Unthinkable_ Who Survives When Disaster Strikes - and Why - Amanda Ripley [114]
After the first few drills, Rescorla chastised the employees for moving too slowly in the stairwell. He started timing them with a stopwatch, and they got faster. He also lectured employees about some of the basics of fire emergencies: they should always go down. Never go up to the roof. Ever.
Rescorla did not grant exceptions. When guests visited Morgan Stanley for training, Rescorla made sure they all knew how to get out too. Even though the chances were slim, Rescorla wanted them ready for an evacuation. He understood that they would need the help more than anyone else. Like the patrons in the Beverly Hills Supper Club fire, they would be passive guests in an unfamiliar environment—a very dangerous role to play.
After the 1993 bombing, Rescorla wrote another report, this one warning Morgan Stanley executives that terrorists would stop at nothing to take down the towers. He even sketched out another possible attack scenario: terrorists might fly a cargo plane full of explosives into the Trade Center. Rescorla had the imagination that the government lacked, and it stalked him with hypotheticals. Finally, Rescorla recommended that Morgan Stanley move its headquarters to a low-rise campus in New Jersey. But the firm’s lease didn’t end until 2006. Partly as a result of Rescorla’s findings, Stewart writes, Morgan Stanley decided to sue the Port Authority to win damages from the bombing—and to be released from its lease. (The lawsuit was ultimately settled in April 2006 under terms that Morgan Stanley agreed to keep confidential.)
Rescorla’s drills went on for eight years, even as the memory of the 1993 bombings faded. “He used to say, ‘They’re gonna get us again. By air or by the subway,’” remembers Stephen Engel, who, as facilities manager, worked closely with Rescorla. When he hired security staff, Rescorla looked for more-sophisticated candidates than Engel had seen in those kind of jobs before. “He got people with a computer background, rather than a retired beat cop looking to add to his pension.”
Rescorla still relied upon fire marshals, but he had more of them, and he rotated the jobs often. “He was very serious about making sure everyone came out to the drills. We used to say, ‘Well, it’s the sergeant doing the drills again. It was kind of repetitive,” remembers Bill McMahon, a Morgan Stanley executive. “There were times when I just sat in my office and the fire marshal would come by and say, ‘No, you gotta go.’” Rescorla also made the fire marshals wear fluorescent orange vests and hats. “You’d make fun of the marshals: ‘Oh, you got your hat? Where’s your vest?’” remembers McMahon. “But in retrospect, thank God.”
Meanwhile, Rescorla’s own life changed dramatically. He fell in love with a woman he met while jogging in his neighborhood, and they got married. He was also diagnosed with cancer. He underwent painful treatments and gained weight. He didn’t look like a soldier anymore. But he kept coming to work every day at 7:30 A.M. in a suit and tie, and he kept his people ready.
Rescorla was disciplined in everything he did, even his hobbies. He took up pottery and made a flowerpot for his friend Engel. “One day, he decided he was going to take up wood carving. A couple months later, he comes in with this duck. It was beautiful!” says Engel, laughing. Rescorla loved to watch old westerns, and he read voraciously. “If you mentioned something, martial arts or old movies, he would know something about it.”
In 1998, Rescorla was interviewed by a filmmaker named Robert Edwards, whose father had fought alongside Rescorla in Vietnam. The documentary focused on the nature of warfare. Watching the footage now, it is clear that Rescorla thought about terrorism a lot—and not just the way it might impact his own office.