This
morning I walked into the backyard. The sun was newly up giving that special
light that both starts and ends each day. It’s difficult to described. Golden,
muted, I don’t know. I don’t know many things, which may not be a good way to
start a day of thought and reflection on the 18th anniversary of
9-11. Anniversary? My wife and I celebrated our 23rd anniversary
this past weekend. It's been a good 23 years. Shouldn’t there be a different
word for dates of disasters and horrors, to mark the passage of time for things
that are not good?
Many of
us have our 9-11 stories. I have mine. I was not at home to hold my wife to
protect my kids. I was out-of-town on work with my friend and boss Rob. We were
in Philadelphia prepping for an over the road train test. We were at the Amtrak
yards just starting to set up our instrumentation car when we were called to
the break room.
As we
entered that shabby room with scattered tables, a tattered sofa, I wanted to
know what was up. Somebody pointed at the TV with the image of a single World
Trade Center tower with heavy smoke pouring from the uppermost stories. He said
I think something is happening.
Something
was happening. A passenger airliner had crashed into a tower of the World Trade
Center. The news reporting was chaotic. The first thought was some terrible
accident had occurred. The screen switched to a reporter in some New York high
rise. You could see the city spread out behind the reporter and as we watched,
the blur of a second airliner going past the window could be seen. At least
that is how I remember the coverage. Perhaps that memory is simply apocryphal
and fits my internal narrative well. Add that to the list of things that I
don’t know.
I do know
that coverage switched back to the towers in time to witness the unbelievable,
the second plane plowed into the second tower. In an instant, the possibility
of an accident changed into the probability of a terror attack. The break room
was silent save for the television. Everything was unfolding rapid fire, not
slow motion. We sat there and watched the flames, the smoke, listening to
reporters babble none of it making sense – none of it, not the images, not the
words, not the reality of it.
Slack
jawed I watched as the first tower collapsed, then the other. Coverage switched
to street level to capture people fleeing the dust and smoke from the
collapsing towers that boiled out of the canyons of New York City. It is all a
blur. I don’t know how long any of that took (another item in the pile). At one
point a panicked woman paused in her retreat to scream at a reporter, It’s
9-1-1! This is happing on 9-1-1!!!
My most
tangible memory of that day was walking the streets of Philly and being stunned
by just how much silence there was. I could hear the cars going by, I could
other city sounds, but I never realized how much air traffic there was over a
major city until there wasn’t any. The sky was shut down. The trains were shut
down. I came upon a news stand and purchased the afternoon special editions
from Philadelphia’s two dailies. Both had screen captured pixelated pictures of
the twin towers billowing smoke. The stories reported already began to provide
information about terrorist links to this attack. The government was moving
fast. I kept those papers until our recent move. I paused to look at them while
cleaning and packing, and I thought I didn’t need them. I wouldn’t ever forget.
I mourn
those that lost their lives in New York, Pennsylvania, and at the Pentagon. But
I also remember not only the sad of that day but the good as well. The acts of
heroism of a plane filled with hostages turned heroes flying over Pennsylvania.
The individuals who risked their lives and, in many cases, sacrificed them
saving others. The first responders who are still giving their lives because of
what they endured. I honor the soldiers that went to the middle east (where we
still have a presence) following 9-11 to put themselves in harm’s way. All
selfless acts that define the best of humanity.
In contrast, I was struck watching the news this morning as they mentioned that the first generation to be born following 9-11 will be entering our military. I guess the same could be said of newly minted first responders as well. The youngest of the military, of the first responders knowing of 9-11 only in the abstract and not the visceral. How will that shape things? (and a blanket is draped over my pile of things I don't know)
