It was windy. Not just a breeze, but that heavy, whistling gale that makes your ears pop and your stomach do a slow roll. If you stood on the roof of the South Tower back in 1999, you weren't just looking at New York; you were basically hovering over it. Most people remember the postcards, but they forget the actual grit of being up there. The top of twin towers wasn't just a tourist trap. It was a massive, vibrating piece of engineering that felt entirely different depending on which building you picked.
You had two choices. You could go to the North Tower (1 WTC) and eat at Windows on the World, or you could hit the observation deck on the South Tower (2 WTC). They weren't the same. Honestly, the North Tower was for the suits and the fancy dinners, while the South Tower was for the rest of us who wanted to feel the air.
The Observation Deck Reality
The South Tower featured the "Top of the World" observation deck. It was located on the 107th floor, but that was just the indoor part. If the weather wasn't acting up, you could take a short escalator ride up to the actual roof. 1,377 feet in the air. No glass. Just a recessed fence that let you look straight down.
It’s weird to think about now, but the roof was set back from the edge. Why? Because the wind speeds at that height were violent. By setting the walking platform back, the Port Authority ensured tourists didn't get literally blown off the building. You’d look out across the harbor, see the Statue of Liberty looking like a tiny green toy, and realize that the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge—which usually looks huge—was just a thin grey thread in the distance.
Most people didn't realize that the buildings swayed. It wasn't a lot, maybe a few inches on a normal day, but you could feel it in your inner ear. It was a rhythmic, subtle shift. Some people hated it. Others didn't even notice until they saw the water in a toilet bowl moving back and forth for no reason.
Windows on the World: More than just a steakhouse
Over in the North Tower, things were different. You had Windows on the World. This wasn't just a restaurant; it was a status symbol. Joe Baum, the legendary restaurateur, pushed for a level of luxury that seemed insane for a skyscraper in the 1970s. By the late 90s, it was the highest-grossing restaurant in the United States.
You’d go there for the wine school run by Kevin Zraly. He’s a guy who knows more about Bordeaux than almost anyone alive. He’d teach classes on the 107th floor, and people would pay hundreds of dollars to sip wine while the clouds literally drifted past the windows. It was surreal. You weren't just "high up." You were in the atmosphere. The clouds would sometimes sit below the windows, cutting you off from the city entirely. It felt like a spaceship.
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The Logistics of Getting Up There
Getting to the top of twin towers was a process. You didn't just walk in. You had to go through the underground mall, buy a ticket, and wait in a line that felt like it lasted for years.
Then came the elevators.
They were fast. Like, 22 miles per hour fast. Your ears didn't just pop; they felt like they were being poked with needles. The ride took about 58 seconds to get to the 107th floor. Inside the elevator, they had these little screens that showed you a simulated view of what you’d see if the walls were transparent. It was a bit cheesy, but it distracted you from the fact that you were in a metal box hurtling toward the sky.
- Security: Post-1993 bombing, security was tight. Metal detectors and bag checks became the norm long before they were standard everywhere else.
- The Mall: You’d pass a Sbarro or a Warner Bros. Studio Store before you even got to the lobby.
- The Ticket: It cost about $13 for an adult in the late 90s. Think about that. Thirteen bucks to see the whole world.
The Antenna and the North Tower Roof
A lot of people think both towers had those massive antennas. Nope. Only the North Tower had the big mast. It was about 360 feet tall. It handled most of the television and radio broadcasts for the entire New York metropolitan area. If you were a technician working on that antenna, you were the highest person in the city, period.
The North Tower roof wasn't open to the public like the South Tower was. It was a forest of cables, transmitters, and red warning lights. It looked industrial and intimidating. It’s a detail that often gets lost in the photography—the North Tower was the "working" roof, while the South Tower was the "playing" roof.
Why the View Was Different
New York looks different from the South End. If you go to the Empire State Building, you're in the middle of everything. You see the Chrysler Building and Central Park. But from the top of twin towers, you were on the edge of the world.
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Looking north, you saw the entire island of Manhattan laid out like a map. You could see the "valley" of the city—the gap between the downtown skyscrapers and the midtown ones where the bedrock is deeper and the buildings stay shorter. Looking south, it was just the vastness of the Atlantic. It gave you a sense of scale that you can't get from the new One World Trade Center, mostly because the environment around it has changed so much.
The wind was the biggest factor. Honestly, it was loud. People expect silence that high up, but the wind whistling through the steel gaps and the humming of the HVAC systems created this constant, low-frequency drone. It felt alive.
Philippe Petit and the High Wire
We can’t talk about the top of those buildings without mentioning the "artistic crime of the century." In 1974, Philippe Petit walked a wire between the two towers. He didn't have a harness. He just had a long balancing pole and a lot of nerve.
He spent over 45 minutes out there. He didn't just walk; he knelt, he bowed, and he looked down at the police officers waiting to arrest him. When you stood on the roof later, you’d look at that 140-foot gap and realize how insane that actually was. The buildings weren't static; they were moving. Petit had to account for the towers twisting in the wind while he was suspended between them.
Technical Marvels of the 107th Floor
The 107th floor wasn't just a big room. It was a feat of climate control. Imagine trying to keep a glass-walled room cool when it's being hit by direct, unshielded sunlight all day. The air conditioning systems were massive.
The windows were narrow for a reason. Minoru Yamasaki, the architect, actually had a fear of heights. He designed the vertical windows to be only 18 inches wide. He wanted people to feel secure. He didn't want giant floor-to-ceiling sheets of glass because he felt they made people feel exposed. Ironically, this design created a specific way of viewing the city—you had to "frame" your view between the steel columns.
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Actionable Insights for History Buffs and Travelers
If you are looking to understand or experience the legacy of the top of twin towers today, here is how you should approach it:
- Visit the 9/11 Memorial Museum: They have actual pieces of the "Top of the World" signage and the elevator motors. Seeing the sheer size of the machinery helps you understand the scale.
- Check out the Liberty Park Overlook: It gives you a perspective of the footprint. You can see exactly where the South Tower stood and visualize where that observation deck would have hovered above you.
- Read "The Big Oyster" or "Windows on the World" by James Terrell: These books give you the granular, non-tourist history of how the top floors operated as a business and a social hub.
- Compare the heights: If you go to the current One World Observatory, remember that you are standing at roughly the same height as the old North Tower roof. Look for the "haze line" on the horizon; on a clear day, you can see the curve of the Earth, just as you could from the original towers.
The top of twin towers represented a specific era of New York—one that was bold, slightly industrial, and incredibly accessible. It wasn't just about the height; it was about the fact that for a few dollars, anyone could stand on top of the world and feel the wind coming off the Atlantic. It was a place where the city felt both infinite and incredibly small.
To truly grasp what it was like, don't just look at photos. Look for the amateur videos from the 90s. Watch the way the camera shakes in the wind on the South Tower roof. That vibration, that noise, and that sense of being slightly untethered from the ground—that was the real experience of the WTC summit. It wasn't a polished, quiet museum. It was a loud, windy, swaying monument to human ambition.
Regardless of how much time passes, the engineering and the sheer "vibe" of those 110th floors remain a benchmark for what it means to build high. If you want to understand modern New York, you have to understand the view from the towers that once defined its skyline.
Key Takeaways for Your Next Visit to Lower Manhattan
- Perspective is everything: The original towers were situated further south than the current One WTC. This gave a more direct view of the Verrazzano and the shipping lanes.
- Architectural intent: Remember that the narrow windows were a deliberate choice to provide "human-scale" security in a super-tall structure.
- The Wind: The South Tower was one of the few places in the world where you could stand on a roof at 1,300+ feet with no glass between you and the drop. That experience is almost non-existent in modern skyscraper design due to safety and insurance regulations.
Take the time to look up when you're in the Financial District. Even though the skyline has changed, the scale of what was achieved at the top of twin towers still dictates how we build and experience heights today. Moving forward, look into the structural engineering of the "Tube Frame" system if you want to understand how those top floors stayed up in such high winds. It’s a fascinating rabbit hole of steel and physics.