the stairs at the mall

level, where a police officer direct-ed him to an exit.

Outside, the street was filledwith people staring at the wound-ed towers.

“It was like New Year’s Eve. Peo-ple did not realize the dangers.They were not more than 15 or 20feet away from the building, look-ing up and filming with their cam-eras.”

Robin pushed through thecrowd and walked as fast as hecould toward nearby Chinatownin search of a telephone. He knewLiz would be panicked.

His rule with the kids had alwaysbeen to call home the secondthings went wrong. Long beforecell phones were in vogue, hebought them all mobiles for theircars in case of emergencies.

There were long line-ups forevery public phone.

Finally, he persuaded aconcierge to let him make a briefcall.

“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.

■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 allover again.

“I didn’t know exactly where hewas. When it fell, I didn’t know ifhe was far enough away.”

Catherine again felt sure he wassafe. “I knew he was far from thebuildings. That’s the way he is.”

Lindsay checked back in withher mother, just to be sure. “Shesaid he was hot-footing it awayfrom the building. That did soundDad-like.”

■New York was shut down.Still walking through Chinatown,

Robin paused to rest his feetwhich ached in his thin, leather-soled shoes. Beside him, a man ina parked car sat listening to theradio.

“Suddenly, the announcer start-ed to scream. ‘The building’simploding!’”

Robin turned in time to see oneof the towers come down.

“A controlled demolition job.That’s exactly the way it camedown, falling, bit by bit.”

Seeking the familiar, he walkedto Finos, his favourite midtownrestaurant.

The staff was shocked at hisappearance.

“Mr. Lamprecht, you look ter-rible,” remarked one waiter whorecognized Robin as a regular.

“I said, ‘I was in the World TradeCenter.’ The guy gave me a bighug, sat me down at the bar andgave me a beer and plate ofantipasto.”

He called Liz again. It was thenhe learned that the first tower tofall, the one he had watched crum-ble to dust, was his.

■Lindsay watched all the televi-

sion she could stomach and thenwent to her afternoon interna-tional law class.

She left her cell turned onbecause although she knew herfather was safe, she had not yetspoken to him in person.

Robin’s call came just as theclass discussion turned to theattack.

“A lot of students started talk-ing about how it was the resultof bad U.S. policy. At that point,

I didn’t want to sit and analyze thelegal aspect of it.”

Lindsay and Catherine havelived in Canada for 12 years butwere both born in the UnitedStates and lived there long enoughto become patriotic in a way someCanadians find irritating.

“I have a big American flag, asall Americans do,” Lindsay says.

That night, she hung it from herbalcony.

“I got a call from my landlordsaying we’re not allowed to hang

anything. I thought she was nuts.I felt so not at home.”

Lindsay sought comfort at theAmerican embassy, where she lita candle and placed a sign.

“For my father — a survivorfrom the 103rd Floor.”

■Catherine was showered with

support from her Canadianfriends and colleagues. The atti-tude among the general publicwas a different matter.

“It faded very fast — then it was

very anti-American. I didn’t wantto be here any more. I wanted tobe around people who felt thesame way I did.”

She was itching to sit in thesame room as her father but hermother forbade her to fly.

“It almost felt like he wasn’talive. I wanted to see him, touchhim, hug him.”

Her mother’s no-fly ban was lift-ed at Christmas. It was the “bestever” holiday, she says.

Catherine revelled in the patri-

From previous page

— 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 Lamprecht returns to the seat at a restaurant bar where Braho Kolenovic, right, consoledhim on the morning of Sept. 11 after his escape from the collapse of the Trade Center towers.

R E M E M B E R I N G S E P T . 1 1

B5THE PROVINCE • Sunday, September 8, 2002

otic display.“People complain about how it

is in the U.S., that there are toomany flags, how tacky it is. I lovedit.”

And then there was the family.For once, everyone set aside theirpetty rivalries and got along.

Catherine says her father’s expe-rience put everything into per-spective.

“He spent many years trying toget us all to be happy together, sonow we just are.”

If anything, the 9/11 disasterconfirmed for Catherine what shehad always believed.

“For me, and this will soundcorny, my dad’s always been myhero, always. And this only con-firms that he’s amazing.”

■Liz has noticed a sea change,

both in her community and herhusband.

Like Robin, most people havetheir “faces back on.”

But the trauma is still there, sit-

ting one quarter-inch below thesurface, she says.

“It is not uncommon to be in agroup talking and 9/11 is not thetopic of conversation, but some-thing will come up and someone’seyes will fill with tears. You givethem a little hug, pat their shoul-ders and the conversation goeson. That would have beenextremely odd a year ago.”

For a while Robin, too, was act-ing strangely.

Liz caught him lashing out at a

television game show contestantfor giving a wrong answer.

She attributed it to unresolvedanger and urged him to see acounsellor. And she begged himto retire to B.C., where they havea home in Horseshoe Bay and acottage on Vancouver Island.

“But he is very much a dottingthe ‘i’ kind of person. He justwants to finish his working years.”

■Initially, Robin resisted his wife’s

advice.“There’s no doubt what I want

is to retire in Vancouver. I’ve gottwo daughters there and it is theplace to live. But I’ve worked for44 years. A lot of who I am is whatI’ve done.”

And so he continues to com-mute to AON’s temporary officesin midtown every day.

He did, however, seek coun-selling.

“Of course, you always thinkyou’re a strong guy and you canhandle this.”

But Robin realized Liz was right.He was angry. Furious for the waythe disaster was handled. Furiousat the announcements whichlulled some people in the towerinto believing they were safe.

He was saddened beyonddescription by the death of 175colleagues. By the request of a co-worker’s widow who asked Robinto find out who her husbandcalled in the minutes before hisdeath. “She wanted to know whathis last words were.”

He grieved for the loss of aneighbour, a young man who rodethe same commuter bus. Often,Robin had watched him kiss hiswife at the door and smiled at thesight of his two young childrenracing to greet the bus at night.

After Sept. 11, at the neigh-bourhood’s request, the bus tem-porarily changed its route for thesake of the children.

Robin stopped the counsellingsessions last month. “I’m not sureit’s doing me a lot of good.”

■Catherine says her father tried

his best to hide it, but he was adifferent man at Christmas time.

“He was so damaged, so sad. Hepretends he’s not and puts on themost amazing face.”

She sums it up in one word —“haunted.”

■Today, life for Robin is both nor-

mal and transformed.He still travels, but less often

and always requests a hotel roombelow the seventh floor.

He still flies, heading to the air-port three hours early in case ofsecurity delays. Sometimes hebreezes through so quickly theairline offers him an earlier flight.

He always makes the switch butconsiders his fate in a way henever did before.

Is he getting off the bad planeand getting on the good?

Or today, will it be the otherway 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 survivorfrom the 103rd floor.’ By coincidence, The Province had photographed the note at the time.

‘I got a call from mylandlord saying we’renot allowed to hanganything … I felt so

not at home’— Lindsay Lamprecht, who hung

a U.S. flag from her balcony

‘For me, and this willsound corny, my dad’salways been my hero,always. And this only

confirms that he’samazing’— Catherine Lamprecht

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