In 1974, I was fifteen years old and my eyes were glued to the TV. That was nothing new but this time I was truly paying attention. There were reporters in New York and they were reporting that a man had just crossed the gap between the Twin Towers on a tightrope. Nuts! Can't be! A guy crossed from one tower to the next? That's just nuts!
No, he didn't just cross from one tower to the next. His name was Petit and he crossed it 8 times! He danced on the wire. He rolled on the wire and he basically performed ballet out there so many thousands of feet above the earth. Fearless. Crazy. Probably both.
I couldn't believe it. It was the first I'd heard of these "Twin Towers" and wondered why my home town city of Boston didn't have such grand skyscrapers. The TV talked about how the towers were designed to sway with the wind. I had taken apart the gears to my bicycle and couldn't get them back together again. But here were people that were designing tall buildings that swayed and absorbed the wind like a willow tree instead of being rigid and snapping like an oak tree!
The twin towers and their engineering marvel stuck on me. It was fantastic. Sure, the guy who crossed the wire was cool too but the guys who built those towers were awesome!
Thus was my introduction to the Twin Towers aka the World Trade Center.
Years would go by and I'd see different stories about the Twin Towers. There were bombing attempts and there were trials about those bombing attempts.
On September 11, 2001, I was listening to Howard Stern. I'm not proud of it but at the time, he was being syndicated in the DC area and I wanted to see what the big deal was about this New York shock jock claiming to be the "King of all Media." I wasn't really impressed but I kept listening anyway. I guess he could hook you in now and again. I was listening as I drove to work in Arlington, VA when he starts talking about this plane that ran into the one of the Twin Towers.
My first thought was for the family of that private plane pilot. I turned into the garage at work intrigued by the report and hoping that the tower would be ok. Howard and his sidekick droned on and on feigning shock but their show was so shocking already, I wondered if it was some sort of joke. After all, the Twin Tower's had become somewhat of an American icon.
With the depth of the garage, the FM signal was lost and I found myself disappointed that I couldn't hear more. I drove around the garage listening to static trying to find the station again. Sometimes it came back if you drove by the entrance. It didn't and I decided that the whole story was some sort of Howard Stern prank.
The elevator ride up from the basement was eerily quiet. The concierge for the building nodded to me as he always did but this time he added, "did you hear about the plane that crashed into the Twin Towers?"
"Yeah," I replied, "on Howard Stern. Is that where you heard it?"
"No, Don Imus," he replied.
It was confirmed. Well, I still felt bad for that pilot's family. How the heck does one not see the Twin Towers?
I ascended the stairs to our offices and settled in for my work day. It was going to be a long one because I'd come late to avoid the traffic. I lamented the vast number of emails that I had to process. Got to separate the crap from the value. There were documents to be read and software to be tested and I worried about our tiny client base and the lack of revenue for our fledgling software company.
Suddenly, a head popped into my office, "New York's been hit!"
"WHAT? What do you mean?"
"A plane went into the Twin Towers," he said.
"Yeah? Didn't one of those prop planes run into an apartment building along the Hudson River a couple of weeks ago?"
"No, you don't get it! Jack, a BIG plane hit the Twin Towers!"
"Ok, ok, I get it but ... I've got work to do."
Randy Brouckman came around the corner a few minutes later, "We're going downstairs, there's a TV down there and maybe we can see what happened to the World Trade Center."
"Ok, I give," I got up and joined him and several others as we hustled down to the cafe with the TV.
We were going out of curiosity. We were the type of people who create traffic jams at car accidents. We were slowing life down to see the wreck and get of glimpse of what was happening ... to them. Them, you know, someone else. Not us. Them. We're going to see the wreck.
There was only about 15 of us standing around the TV watching the tower burn. It's a side show. It's somewhat exciting. Randy mentions that he was supposed to be there that day. And then the second plane hits the other tower.
WHAT THE FUCK?
Someone near me remains in denial, "That's just another angle on the plane."
Another person turns abruptly to him, "No, shithead, that's another plane. Another Jetliner just went into another tower! We're under attack."
Can't be. I'm looking and I'm seeing but I'm not believing. It is still the car crash. It's still not me. I'm looking at them who were in the crash and I'm not part of them. It's not me but wait. Maybe it is.
We watch the replays like an NFL football game on any given Sunday. It's rewound and replayed over and over again. Sometimes even in slow motion. Reporters report rumors as fact and can't seem to keep the glee out of their attempts at stoic faces. They know that they are on stage and some of them are trying to play it. I'm disgusted and join several others who return upstairs to get information from the internet or even attempt to work. My intent is to work but I can't and I join friends in one of the bigger offices watching different reports on the computer and listening to somebody's radio.
There is a bang in the distance.
Several minutes later, we see a report that a jetliner has hit the Pentagon. We hear reports of other planes flying about the DC area. Were they after the capital? Were they after the White House?
Why were they doing this? Who is doing this? Somehow I know who it is.
We leave our building and all the other office workers are outside with us, just standing on the sidewalk. Some are in the street. Traffic is halted. It's going no where. Horns honk. Where do these people think they are going? They're just going to clog things up impacting fire and police. I try my cell phone. No luck. All circuits are busy and will continue to be that way for the next couple of hours. We go back to the offices and find that all circuits are busy there as well.
A fourth plane has crashed in a field in Pennsylvania killing all on board.
I keep trying and finally reach Kathy. She tells me news that I already know but I let her go without interruption. I'm glad she is safe. She ends with, "What's going on??"
"I don't know."
"The news is telling us to stay inside."
"I don't think that matters."
"Carol said that there are more planes up there and that they are targeting public buildings ... like schools! Tucker is still at middle school."
"Look, Tucker will be fine with the teachers at the school."
"Shouldn't we go and get him?"
"I can't! I'm looking at a parking lot outside my office. I'm stuck."
"I don't know what to do!" she says softly.
"Stop. Don't panic. Look, if the rumor is true that they are targeting schools, the school people would know this and take the kids away from the school. He is safe there."
"But it is near Dulles."
"I know but he is safe there. Don't get yourself into the mess of trying to desperately pick him up. You're more likely to get in a car wreck and get hurt that way."
"Ok. but I'm worried."
"What about Matt and Krista?"
"They are on their way home."
"It'll be fine."
My words don't reflect my heart. I'm worried. I think of history. Desperate times comes to mind. I think of stories from my parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents. I think of great leaders whose calm reaction during their times of crisis saved our country countless times. Nothing to fear but fear itself. But I'm afraid.
I am afraid of the chaos that might engulf us when the terror strike is over. I'm worried that the people who already break the little rules will have total disregard for the big rules. They will drive the breakdown lanes and speed through the back-roads to get to their loved ones. I don't blame them. I want to but I look out the window. Nothing has moved as route 66 is completely bound up in both directions.
I'm out on the street again and people are just milling around. Kyle and others stand next to me, "We're going to see if we can help at the Pentagon. There's got to be something we can do."
I agree and join them. We're marching up the hill toward the Pentagon. It will be a 5 mile march but we're game. Kyle is ex military and a responsible person. He say's honor and duty a lot and we can all feel his pain. I feel guilty because I want to help but I also want to see what's going on. A part of me is still that car driver who slows down to see the accident.
All the shops and restaurants along the way have their TVs on and tuned to the coverage. Four planes are down and there are rumors of more that are still flying. We march on. One reporter states that the Pentagon is dealing with the fire and the smoke. They announce that they don't need any volunteers. They request that on-lookers stay away and off the roads. The fire is almost contained and again, they don't need volunteers.
We reach the hilltop and can see the black smoke smoldering up from the south. Kyle's jaw drops and I realize that my mouth is open too. It's more than we expected. We can taste and smell it on the soft breeze. It is a crystal-clear day with brilliantly bright blue skies overhead. But there is a scar in the sky. An ugly streak of black that maims the beautiful maiden of the day.
We make our way over to Kyle's apartment and eat left over pizza. The news plays the scene over and over again. Images get burned into our memories. Crashing planes, collapsing buildings, smoke like volcanic blasts over and over again. More images that burn into our subconscious and our memory. The people jumping and falling from the top of towers. The firemen running into the buildings. "Get out!" we yell but it is too late.
There are pictures from around the world. Condolences from many countries like France, Russia, Germany, Japan, South Korea. There are also videos of Palestinians and Iraqis cheering as the buildings fell.
More images of sad, tired, and dirty New Yorkers trying to find their loved ones. Those New Yorkers are Americans I am an American.
Suddenly, there is no "them" anymore and now it is just "U.S."
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| May 2001 Twin Tower - JCleary |
Author's Note: I look back on the solidarity I felt from the events of that day. I can still tap the anger and the rage but it is no longer in my gut as it once was. Today, I look at our country and wonder why we are so divided. Have we become two countries in one space? We have problems. We have budget problems and we have unemployment problems. If we were united, this would not be a problem. United and we can do anything. Divided and we are wandering and babbling baboons. Leading the world? Not as a nation divided.
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