Do you remember where you were and what you were doing at this time eight years ago today? I was in New Orleans, LA for a work-related training meeting. Mrs. Goldwater’s brother lived in New Orleans at the time, so we decided to make it a long weekend. And what a wonderful weekend it was.
My meeting had just started that Tuesday morning when my colleague’s cell phone rang – it was his wife. He got up from the table and left the conference room abruptly. He came back about five minutes later. He whispered, “a plane just hit the World Trade Center.” Too bad I thought, probably a novice pilot of a small plane veering off course and nothing more. A few minutes later, his cell went off again. This time, his face ashen: “Another jet hit the other tower”, he said. By now, other cell phones had been ringing with spouses and friends reporting similar events. I then remembered that Mrs. Goldwater herself was on her way to the airport for a flight back home. Confusion and curiosity quickly gave way to panic. Our facilitator, sensing she was quickly losing control of her audience, wisely cancelled the session so we could contact loved ones and make alternate arrangements.
I ran up to my hotel room to see if my wife was still there, hopefully I could catch her in time. She had already gone. I turned on the television, and saw the horrible events of that day unfold before my eyes. I attempted to call my wife several times to warn her, but could not make contact. I saw the first tower go down. I called my parents to let them know I was okay, and was nowhere near Manhattan (I used to make two to three trips to the island weekly). I then saw the second tower go down. “They’re gone!” I cried hysterically into the phone. “All those people! Gone!”
“It will be okay,” my mother said in a reassuring tone. “Life will go on…it has to.” A little while later, the door of my hotel room opened. It was my wife, her cab had been turned away at the airport.
Life will go on…it has to. But I think of the people that day for which that remark no longer has meaning. Eight years later, I still cry.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
7 comments:
I was at home getting ready for work when I heard the news on the radio. As the events unfolded, I was standing alone in my apartment, staring at the television with growing horror.
I confess that one of my strongest memories is the terror I felt upon hearing that the Pentagon had also been hit. Bryan was working in DC at the time, so I assumed he worked in the Pentagon. The hysteria and tears after several unsuccessful attempts to reach him, and the immense relief upon receiving his "I'm fine," are hard to forget.
Obviously, there's no Big Fat Friday Free For All today. I got online this morning to post it, then read GG's post and couldn't put something up as light and breezy as a BFFFFA.
My 9-11 story goes like this. On the evening of 9-10, I boarded a flight to London where I was booked to speak to a conference on missile defense on 9-12. I landed and headed directly to the East India Club on St. James's where I had a room for a few days. I dropped into bed for a few hours of shut-eye before going to meet my friend Kevin Mooney--another Naval Officer (stationed near London) for a famous London curry dinner.
At some point the phone in the room rang, and I awoke in the kind of daze that only a deep off schedule sleep can bring. It was Kevin, and it took a moment or two for my grogginess to wear off.
"Doesn't look like we're going to dinner, my fiend," he said.
"Why not?" I answered.
"Haven't you seen the TV? America's under attack! The world trade center and the Pentagon have both been hit." Thus began my familiarity with the events of the day.
I turned on the TV and remained glued to it almost continuously for at least 12 hours. I broke to go down to the main dining room for dinner--where I was seated at the "Club Table", where solo travelers staying at the Club can sit together and enjoy each other's company. There were folks from across the Europe sitting there, and of course all were talking about the attack. When it became obvious that I was American, they're friendship and amity increased even more. These men recognized that the world had changed that day, and they were the perfect companions to help get through a tough day.
Later, in my room. I got a call from the folks hosting the conference at which I was to speak. They told me that they would certainly understand if I decided not to give my talk. I thought about it for a second or so, then said something about being in the city of the "stiff upper lip", and so would soldier on. During my introduction the next day, reference to this comment was made and brought a standing ovation from the largely British audience.
I was scheduled to fly back to the US on Thursday the 13th. This just happened to be the first day that the airports re-opened, and Heathrow was a madhouse of stranded Americans. I waited in an interminable line, got to the front finally and was told basically that they would do the best they could to get me back to the States. I asked the lady behind the counter upon what the priority was being formed, and she started to real off the list--airline personnel, sick people, etc. I asked if active duty military had a place on the list. She asked me to wait and walked into a back room. When she came back out, she handed me a first class ticket on the very first United Flight out of Heathrow headed back to the States.
Sorry--"their" friendship vice "they're"
Like everybody else, when I heard about the first aircraft hitting the tower, I just assumed it was an accident. But upon hearing that a second aircraft had hit, I instantly knew it was a planned event while simultaneously coming to the realization that the America in which I had grown up was gone forever.
Along with those who died in the aircraft, the towers, and the Pentagon an even greater and more sorrowful death occurred that sunny September morning. It was the death of innocence and life as we knew it.
In the days and weeks following, I recall that everywhere I looked I saw American flags on cars, trucks, buses, homes and the lapels of people's clothing. Patriotism and love for America was rampant. But sadly, I remember correctly commenting to my wife that the American people would forget all about it in a relatively short period of time. I wish I had been wrong. :(
Great post GG, really very good.
Amazing how every moment during those 24 hours starting from 7pm the night before throughout this day are etched so clearly in my mind.
I took in the news of the 'commuter plane' that hit the Tower as I took the escalator 2 steps at a time, running late to my office in Boston -- the IBank on the floor below us had one of those wall to wall tv screens with the first news coming in just before 8:50, a small crowd blocked the top of the escalator.
One of my colleagues called out that this was no Cessna. We had offices and staff in the WTC, and those morning flights from Logan are usually filled with our colleagues, so everyone had radios/tvs fired up well before 9, and we opened our main teleconference room to all staff and had the news on -- the room was full, maybe 200 people -- as we watched the 2nd plane hit, thinking -- hoping -- we were seeing a replay from another angle. Someone called out that it wasn't the same plane ... and we saw the smoke coming from the other tower. The room went silent, not a common occurrence at Bain.
I ran, called my brother in NYC, trying to remember where his bank was located -- no phone service to NYC at 9:05, 9:10. I tried my baby brother at the Pentagon to see if he could get through to NYC with his super secret powers: no answer on his office line or cell. With email, I got hold of my brother in NYC, all was ok, although we later found that he wouldn't get back to his home until the next day.
My youngest brother called me sometime between 9:15 and 9:30: he was grim, furious in a way that scared the living daylights out of me, couldn't talk right then, his team had been in some kind of massive debriefing and they were evacuating or had evacuated the White House and the Capitol and were on the move, but he said they knew exactly who it was and that they were going after every last one of them. That was my first indication that this was a terrorist attack, I was a bit slow on the uptake.
The news came in about the attacks on the Pentagon and the Mall (the latter in error) while I was emailing back & forth w/my folks to let them know their eldest boy was in no danger. And then there was news about another hijacked plane, possibly 2, still in the air -- one heading for DC, one for Chicago. I heard via my folks that my brother had called them right after the news about the Pentagon reached us, he was safe, and he was in the air somewhere.
I told my team to go home, but no one would leave. We heard that they were planning to take down the North Tower, and wondered how it had been fully evacuated so quickly. I tried to remember how long it used to take me to make it down that elevator when I worked downtown. Suddenly, the second tower that had been hit came down, followed by the North. Poof. I couldn't get my head around that, still can't.
Firetrucks seemed to be everywhere around my office. The Westin was surrounded by black SUVs. Our offices in the Sears Tower in Chicago were evacuated, and when we were also evacuated that afternoon, we headed to the corner pub, in the shadow of the Pru -- not the smartest choice -- but it was the nearest Guinness tap and television set. There was no going anywhere, anyway, the commuter rail was jam-packed with people racing home and streaming down to NYC to help.
I broke the news to my husband later, he hadn't heard a thing. I'm amazed at how the experience was so very different for those of us glued to the images in real-time vs those who heard of it as one terrible, enormous news item, instead of what seemed like a never-ending stream of horrific blows to the gut. And for those who lost loved ones, I just can't even imagine ... that thought is gut-wrenching still.
We live in DC along the flight path to National airport; 45 second intervals of aircraft noise is part of our landscape. As I walked to pick my kids up from their DC public elementary school on that crisp early fall afternoon, I was struck by the utter quietness overhead. For many months, the only aircraft noise we heard were the fighter jets flying over DC in the middle of the night.
Later that day, as we sat glued to the TV, my 4-year-old son caught a glimpse of the images of the planes hitting the towers. I explained that some very bad people stole the planes and crashed them. I assured him that the President and the army and the police were going to make sure that no more planes would crash into buildings and that we were safe. He looked me squarely in the eyes and proclaimed, "And mom, if the bad guys come here, we will fight them."
Indeed so.
Great post GG. I was in the Pentagon that morning. I really don't think about it very much. I certainly remember it but, oddly, I never really cried over it even though I cried like a baby when my dog died. As I drove home from DC this afternoon, thinking of all the work I have to do this weekend and frustrated by the Bay Bridge traffic and rainy conditions that turned my weekly four hour commute into half again as much, I approached an overpass with a "hook and ladder" truck parked in the middle, its ladder raised sufficiently to suspend a large American flag. Firemen flanked the truck on all corners standing at "parade rest" in the rain.
It caught me off guard. Really off guard. I always wondered if I would ever "feel" it. Today, when I least expected it, I felt it. So much so that I had to pull over. And when I felt I could do so with an appropriate amount of dignity, I stepped out of my truck, faced the flag and the firemen, stood at attention, and put my hand over my heart. When the fireman facing me came to attention and saluted, I dropped my hand and nodded before returning to my truck to resume my drive home.
Awful as that day was, I miss who we became as a nation that day. But for me, today, somewhere after the Chesapeake Bay Bridge on Route 50, around 6:30 pm, I felt a little bit better again.
Post a Comment