For those of us born after the assination of JFK, 9/11 has become the "Where were you?" event; the moment in time when we vividly remember where we were and what we were doing when it happened.
September 11, 2001 was a Tuesday. I was in the midtown Manhattan office of my now former employer.
When the first plane struck the north tower, it was a distraction that annoyed our instructor. My coworkers and I were there for training, and our 8am start to class was quickly sidetracked. We couldn't see the north tower from our office, but the south tower was visible, and the smoke was trailing past it.
My wife, not knowing the details of the event or where, exactly, my office was located, called me in a panic. All was well, I reassured her. Back in the 1940's an Air Force bomber had crashed into the Empire State Building. With three major airports and an untold number of helicopters and small aircraft circling the city, an accident was possible.
Even though we could see the south tower from the corner conference room, I don't think anyone was paying attention when the second plane hit, but there was a flurry of activity shortly thereafter.
It was almost comical as my coworkers and I - a group of computer nerds - attempted to get a TV working. Finding out what was happening was next to impossible as the major news sites on the Internet were hammered by traffic. We had a TV in the office with a VCR player, but the cable service had been discontinued for lack of use. Now we scrambled to turn a coat hanger into a makeshift antenna.
The comedy routine continued when the only TV station we could pull in was in Spanish. Things quickly grew serious when one of my coworkers recognized the word "bomb", and news arrived from elsewhere about the Pentagon.
We were under attack.
Cell towers were overloaded and the land lines offered only busy signals as everyone tried to contact friends and loved ones. When we finally spoke again, my wife pleaded with me, "Get out of the building!"
And go where? Manhattan is nothing but buildings; a concrete jungle. Everything, everywhere was suddenly a target and news of other, unaccounted-for planes only added to the fear and uncertainty.
The south tower disappeared right before our eyes as we were clustered around the table in the conference room, alternatively watching the TV and looking out the window at the burning building. In a moment, it was gone in a cloud of dust and ash that enveloped the south side of the island.
Reactions varied. One of my coworker's eyes welled-up as he punched a chair and walked out of the room. A woman sat there, pale and stoic. The wife of one of our instructors, she was from Utah, and this was her first trip to New York City. They had been staying at a hotel at the World Trade Center, but the day before we had convinced them to change their accomodations and stay closer to our office.
With all of the major Internet news sites swamped, I sought other sources. Ironically, the Cape Cod Times website was accessible, although it offered little more detail than we already knew. While I sat at my computer, another coworker popped-up on my instant messenger, "I can't get a hold of my girlfriend."
Ironically, Peter was from New York City, but was in Utah for training. His girlfriend and her mother worked in the vicinity of the World Trade Center. A big, hairy guy, Peter looked intimidating, but now he was barely holding it together. Hours later he would find out that they were safe, and the following day he would rent a car and drive non-stop from Salt Lake City.
Things settled down after lunch, and half-a-dozen of us decided to make ourselves useful, so we ventured out to the nearest hospital to give blood. Midtown Manhattan, usually a flurry of bumper-to-bumper traffic and shoulder-to-shoulder sidewalks, was abandonded. The city that never sleeps felt dead as we walked across the streets with impunity.
The awkward silence was broken by reminders of the chaos at the other end of the city. At one point, a police car flew past, the only car on an otherwise empty road, trailing a cloud of dust and debris. On a side street, we happened across a parked news van, covered in ash and papers.
We found the traffic at the East River as cars sat idling in a jam, an exodus waiting for the bridge to reopen. Further south, the United Nations building was surrouned by yellow tape and police cadets. When we asked one about how far the hospital was, he told us to try again tomorrow - the line of blood donors was hours long.
The rest of the day was a blur as we sat trapped. The airports, bridges and tunnels were closed; nothing was getting into or out of Manhattan.
"Good luck." It was still dark when the doorman to the hotel wished me well. I walked to Penn Station through an eerily quiet Times Square. When they announced the opening of the bridges and tunnels, I had booked one of the first trains out of the city. The sun was rising as it rose out of the tunnel, and there was no small measure of relief as Ground Zero and the smoking remains of the World Trade Center disappeared behind us.
September 12, 2001 was a Wednesday.
Where were you?
2 comments:
Less dramatic - I was in my car in a car wash in suburban Philadelphia. Had the day off from work - spent the day with my two children.
I was on a conference call with our corporate banking discussing changes to the encryption of our business financial data. The call was scheduled for 9am but the moderator did not join until about 9:10 when she told us that a plane had crashed into one of the Trade Center towers and that one of her closest friends had started working there just the day before. Because of the stress the moderator was undergoing the call was unproductive and was cut short.
I went back to my department to spread the word thinking this must be a bad accident like happened in the '40's when an Army plane crashed into the Empire State Building in a fog, which fortunately happened on a Saturday when most workers were not there. My colleagues told me not one but TWO planes had crashed, one into each of the towers. Immediately my speculation changed and I was instantly convinced it had to be terrorism.
The rest of the day became even more unproductive as people gathered in groups to discuss the events. A TV was set up up in the main Auditorium tuned to the best local channel we could receive (which wasn't very good at all) and individuals and groups would come and go throughout the day.
I remember watching as one of the towers collapsed in real time. I can't remember if it was the North or South tower.
I, personally, did not know any of the victims but one of my wife's favorite former managers was on Flight 11. John Ogonowski, the pilot was from next-door Dracut. Ace Bailey was a Bruin's player that I recalled fondly as someone who contributed to the excitement of watching many games. Amy Sweeney was the sister-in-law of my all-time favorite Bruin, Bob Sweeney.
All our lives changed that day, and not for the better for vast majority of us.
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