In mission they are as different as midnight and high noon—a noted art book publisher, a Hollywood-minded startup that had yet to release its first book, a store that was part of America's second-largest chain, a two-man literary house, the publishing arm of a West Coast distributor and a scrappy political press. But on September 11, 2001, these six book outfits south of Canal Street suddenly found their disparate missions equalized by terrorism, as the police barriers on their streets came to represent both a literal and figurative block on their creative missions.
One year later, some have still not found a place to return to; others have physically come back, but to places that seem forever changed. As was the case a year ago, these six companies remain true to their simple mission of disseminating books. They seek to become no greater symbol. Yet as it was a year ago, a symbol is exactly what they've become, showing us that if tragedy often happens by accident, survival can be achieved only through will.
ABBEVILLE: President Bob Abrams was putting on his coat to leave his office for a meeting on the morning of September 11 when he heard an airplane fly over the publisher's loft. Seconds later, that plane crashed into the World Trade Center. Employees evacuated the Abbeville building as their offices were buried under ash and debris.
How They Reacted: The art book publisher soon relocated to temporary offices on 23d Street. Because of a space shortage, many employees telecommuted. In the weeks after the attacks, executives also met to figure out how to commemorate the event. They decided to do a photographic history, The World Trade Center Remembered, which went on to become one the house's biggest titles of the year. "For people who weren't there," Abrams said, "there's a desire to see the attacks from many points of view. This book was the only book I could have done—to try and remember the towers for what they were."
Where They Are Now: The attacks were both cause of and omen for a bad year to come—the company has endured several rounds of layoffs and a scaling-back of its list. As for its real-estate situation, Abbeville remains in a state of limbo. The company is still temporarily headquartered on 23d street and Abrams said he is not sure when or even if he will move into another permanent office.
RUGGED LAND: Excitement had been building for Doubleday veteran Shawn Coyne and his business partner, Web Stone, in the summer of 2001. The two had left their jobs in corporate media to form a commercially minded house that would also train an eye on Hollywood. As their Canal Street offices were being set up, the company had taken temporary quarters on Franklin Street. The two were working feverishly on Rugged Land's inaugural list. As they discussed getting press for an unknown author, a few blocks to the south, the world was literally falling down. Coyne and Stone fled their office, leaving everything behind.
How They Reacted: Stone and Coyne realized that if their years of planning were to mean anything, they had to find an alternative—and quickly. Because Stone lives in TriBeCa, he was allowed back into the office. So a few days after the attacks, he returned, alone, to remove all the equipment and files. Soon after, Rugged Land moved into its yet-unfinished Canal Street space. "For months, we'd be talking to agents on the phone, and it would be like, 'We'd really like to do the deal with you, but could you please talk louder so we can hear you over the sledgehammer?' " Coyne recalls. Within a few weeks, everyone at the house tried to bury their heads in their work. "I remember holding a launch meeting three weeks or so after the attacks, and everyone at the table kind of said, 'Do we really want to be here?' " Coyne said. "Fortunately, we had some comic fiction to serve as a distraction."
Where They Are Now: Amazingly, Rugged Land says its first year of existence, far from being benighted, has been blessed. The house has done more than $1 million in reprint deals and placed two books on the New York Times Extended Bestseller List. And in a particularly poetic bit, the firm has found success on the real estate front—it has even taken additional space across the street.
BORDERS: The address alone—5 World Trade Center—is enough to tell of the horror experienced by employees at the bookstore closest to the imploding skyscrapers. The store was obliterated, but the attacks happened before the store opened for business that day and, incredibly, no one was injured.
Where They Are Now: Many store employees, particularly at the management and supervisory levels, have found positions at other Borders stores. The general manager of the World Trade Center branch, for example, is now general manager of the Borders on Park Avenue. Several employees relocated outside New York City and continue to work at Borders.
CONTEXT MEDIA: Publisher Beau Friedlander told a story now familiar to many: on the morning of September 11, he emerged from the subway on his way to work to see a plume of smoke rising and people running toward him. But what happened to him over the next few days was hardly typical. He was able to get telephone and Internet service (from his laptop) only outside on nearby Franklin Street, but a neighbor noticed and reported him to the cops as "a Middle Eastern— looking man typing on a laptop," Friedlander recalls with only half a chuckle. He had telecommunication problems at work, too. Because his company was a little farther from the financial center, it took three months before phone service was restored. Some of Context's winter titles were delayed, and publicity and sales suffered through the end of 2001.
How They Reacted: Soon after the attacks, Friedlander found himself in a controversy over Holding Fire, a novel based on the lives of New York firefighters that by coincidence he had released on September 11. After landing some publicity, Friedlander went through what he describes as a crisis of conscience and decided to halt publicity. (He was also wary because a tabloid had reported that the family of a firefighter who died in the attacks, on whom a character was based, spoke out against the author.) "There was such a temptation then for publishers to look for a hook," he remembered. "But I felt that if this was doing harm to even one person, we shouldn't be promoting it."
Where They Are Now: The tiny house continues its publishing of literary fiction and nonfiction, often with a dark bent. But the sights Friedlander witnessed a year ago have left their mark. This fall, Context is publishing a book opposing the war on Iraq, a decision Friedlander attributes to what he saw. "I believe that if we go ahead and attack Iraq, there will be a terrorist attack every day in a major city. This book is a direct response to what happened."
AVALON: Neil Ortenberg knows he's probably being too hard on himself, but he can't help feeling guilty for moving the collection of New York imprints he directs from its office on 13th Street down to William Street, six blocks from where the Towers stood, in June 2001. From their offices on the 16th floor, employees had a grisly view of the tragedy; some who went downstairs even saw people jumping to their deaths.
How They Reacted: Almost everybody in the office suffered some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, and Ortenberg brought in grief counselors and allowed employees extra days off. He estimated that it wasn't until April or May that the charge in the air subsided.
Where They Are Now: The publisher had a successful year despite the tragedy. In the spring it became independent from corporate cousin PGW after AMS bought the Berkeley distributor. Ortenberg said the atmosphere has mostly returned to normal, but loss and fear still hover. "I think it's still here. It's just something that floats in the air."
SEVEN STORIES: The attacks on Western symbols and values resonated for this left-wing house located on Watts Street whose mission has always been to question the orthodoxies of American foreign policy. In addition to the temporary evacuation and poor air quality, house employees struggled to reconcile their own grief and their solidarity with the victims with their typical self-scrutinizing stance. That a large number of employees came from foreign countries made the job even trickier.
How They Reacted: In the country's new consciousness of global affairs, editor-in-chief Dan Simon saw an opportunity for a message where others might have only seen an opportunity for self-pity. Days later, when the staff met in a restaurant down the street—the offices felt toxic in too many ways—editors came up with the idea of publishing several political essays and distributing them electronically. The pieces, by noted radicals such as Noam Chomsky, served as the basis for several books that went on to be among the house's best sellers.
Where They Are Now: Seven Stories is in the tricky position of trying to continue making its aggressively political ideas heard in a nation that might be more concerned with watching Sex and the City. But Simon noted that the house isn't in any rush: "If you think of something like this being a two-stage process—you have the event and then you have the response—I feel we're still trying to grapple with the event. I don't think we're anywhere near the response yet."
