story9174.xml
Title
story9174.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2003-03-31
911DA Story: Story
Come September with its madness. Friday the 7th, I went to my doctor for an appointment. Saturday the 8th: nothing much more than sitting poolside. The weather is glorious: a clear blue sky, beautiful weather. Sunday the 9th, I read the papers, which are full of Fall entertainment previews: movies, music, and theater. Much talk of new movies, TV shows, the Emmys, the new African ?Survivor? and the Redskins. I spent time planning for and thinking about my upcoming trips to Florida and my travel for the medical meetings coming up. I was looking forward to the week spent in training classes at L?Enfant Plaza. Then Monday came and went by fine. I started to enjoy my few days out of the office and even got to wear jeans to class, a real treat.
Tuesday, September 11, we begin the class talking about HTML pagination and page length. The teacher is enthusiastic and bright. Some students arrive late talking about a plane going into the World Trade Center: traffic, etc. They get settled and we continue. Perhaps a half an hour later, a gentleman from the school enters the room and walks purposefully to the front of the class, determined and obviously suppressing emotion. ?We?re closed,? he says. ?Go home.? He calmly tells us that a plane has gone into the World Trade Center and Pentagon and the Federal Government is therefore closed. Some students in the class work at the Pentagon and leave hurriedly, greatly disturbed. I go downstairs thinking "well, I guess that is that." Oddly, I?m happy I only live maybe a mile and a half away and can walk home. I spot a distressed colleague. People hustle and busle all around the lobby while we greet each other and try to figure out what to do. Over the next few minutes, seconds really, I tell C. to get her things, to get a plan. Come home with me and vegetate for a while, I say. She?s worried about her husband, Frank, who is nearby at the Capitol.
We walk north across the Mall trying to call him on dead cell phones. Thousands of people rush about every which way; they walk, they are in cars, they are on buses, all jammed along the Mall perimeter. Buses are stopped. Horns honking everywhere. We look up and see smoke above the Pentagon; there?s a fire there, C. tells me. F-type jets fly overhead. Everyone?s worried about the White House. I look up searching for planes from all directions thinking momentarily we might be under attack. We're now half-way between the White House and the Capitol. I deposit C. at a Metro stop nearest in the direction she?s headed and tell her to cut out directly to her car, to her home, to her town. We part. It's an odd good-bye. There's a permanency about it.
I make my way home trying to decide if I should go on and pick up a book I?d ordered at a K Street Store. I'd planned on getting but it is across town and I wonder if I should skip it. I decide not to and instead head home across the downtown area where traffic is at a standstill -- it's one big parking lot. I stop in my old church where a grim-faced woman is taping a sign to the door, ?Concert cancelled -- Noonday Prayer Service.? I say a quick prayer and see two other people in pews across from me, a man and a woman. Outside is chaos. Total complete chaos. Noise and confusion and stopped buses and ambulances and people walking and cars heading toward each other in every direction and no one appearing to be going anywhere at all while in a big hurry to get someplace.
I arrive home and see my manager who tells me he must ?secure the building.? His TV is on in the lobby office. We see the WTC tower come down. Unbelievable. I go upstairs, surprised at how beautiful the day started: warm, clear, and lovely. And now this tremendous tragedy is unfolding. Two phone messages are logged on my machine, from my cousin and from a friend. The friend says he saw the plane hit the Pentagon from his window. With great animation, he says this will change our lives forever. Indeed. My cousin says I can come over and leaves her address. More calls. I call my folks in Florida to tell them I?m OK. Television coverage is at a frenzied level. But I'm happy to be home when so many people are probably still trying to get home. I'm happy to be home with the cat.
I spend the afternoon making spaghetti, a strange traumatic holdover from the Air Florida Flight 90 disaster, when I did the same thing. By late afternoon, there?s a special edition Washngton Post and I walk down there a few blocks to buy five copies from two men selling it on the street in front of the Post building.
Fear sets in. Over the next few days I can?t not think of what happened and I have airplane nightmares. I?m scared. Everything (TV, magazines) display these garish images. I?m left completely preoccupied by the news. Interrupted sleep. The National Sleep Foundation issues an alert.
We are to fly flags and spend money, they tell us. I go shopping and meet friends almost nightly. I cook and make salon appointments. I crave airiness. I want to be outside. I read Jimmy Carter?s memoir. Work is only a best foot forward, we're all play-acting. Thursday night comes the president?s speech. I?m no longer afraid but a colleague tells me she?s afraid she?ll die of radiation poisoning.
What will tomorrow bring? I wonder.
Tuesday, September 11, we begin the class talking about HTML pagination and page length. The teacher is enthusiastic and bright. Some students arrive late talking about a plane going into the World Trade Center: traffic, etc. They get settled and we continue. Perhaps a half an hour later, a gentleman from the school enters the room and walks purposefully to the front of the class, determined and obviously suppressing emotion. ?We?re closed,? he says. ?Go home.? He calmly tells us that a plane has gone into the World Trade Center and Pentagon and the Federal Government is therefore closed. Some students in the class work at the Pentagon and leave hurriedly, greatly disturbed. I go downstairs thinking "well, I guess that is that." Oddly, I?m happy I only live maybe a mile and a half away and can walk home. I spot a distressed colleague. People hustle and busle all around the lobby while we greet each other and try to figure out what to do. Over the next few minutes, seconds really, I tell C. to get her things, to get a plan. Come home with me and vegetate for a while, I say. She?s worried about her husband, Frank, who is nearby at the Capitol.
We walk north across the Mall trying to call him on dead cell phones. Thousands of people rush about every which way; they walk, they are in cars, they are on buses, all jammed along the Mall perimeter. Buses are stopped. Horns honking everywhere. We look up and see smoke above the Pentagon; there?s a fire there, C. tells me. F-type jets fly overhead. Everyone?s worried about the White House. I look up searching for planes from all directions thinking momentarily we might be under attack. We're now half-way between the White House and the Capitol. I deposit C. at a Metro stop nearest in the direction she?s headed and tell her to cut out directly to her car, to her home, to her town. We part. It's an odd good-bye. There's a permanency about it.
I make my way home trying to decide if I should go on and pick up a book I?d ordered at a K Street Store. I'd planned on getting but it is across town and I wonder if I should skip it. I decide not to and instead head home across the downtown area where traffic is at a standstill -- it's one big parking lot. I stop in my old church where a grim-faced woman is taping a sign to the door, ?Concert cancelled -- Noonday Prayer Service.? I say a quick prayer and see two other people in pews across from me, a man and a woman. Outside is chaos. Total complete chaos. Noise and confusion and stopped buses and ambulances and people walking and cars heading toward each other in every direction and no one appearing to be going anywhere at all while in a big hurry to get someplace.
I arrive home and see my manager who tells me he must ?secure the building.? His TV is on in the lobby office. We see the WTC tower come down. Unbelievable. I go upstairs, surprised at how beautiful the day started: warm, clear, and lovely. And now this tremendous tragedy is unfolding. Two phone messages are logged on my machine, from my cousin and from a friend. The friend says he saw the plane hit the Pentagon from his window. With great animation, he says this will change our lives forever. Indeed. My cousin says I can come over and leaves her address. More calls. I call my folks in Florida to tell them I?m OK. Television coverage is at a frenzied level. But I'm happy to be home when so many people are probably still trying to get home. I'm happy to be home with the cat.
I spend the afternoon making spaghetti, a strange traumatic holdover from the Air Florida Flight 90 disaster, when I did the same thing. By late afternoon, there?s a special edition Washngton Post and I walk down there a few blocks to buy five copies from two men selling it on the street in front of the Post building.
Fear sets in. Over the next few days I can?t not think of what happened and I have airplane nightmares. I?m scared. Everything (TV, magazines) display these garish images. I?m left completely preoccupied by the news. Interrupted sleep. The National Sleep Foundation issues an alert.
We are to fly flags and spend money, they tell us. I go shopping and meet friends almost nightly. I cook and make salon appointments. I crave airiness. I want to be outside. I read Jimmy Carter?s memoir. Work is only a best foot forward, we're all play-acting. Thursday night comes the president?s speech. I?m no longer afraid but a colleague tells me she?s afraid she?ll die of radiation poisoning.
What will tomorrow bring? I wonder.
Collection
Citation
“story9174.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 15, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/15517.