story3393.xml

story3393.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-09-11

I was sitting at my desk in my office when the phone rang. It was my son Chris who was a senior at Boston College. He asked if I had heard the news. I said that I hadn't. He said: "Dad, you need to turn on the television. Two planes have crashed into the World Trade Center Towers". I couldn't believe it.
I hung up the phone and turned on the television. Both towers had already been hit. Having grown up in Manhattan, I felt that something very personal was happening to me. My thoughts went immediately to the potential magnitude of the loss. I wondered how many had already been killed or hurt and recognized that there could easily be thousands killed or hurt before it was over. I simply couldn't fathom the use of planes full of innocent people as weapons of mass destruction. I wondered how many new widows and orphans would be created on this single day and couldn't imagine the sadness that they would be feeling.
As the reports began to come in about the plane that hit the Pentagon and then, about the plane that crashed into a field in Pennsylvania, I suddenly recognized that anxiety was setting in. I wondered how many more planes were in the air and headed for other targets. The site of the south and the north tower collapsing were surreal and were made even more so by the relative objectivity with which the television reporters were describing the events. I wanted to speak with my wife and children even though I was virtually certain that they were all alright.
As it became evident that these were well planned terrorist attacks, my anxiety was quickly replaced with anger. I remember having thoughts of revenge and quickly coming to the conclusion that the only sure means of getting at these shadowy figures would be to treat any nation that harbored them in the same way that we would treat the terrorists themselves. I was amazed that within hours, President Bush was on television vocalizing exactly what I had been thinking. I remember how proud I felt to be an American and a native New Yorker. I remember thinking that I wanted to do something to help but had no idea what.
As the day progressed, I remained glued to the television in my office. I eventually again heard from my son and then from my daughter who was also at college in Boston. I remember feeling relieved that they were both alright.
When my wife came home from her day of teaching school, she told me that the young son of the secretary at our local high school was in his office, high in the south tower of the World Trade Center and on the phone with his mother when the second plane hit. I remember thinking that it was unlikely that he had survived and that it could easily have been one of my sons or my daughter. The facts continued to unfold and the television pictures became increasingly surreal. I wondered how the events of the day would impact upon the bigger historical picture and in what context the day would be remembered in the future. I had no doubt that none of our lives, as Americans would ever be the same. I knew that the world had become a different place.