Book Excerpt: 'I Am the Central Park Jogger'

Aug. 19, 2005 — -- On an April evening in 1989, a young woman out for a run was brutally beaten, raped and left for dead in Central Park. The vicious attack polarized the city and has continued to make headlines.

For years, the woman who was attacked kept silent, known to the public only as the "Central Park Jogger." That woman, Trisha Meili, has broken her silence and written a book about her ordeal and recovery.

In her book, "I Am the Central Park Jogger: A Story of Hope and Possibility," Meili writes about her life before the attack as a successful Wall Street investment banker and her incredible recovery. Meile says her resilience is due, in large part, to the outpouring of emotional support she received, and always seeing herself as a survivor, not a victim, of the attack.

You can read an excerpt from the book below.

At 5 p.m. on the day of the assault, I turned down a dinner invitation from a friend because I had too much work to do at the office. This was not unusual. At age 28, I was on the fast track at Salomon Brothers, one of the top-tier investment banks on Wall Street, and often worked late; it was one way to stay on the track.

Before I left the office, Pat Garrett, a colleague of mine who worked in the adjoining cubicle, asked my advice about a new stereo system. Three months earlier I had moved into a building on East 83rd St. and had bought a hi-fi that I had described to Pat as ideal for a smallish New York apartment.

"Why not come over and take a look at it?" I suggested.

"Sure," he said, delighted. We had become good friends at Salomon, though our romantic attachments lay elsewhere.

"Come around ten. That'll give me time to go for a run before you get there."

There was no chance I'd forgo the run. I was obsessed with exercise and had run marathons in Boston and many 10K races in New York City. Since I normally arrived at work at 7:30, running in the morning would have meant getting up too early. Besides, a night jog was a fine way to relieve the stress of the day.

I varied my route occasionally, as the mood struck me, but often, after entering Central Park on 84th St., would turn north to the 102nd St. crossdrive. At night, this area of the park was secluded and dimly lit, but the only concession I made to its potential danger was to go there at the beginning of my run, rather than later at night. That friends had warned me about running alone at all at night may have goaded me to continue. I had been running there for two and a half years without their advice, and I didn't need it now. Like many young people, I felt invincible. Nothing would happen to me. I can be determined, defiant, headstrong -- and maybe there were deeper issues that drove me to take the risk.

"Great," Pat said. "I'll be there at ten."

And while I remember the five-o'clock call, I don't remember the conversation with Pat; I've reconstructed it here after later talks with him. Indeed, the dinner invitation is my last memory of anything -- words, events, people, actions, touch, sights, pain, pleasure, emotions; anything -- until nearly six weeks later.

Just before nine that night, a group of more than thirty teenagers gather on 110th St., the northern end of Central Park, for a night of "wilding" -- senseless violence performed because it's "fun and something to do." They throw rocks and bottles at cars entering the park; punch, kick, and knock down a Hispanic man, drag him nearly unconscious into the bushes, pour beer over him, and steal his food. They decide not to attack a couple walking along the path because the two are on a date, but do go after a couple on a tandem bicycle, who manage to elude them. They split into smaller groups, then come together, then split again, like dancers in a sinister ballet. In all, eight are assaulted, including a 40-year-old teacher and ex-marine named John Loughlin, whom they beat unconscious.

Reports from that time allege that between eight and 15 of them spot a young woman jogging alone along the 102nd St.crossdrive. There they tackle her, punch her, and hit her with a sharp object. Soon they drag her down into a ravine where one of the teenagers rips off her jogging pants. The woman is in excellent condition, and she kicks and scratches at them, screaming wildly; it is difficult to pin down her arms and legs. Finally, she is hit in the left side of the face with a brick or rock. Her eye socket shatters and she stops fighting and screaming.

By this time, John Loughlin, having regained consciousness, has been found by the police and reported his assault. He is taken to a hospital. The cops, now aware of the attacks from reports by some of the victims, have fanned out, looking for the assailants. The park goes quiet.

Three and a half hours later, two policeman, Robert Calaman and Joseph Walsh, sitting in an unmarked car at the 102nd St. crossdrive, are approached by two Latino men, shouting excitedly about a man in the woods who has been beaten and tied up. The policemen drive closer to investigate. Walsh gets out of the car and sees a body in the mud off the pavement, lying faceup and thrashing violently.

The men were wrong. It is the body of a woman. Naked except for her bra, which has been pushed above her breasts; her running shirt has been used to gag her and tie her hands in a praying position in front of her face. Walsh tells her he's a policeman.

"Who did this to you?" he asks. "Can you speak to me?"

There is no response. She is bleeding profusely. One of her eyes is puffed out, almost closed. The policemen call an ambulance. EMTs arrive. She is taken to Metropolitan Hospital, known for its acute-trauma care, and rushed to the emergency room. She is met by Dr. Isaac Sapozhnikov, attending physician in the ER, who instantly calls Dr. Robert S. Kurtz, director of Surgical Intensive Care, at his home. Dr. Kurtz issues instructions for the immediate care the Jogger needs and comes in early that morning. He will supervise her treatment for the seven weeks she is at Metropolitan.