story965.xml

story965.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-08-03

The morning of Sept. 11th, I pulled up to work at Stony Brook University on Long Island, having listened to NPR during my commute as usual. I was just about to shut off the engine when the local news commentator broke in and reported that a small plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I sort of shrugged it off and walked in to the lab to start another day.

I got as far as my office door when I heard someone scream down the hall. I ran down with some others and found a crowd clustered around a small tuned to CNN. The second plane had just hit and we were all in disbelief. I tried my wife on my cell phone but all the circuits were busy. This is where I started to get really scared, you know, when the little hairs stand up on the back of your neck, you feel the cold sweat break out and your heart starts to beat a little faster. I finally got through and her office (also on Long Island) was pandemonium; lots of her coworkers had family who worked in the WTC or were NYPD or FDNY.

At this point we all knew that there was no mistake: this was not an accident! News of Washington and Pennsylvania flashed by and then the Towers fell. My Professor was trapped in NYC uptown, but at least we knew he was safe. He had watched them fall from Columbia University hospital and was now just trying to get off Manhattan along with many thousands of others...

Phones rang everywhere. My dad called to make sure we were ok. I told him we were 50 miles away, but that I was anything but OK! None of us knew what to do. We all just continued to watch for news and try to piece together what happened. My wife arrived from her office and we hugged each other tightly. There was shock and raw emotion, awe at what was happening, and disbelief that so much life could be snuffed away. I am of generation X, and have never seen anything like this. My immediate world had been a fairly peaceful one, untouched by the wars of my forefathers. No longer.

Late that evening, as I lay awake listening to the night sounds outside my open window, I tried to decide what I should be feeling. Then I heard a sound that shouldn't have been there. All of the airports in the country were closed, but I heard jets. I walked outside to see what was going on. Then I realized; these weren't commercial jetliners, but United States Air Force F-16 fighters flying combat air patrol over NYC. My house was below thier turnaround point.

At that point I knew what I felt: Rage, for what the terrorists had done and were making us do. Pride, for my country and for those who would die to defend it and to protect me from above as I sleep. Sadness, for those lives that had been snuffed out and for those that had been forever altered. Gratitude, for the rescue workers who went willingly to thier own death so that others might live, because that was thier job. That is courage. And finally, with tears flowing down my face and with teeth firmly clenched, I felt resolve that many years of past peace would not render my generation weak in the face of this threat.

The next day, the wind had shifted and we could smell the smoke from the destruction 50 miles to the West. We see so many images on TV everyday that our eyes become numb to shock. But that smell, it is something that I will never forget all my life.