Part I of a three-part series about my memories of and connection to 9/11.
Terrorists unleashed an astonishing air assault on America’s military and financial centers yesterday morning, hijacking four commercial jets and then crashing them into the World Trade Center in New York, the Pentagon and the Pennsylvania countryside.
This was the opening paragraph in the Washington Post’s first article about 9/11. Thirty-seven words, but the one seared into my memory is the fourth word: “astonishing.” Wasn’t that a synonym for “amazement,” “breathtaking,” “spectacular,” “stunning,” etc. — all words I associated with art and beauty? I remember looking up the definition: “To fill with sudden and overpowering surprise or wonder; amaze.” However, synonyms included, “confound,” “overwhelm,” and “stupefy.”
Yes, perhaps I was astonished after all.
The morning of 9/11, I was in Orlando, FL — 865 miles from my home working on my laptop in a conference room of my largest client. Shortly after 9 a.m., a colleague came in and said, “I just heard the strangest thing on my car radio . . . that a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center. Are you getting anything on your laptop?” I looked back at my laptop and everything was frozen. I quickly walked to a cafe in the building that had a television . . . it wasn’t working. I then went next door to City Hall and asked a guard if he knew anything about a plane crash at the World Trade Center. He pointed down the hall to a large group of people standing in a doorway. I walked down and joined the crowd which was riveted to a small television in a very small office. The first image I saw was a replay of the second plane hitting the second tower. Astonished, I said aloud, “How can they fly such big planes by remote control?”
“It was deliberate. There are people on those planes,” someone said.
“What?” I replied, “You mean they crashed with the passengers still inside?”
“Yes.”
“So everyone is dead?”
“Yep, plus people in the Towers.”
I walked back to the conference room I was using and learned that my client was closing for the day. The CEO said to me, “This is our Pearl Harbor. We need to prepare.”
Back at my hotel, I had no idea how I was going to get home. All airports were closed. I called my car rental agency and no cars were available. I spent the rest of the day in my hotel room watching the 24/7 coverage. A third plane had crashed into the Pentagon. A fourth in a field in Pennsylvania. The Towers had collapsed. I was unnerved. Frightened. Astonished.
The next day, the car agency called and told me that a car might be available, and the sooner I could get to the agency, the better my chances of claiming it. Another colleague drove me to the agency and when I got there, I learned that the only vehicle available was a 12-passenger SUV. Did I want it? Just as I was about to pay for it, I learned that a red Mustang convertible had become available.
I drove 280 miles on Rt. 95 without stopping until I got near Savannah, GA and spent the night at a Holiday Inn. The next morning, I was the only customer in an IHOP until I was joined by a businessman driving to New York City from Miami. He didn’t want to eat breakfast alone. Neither did I.
I stopped only once for gas as I drove the remaining 580+ miles back to my home. When I got to the outskirts of Washington, DC, I could see smoke still rising from the Pentagon. I walked into my home less than 24 hours after I left Orlando, now not feeling frightened as much as I was feeling angry. I kept hearing, “There are people on those planes. There are people on those planes. There are people on those planes.”
The title of Lance Morrow’s Time magazine column immediately following 9/11 was, “The Case of Rage and Retribution.” It opens:
For once, let’s have no “GRIEF COUNSELORS” standing by with banal consolations, as if the purpose, in the midst of all this, were merely to make everyone feel better as quickly as possible. We shouldn’t feel better.
For once, let’s have no fatuous rhetoric about “healing.” Healing is inappropriate now, and dangerous. There will be a time later for tears of sorrow.
A day cannot live in infamy without the nourishment of rage. Let’s have rage.
Yes, I thought, let’s have rage.
TOMORROW: 9/11 –25 Years Later, Part II
United with Flight 93
17 responses to “9/11 — 25 Years Later, Part I”
President Kennedy’s assassination in November 1963 had a more profound impact on me than 9/11. For example, I realized for the first time, that death was real. I collected a box full of newspaper and magazine articles about the national tragedy to prove that I now knew that the world was a dark place.
At the time, September 11, 2001 broke all records in terms of print and media coverage. There was no escaping it. This national tragedy obviously triggered some reminder for me that the world was a dark place, given the box full of entire issues of newspaper and magazines I saved from 25 years ago.
In 9,000 square feet of vacant office space in the southeast corner of the 92nd floor of Tower One, fifteen artists had studios. The studios were awarded by the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council in cooperation with the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, through the council’s World Views program. This program encouraged a particular kind of work:
“From the time of its launch as a cityscape painting residency in 1997, the emphasis of the World Views program has shifted toward artists’ experiences of the environment . . . the building and its unique atmosphere, the urban wonder that is New York City, the iconic significance of the Twin Towers and what they represent in our global culture.”
Most of the photographs and all of the paintings were destroyed on 9/11. “The people that worked the hardest lost the most,” said one surviving artist.
A memorial for Michael Richards, the only artist who died in the 9/11 attack was held on September 19 at the Studio Museum in Harlem. At the time of his death, Richards was working on two life-sized sculptures of this own body being pierced by airplanes and meteors. The work was a tribute to the Tuskegee Airmen, the African-American World War II fighting heroes.
It was such a shocking day. When we were released from work, I drove to a friend’s house nearby to obsessively watch the coverage together. It’s hard to describe the fear and anxiety we felt – we didn’t know what was going to happen next.
“Shocking” is also an apt word to describe our initial responses to the 9/11 attack. I am glad that you had a friend to be with, Neola. I drove to a friend’s house in Orlando before I went to my hotel, but no one there was really interested in watching. One preferred to read a James Patterson novel. Weird the little details you remember.
I think Carole was at home so I’m not sure why I went to Cheryl’s instead of home. Cheryl and I are very different people but our reactions were very similar that day. Maybe I needed to be with someone who would have the same reaction as I did. Maybe Carole was already exhibiting a diminished ability to comprehend complicated situations. Also my dad was dying and died about 6 weeks later. Maybe being at my house felt too close to that horror which was also unbearable. Or maybe I just felt an urgency to get to the closest TV and Cheryl’s house was close to work. I do know we watched for hours, struggling to even speak. I also often read to avoid my life but that was not even an option for me on that black day.
These details demonstrate even more how horribly challenging 9/11 was for you, Neola. And yes, watching the media coverage was sadly comforting. We all had been attacked, but somehow we all were going to survive.🙏
Yesterday, I re-watched what I consider the best documentary on 9/11: “Faith and Doubt at Ground Zero” [Frontline, PBS], which attempts to answer the question, “Where was God on 9/11?” It features survivors, loved ones of survivors and representatives all faiths, including Islam and atheism. What seemed to confound all of them were the people who jumped from the Tower One to certain death, particularly two people who held hands. Did they know each other? Were they complete strangers? The last words of the documentary are from Monsignor Lorenzo Albacete, a Catholic Priest:
“To me, that image is an inescapable provocation. This gesture, this holding of hands in the midst of that horror, it embodies what September 11 was all about. The image confronts us with the need to make a judgment, a choice. Does it show the ultimate hopelessness of human attempts to survive the power of hatred and of death? Or is it an affirmation of a greatness within our humanity itself that somehow shines in the midst of that darkness and contains the hint of a possibility, a power greater than death itself? Which of the two? It’s a choice? It’s the choice of September 11.
I was at home on maternity leave. My daughter, Ava, had arrived less than a month earlier. As I watched the television in abject fear and horror, I kept having one ruminating thought: “Oh no, how did I just bring a child into this world?”. In hindsight, I suppose that might sound selfish. Of course, I was grief-stricken by the unconscionable loss of lives and I cried daily watching nonstop coverage of people searching for their loved ones. But, hour-to-hour, day-to-day, I was overwhelmed by this anxious guilt for having a baby when the world felt like it was ending.
Oh, Kelly, I never knew that hour-to-hour, day-to-day you were carrying this burden, in addition to carrying around a new baby! I’m so sorry, but I understand why you felt that way. I am honored that you shared your frightening memories here.
Have you ever asked either Ty or Ava what they know about 9/11?
I remember the following year, when we were understandable immersed in the remembrance ceremonies, Ty and I made cupcakes for the first responders in our neighborhood. He was 5 years old and I asked him if he knew what 9/11 was about and he said in his sweet, squeaky voice, “It’s a time when we celebrate America.” I choked back tears and said told him, “Yes, it is.” I can’t help but feel sad about where we are as a nation 25 years later.
And now I am choking back tears. Thank you for this very sweet memory of your very sweet son, now a very sweet young man.
I also concur with your sadness about where our country is 25 years later. I kind of knew what I was going to write about in my post tomorrow, but may have to change how I perceive the aftermath of 9/11 today. I’m numb about all of it.
It is so hard to believe it has been 25 years. And in some ways, it feels like yesterday. My memories are very vivid of that time, because I was living on Long Island. If you didn’t lose a family member or friend, you knew someone who did. It was devastating.
Thanks for posting this, Adrienne. You have told me many times how devastating that time was for you and your community. I read today that one citizen of Long Island attended 14 wakes or funerals in the two weeks following 9/11.
So many memories. My youngest son was about 14 months old at the time and imprinted on the American flag when they became ubiquitous. Now many of his generation believe conspiracy theories about 9/11, although a healthy mistrust of government is not a bad idea.
A friend today recommended “Come from Away” at Orlando Shakes. Has anyone seen it?
I look forward to your future posts, Sharon, as I recall your interest at that time.
“Come From Away” is wonderful, Trish. I saw it on video somewhere, so I think you can stream it on some platform. The irony of how that small Canadian town reached out to hundreds of Americans stranded in that country on 9/11 compared with the lack of respect and gratitude for Canada from the current occupant of the White House. (Forgive me for even mentioning him. He has earned NO place in the history or collective memory of 9/11.)
The post on Flight 93 that will be published tomorrow was more difficult to write than I realized. Perhaps you’ll understand why when you read it — and thank you for reading these posts.
I was just thinking today about that Canadian town after 9/11 and yes, the monstrous way the US is currently treating Canada. Sickening and saddening. As incomprehensible as that horrific day.
Excellent point, Neola.