story6841.xml
Title
story6841.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-09-12
911DA Story: Story
On September 10th 2001 I flew from my home in Detroit to San Francisco for business. I usually don?t like to travel for business without a friendly face from work, but for the first time ever I went alone. I came in late that night, checked in, had some dinner and went to bed. Preparing for a long day at a photo shoot all over the San Francisco area.
Do you know that haze you experience when you wake up slowly?that state somewhere between dreaming and being awake. Where real things can slip into your subconscious. The morning of the 11th my alarm clock radio woke me up saying things I couldn?t believe. I had used the snooze button several times, and each time the radio was filling my head with things I couldn?t believe. They slipped into my subconscious. I think I dreamt some of the things I would later see while awake. Finally the reality of what they were talking about sunk in and I turned my TV. I watched as we all did. You know this part. I tried to estimate how many people could get out, of the total that worked there within the hour or more. I had heard 50,000 people worked there, I estimated that since it was before 9, many would still be en route, I knew that people above the impact points were not escaping. I came to the conclusion that 10,000 people could have died (it was a small victory to hear the estimates dwindle through the week). I honestly hid under my covers.
I decided I needed to try and go and do the work I was here for. I have no idea why?I just got ready. I got myself together, in the shower, filling with a murderous rage at whoever had done this. I met the car to head to the photo shoot for the day. I got into the car with complete strangers when most people were huddling with their loved ones. I hated these people?mainly for not being my family.
We made our way across the bridge into Oakland with both the bridge and the sky empty. It was a beautiful day really, and I kept my sunglasses on tight, so no one could see what I was thinking. People who lived there were speechless. Although details were sketchy and chaos ruled the news, the radio reported a fourth plane on its way to the White House and that F14s were on their way in intercept it. All I could think of was the pilot that would have to pull the trigger on a commercial airliner filled with civilians. He would do his duty, but never live it down. I later found out that the pilots that were intercepting had no weapons onboard and would have used their aircraft as the weapon.
I wandered away from the photo shoot in Oakland and finally got a hold of my best friend on my cell phone. I needed to talk to her and needed her help. I don?t remember much about what was said, but I told her I loved her and wished I was at home. Throughout the day, several friends called because they were foggy on when I was taking off and from where, and that maybe it was New York to the west coast. It was the greatest pleasure to hear from these friends, and they saved my sanity that day.
I was trapped and alone in San Francisco to deal with this. But all I could think of is how I couldn?t feel scared or have pity for myself when so many people had died that morning. When families had no mother or father. How people had decided that day that jumping 100 or more stories to the concrete was a viable option. So I did the work I was there to do and took the abuse that was handed to me. People on the street yelled at me for working on such a tragic day.
The first night an F14 Tomcat screamed down the street of my hotel. I would return to my hotel every night and listen as details trickled in throughout the week. I knew no one had survived such a horrible collapse, but I watched people give blood on the news. I think the people that gave so much blood knew there would be no one who would need this blood. They needed to give, they needed to bleed.
There were of course bad things I remember. Being so horrified and hurt by the footage of the Trade Centers, for a very long time I didn?t want to look at any large building, and wondered if it would ever not hurt to look up at a big building again. I remember hearing that a Manhattan Starbucks coffee shop was trying to charge rescue workers for water for survivors.
There were good things I remember. While eating lunch outside of San Francisco on the 14th, we came out of the restaurant to see the very first cleared commercial airliner fly out of San Francisco airport, still very close to the ground. It flew directly over our head on a beautiful sunny day?like a shining bird. It seemed even more massive than it truly was. Everyone standing in the parking lot cheered the plane off into the sky. I watched it until I couldn?t see it anymore.
Later that day I got onto my plane and headed home. The first plane by my airline cleared to fly. People were scared, but they didn?t talk about it much. People looked at the others getting on this flight with new scrutiny. We all knew it was our duty to get on that plane, whatever may happen, and continue on. A man I met waiting for the same plane said what I was only thinking. They can kill us too, but there will be someone right behind me to take my place. Quite honestly I almost secretly hoped something would happen so we could show that we were ready to die just like the Pennsylvania flight passengers. I was ready. That was an odd new sense?like we had all been deputized into the Army, and I felt it, and I feel it now. The conflicts that have been waged since I?ve been alive have been murky at best. Odd little skirmishes in remote areas that only hardcore politicos truly understand?the utter shame of Viet Nam, the oil war in Iraq. None of these conflicts ever filled me with anything but mistrust and hope that the young men and women who hadn?t picked this fight, wouldn?t die for it. But for the first time ever, after September 11th, I knew what it meant to love your motherland. To feel ready to die for it, to die for your brothers and sisters?and to know they now understand also and are ready to die for you. Words that had been said a million times finally had meaning.
We touched down in Detroit Metro Airport at 5am on the 15th, and everyone on the plane cheered. I slept in my own bed that night and it had never seen more like home.
Early in 2002 I took my first trip to NYC to see the city and be at the trade center site before the cleaning work was completed, before the light tribute was turned off. We went there and we watched, and we cried and we stared. We read memorials left by wives with no husbands. I saw a pile of the debris laid out for people to see. I looked at the surviving buildings and imagined the biggest one being twice it?s size, and thought about the concept of it coming down. It was unimaginable.
As a student, you study history, and it seems like an abstract thing. The difference between real history and the literature and fiction you study can seem vague. History isn?t about you, you can?t truly imagine redcoats and colonists fighting in a field. But it?s an odd thing to learn as you get older, that history happens around you whether you want it to or not. That for a little while, you will actually pass through history. You will witness true history.
May the victims not suffer and go with grace, may the survivors find peace in their lifetimes, may the guilty be punished tenfold, and may we all continue to remember that we are all Americans, brothers and sisters, and when the call comes again, our true benevolent and caring nature will emerge from it?s sleep.
Andy Tanguay,
September 11th, 2002
Do you know that haze you experience when you wake up slowly?that state somewhere between dreaming and being awake. Where real things can slip into your subconscious. The morning of the 11th my alarm clock radio woke me up saying things I couldn?t believe. I had used the snooze button several times, and each time the radio was filling my head with things I couldn?t believe. They slipped into my subconscious. I think I dreamt some of the things I would later see while awake. Finally the reality of what they were talking about sunk in and I turned my TV. I watched as we all did. You know this part. I tried to estimate how many people could get out, of the total that worked there within the hour or more. I had heard 50,000 people worked there, I estimated that since it was before 9, many would still be en route, I knew that people above the impact points were not escaping. I came to the conclusion that 10,000 people could have died (it was a small victory to hear the estimates dwindle through the week). I honestly hid under my covers.
I decided I needed to try and go and do the work I was here for. I have no idea why?I just got ready. I got myself together, in the shower, filling with a murderous rage at whoever had done this. I met the car to head to the photo shoot for the day. I got into the car with complete strangers when most people were huddling with their loved ones. I hated these people?mainly for not being my family.
We made our way across the bridge into Oakland with both the bridge and the sky empty. It was a beautiful day really, and I kept my sunglasses on tight, so no one could see what I was thinking. People who lived there were speechless. Although details were sketchy and chaos ruled the news, the radio reported a fourth plane on its way to the White House and that F14s were on their way in intercept it. All I could think of was the pilot that would have to pull the trigger on a commercial airliner filled with civilians. He would do his duty, but never live it down. I later found out that the pilots that were intercepting had no weapons onboard and would have used their aircraft as the weapon.
I wandered away from the photo shoot in Oakland and finally got a hold of my best friend on my cell phone. I needed to talk to her and needed her help. I don?t remember much about what was said, but I told her I loved her and wished I was at home. Throughout the day, several friends called because they were foggy on when I was taking off and from where, and that maybe it was New York to the west coast. It was the greatest pleasure to hear from these friends, and they saved my sanity that day.
I was trapped and alone in San Francisco to deal with this. But all I could think of is how I couldn?t feel scared or have pity for myself when so many people had died that morning. When families had no mother or father. How people had decided that day that jumping 100 or more stories to the concrete was a viable option. So I did the work I was there to do and took the abuse that was handed to me. People on the street yelled at me for working on such a tragic day.
The first night an F14 Tomcat screamed down the street of my hotel. I would return to my hotel every night and listen as details trickled in throughout the week. I knew no one had survived such a horrible collapse, but I watched people give blood on the news. I think the people that gave so much blood knew there would be no one who would need this blood. They needed to give, they needed to bleed.
There were of course bad things I remember. Being so horrified and hurt by the footage of the Trade Centers, for a very long time I didn?t want to look at any large building, and wondered if it would ever not hurt to look up at a big building again. I remember hearing that a Manhattan Starbucks coffee shop was trying to charge rescue workers for water for survivors.
There were good things I remember. While eating lunch outside of San Francisco on the 14th, we came out of the restaurant to see the very first cleared commercial airliner fly out of San Francisco airport, still very close to the ground. It flew directly over our head on a beautiful sunny day?like a shining bird. It seemed even more massive than it truly was. Everyone standing in the parking lot cheered the plane off into the sky. I watched it until I couldn?t see it anymore.
Later that day I got onto my plane and headed home. The first plane by my airline cleared to fly. People were scared, but they didn?t talk about it much. People looked at the others getting on this flight with new scrutiny. We all knew it was our duty to get on that plane, whatever may happen, and continue on. A man I met waiting for the same plane said what I was only thinking. They can kill us too, but there will be someone right behind me to take my place. Quite honestly I almost secretly hoped something would happen so we could show that we were ready to die just like the Pennsylvania flight passengers. I was ready. That was an odd new sense?like we had all been deputized into the Army, and I felt it, and I feel it now. The conflicts that have been waged since I?ve been alive have been murky at best. Odd little skirmishes in remote areas that only hardcore politicos truly understand?the utter shame of Viet Nam, the oil war in Iraq. None of these conflicts ever filled me with anything but mistrust and hope that the young men and women who hadn?t picked this fight, wouldn?t die for it. But for the first time ever, after September 11th, I knew what it meant to love your motherland. To feel ready to die for it, to die for your brothers and sisters?and to know they now understand also and are ready to die for you. Words that had been said a million times finally had meaning.
We touched down in Detroit Metro Airport at 5am on the 15th, and everyone on the plane cheered. I slept in my own bed that night and it had never seen more like home.
Early in 2002 I took my first trip to NYC to see the city and be at the trade center site before the cleaning work was completed, before the light tribute was turned off. We went there and we watched, and we cried and we stared. We read memorials left by wives with no husbands. I saw a pile of the debris laid out for people to see. I looked at the surviving buildings and imagined the biggest one being twice it?s size, and thought about the concept of it coming down. It was unimaginable.
As a student, you study history, and it seems like an abstract thing. The difference between real history and the literature and fiction you study can seem vague. History isn?t about you, you can?t truly imagine redcoats and colonists fighting in a field. But it?s an odd thing to learn as you get older, that history happens around you whether you want it to or not. That for a little while, you will actually pass through history. You will witness true history.
May the victims not suffer and go with grace, may the survivors find peace in their lifetimes, may the guilty be punished tenfold, and may we all continue to remember that we are all Americans, brothers and sisters, and when the call comes again, our true benevolent and caring nature will emerge from it?s sleep.
Andy Tanguay,
September 11th, 2002
Collection
Citation
“story6841.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 9, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/5452.