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Our media center is 14 blocks from the Trade Center. When the planes hit, our first instinct was to grab the cameras and run to the scene. But there were hundreds of survivors staggering around outside our building who needed help. They were in shock. Covered with dust. People desperately trying to call relatives, but cell phones weren’t working. We dropped four phones down to the sidewalk and everybody lined up to call their families. Their conversations were heartbreaking: stories of wives and co-workers trapped in the collapsing buildings; desperate dashes trying to avoid the falling debris. They were crying. We were crying. It would have been dramatic, emotional television. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to film it.

After an hour, things calmed down a bit. We got the cameras and headed south. Now the police lines were up and all reporters had been cleared away. We tried unsuccessfully to talk our way around the roadblocks. We filmed construction workers making stretchers and loading them into a truck for delivery into the war zone. Their police escort vehicle had an empty back seat. We asked if we could hitch a ride behind the police lines into Ground Zero. Dust was everywhere. My lens became opaque in 10 seconds. Depressed and disoriented firemen were wandering down the sidewalks. Buildings were on fire and collapsing.

My camera was a Sony PD150. It’s easiest to use by gripping the handle and keeping the camera around waist height. It is also less conspicuous that way. As we made our way to the Trade Center, we blended in with everyone else. We were covered with white powder. The camera was covered with powder. It was like the people of Pompeii filming their own destruction.

There were no other cameras at Ground Zero. I was careful not to get in the way or ask questions. I parked myself at the edge of the pile and filmed all night. Once or twice somebody realized what I was doing and seemed ready to escort me out. But after a while I became an accepted part of the horrific landscape. Everybody shared a common shock and exhausted desperation.

I’ve been in many situations like this before. While you are filming, your job keeps you focused. Do I have enough tape? Is the battery running down? How should the shot be framed? How can I tell the story? If I walk to the other side for a better angle will they notice me and kick me out? Should I film the fireman who is crying?

I left at 3 a.m. to get my tapes to the station. On my way uptown all the old war zones I had filmed began flashing back — Vietnam, Cambodia, Central America, Philippines, Iraq, Afghanistan. It was always a relief to fly back to New York and leave the death and destruction behind. Now the war is in my neighborhood. Since that night I haven’t tried to go back to Ground Zero. We’ve turned the ground floor of our media center over to the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Newly homeless neighbors line up to get relief checks.

On Saturday, September 22, we turned our building into a block party for all the kids who survived the attack. About 1,500 children and their parents, as well as clowns, magicians, and musicians, crowded inside. Kids painted and danced. It was fun. It was healing. Even the firemen tried to smile — but when I saw their sad eyes, I started to cry.

Jon Alpert has won 12 national Emmys. His video reports from Ground Zero were shown on CBS' The Early Show.

Additional Photos from Jon Alpert