[Untitled]
Referred to by
Center for History and New Media
How has your life changed because of what happened on September 11, 2001?
London, England
September 11, 2001
"I want you to listen to me very carefully…"
At first, the trained-to-soothe voice of our Boeing 777's pilot created barely a blip on the radar screen in my brain. I was thinking how good it felt to be flying back to Florida after ten days of business meetings. The to-do list I'd been adding to since my arrival in London was beckoning, even appealing. Little did I know that our world would be forever changed---I would not arrive home that evening and consider myself lucky returning to the United States four days later.
"…This is the real thing."
The second part of the announcement created a slightly larger blip on my radar screen. I thought back to the morning that had begun so auspiciously.
After arriving at the airport for my 1140 morning flight from London to Atlanta, I checked in with a counter agent who suggested that I consider the 0940 Delta flight that would be boarding in 45 minutes. I thought there was nothing wrong with getting home two hours earlier, and even better, the seat next to me was empty. It stayed empty until just before departure, when a twenty-something Yemeni sat down reading a magazine in Arabic. Since there were two empty seats across the aisle, I suggested to my new seatmate that I would move to take advantage of the extra space. As I moved, he introduced himself as Mohammed, telling me that flying for him was free, one of the benefits of his job as an airline baggage handler. Mohammed was dressed in basic western style. He wore a black leather jacket and jeans. I thought it unusual that he also wore a pair of dress slacks over the jeans. I suppose this was his way of dressing up or down depending on the occasion. The slacks were loose enough to pull over the jeans. It was also obvious that English was a second or third language for him even though he claimed to have lived in the US for many years. Go figure. I would say that his proficiency of the English language was poor but a lot better than my Arabic. Mohammed was a nice guy in the wrong place at the wrong time just like many others traveling on that day. He understood why I was moving across the aisle; I'd wanted to make sure that I hadn't offended him.
The Boeing 777 rolled down the runway, and four hours later, somewhere over the North Atlantic, our pilot spoke on the intercom.
"Planes are crashing into buildings in New York, and the FAA will not allow us to return to the United States. We are flying to St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada ---about 130 miles from where we are now. We will have more information when we are on the ground. There is nothing wrong with the aircraft but we have a national emergency.”
After landing, the flight crew broadcast CNN from the cockpit through the intercom and we learned of the unfolding tragedy at the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and western Pennsylvania. About 4300 passengers and crew from 27 international flights were diverted to St. John’s (the capital of Newfoundland). To put this in perspective, St. John’s international airport handles perhaps four of five international (large jet) flights weekly. Now they were besieged with 27 jumbo jets and thousands of multinational passengers. We remained on the aircraft for ten hours until we were allowed to be processed through customs and into one of 90 waiting school buses that whisked us off to the town’s sporting arena. Once at the arena the highly efficient Canadian Red Cross assigned us to one of several shelters established to accommodate this unexpected influx of travelers in a city of only 30,000. And by the way, we were told that all carry on luggage would stay on the aircraft. Women were allowed to take a handbag but no more. We could not have been more dependent and at the mercy of St. Johns, the city that was about to become our home for the next four days. Our trust could not have been better placed.
For those passengers on my flight, we were sent by bus to Holy Heart of Mary High School that instantly became a dormitory. Mats and pillows were provided for sleeping. Classrooms and the gymnasium became bedrooms. Students and teachers did everything possible to put us at ease. Classes were cancelled and the students and teachers became volunteers, providing us with everything from meals to transportation and entertainment. Social workers and nurses were available around the clock, dispensing medications and advice as were free telephones, television, and internet services to help the stranded passengers. The Canadian hospitality was as enthusiastic and welcoming as the day was dark and tragic. Local businesses and citizens donated food, clothing, services, and even rooms in their homes.
The idea though was to keep passengers from all the various flights together to make things more manageable when the time came to depart. Citizens, for example, volunteered to serve as chauffeurs taking passengers in their cars on sightseeing trips to the top of Signal Point overlooking the city, museums, whale watching, or even Wal-Mart. They brought us into their homes for showers or just to visit, sip wine or drink coffee.
One example of typical St. John’s hospitality was when a group of us walked into the school parking lot and a woman sitting in her van asked us if she could drive us anywhere. Her name was Victoria, a pediatrician with some free time and a desire to help any of the stranded passengers. It soon became obvious that the Canadians are truly our best friends and perhaps the most altruistic people in the world. Because nobody knew when we’d be leaving, St. John’s stores did a brisk business of selling clothing and souvenirs.
Finally, on day three of our stay I went to an ATM and withdrew Canadian dollars with the belief that this would help ensure our return flight. It did. At 3:30 the next morning I was awakened to an intercom blasting the announcement that a bus would collect us at 4:30 to take us to the airport for security processing and return to the United States.
Observations
Mohammed kept a low profile during our time in St. John’s. He explained to me that he was the only one pulled aside and frisked at the airport after we disembarked. He was concerned about the harassment and generalizations that he expected to receive upon his arrival back in hometown New York City. At the same time he realized too that the world was changed and that many more innocent people would also perhaps become victims to evil in one way or another.
Lasting friendships were formed among many of the passengers. I met Reggie, a retired caterer, and his wife Margaret from Oxford, England enroute to their winter retreat in Sarasota, Florida. Darren, a London based human resources consultant and I became instant friends. Another passenger that I met was Jay, a Center for Disease Control (CDC) biostatistician going home to Atlanta from a month in Zimbabwe. Another couple from London, Ella and Ed, were on their way to Destin, Florida, for a week’s vacation. Andy and Gina were returning to Baltimore from a honeymoon in Italy, and Mick was heading back to his engineering firm in Idaho.
Perhaps not surprising was that when discussing the events of 11 September with the airline flight crew, the realization merged that the "fun of flying" and serving onboard had changed forever. The relationship between passenger and crew had fundamentally shifted overnight.
As the first international arrival back in Atlanta, airline staff could be seen on the tarmac waving American flags and waving to passengers. Although the international terminal was empty we received a warm welcome to applause and “welcome home!” by the Delta airline employees.
It was a powerful experience to be detained in St. John, Newfoundland, Canada for four days, and witness first-hand, in a time of crisis, the remarkable strength of human compassion and realization of what truly matters most in life.
September 11, 2001
"I want you to listen to me very carefully…"
At first, the trained-to-soothe voice of our Boeing 777's pilot created barely a blip on the radar screen in my brain. I was thinking how good it felt to be flying back to Florida after ten days of business meetings. The to-do list I'd been adding to since my arrival in London was beckoning, even appealing. Little did I know that our world would be forever changed---I would not arrive home that evening and consider myself lucky returning to the United States four days later.
"…This is the real thing."
The second part of the announcement created a slightly larger blip on my radar screen. I thought back to the morning that had begun so auspiciously.
After arriving at the airport for my 1140 morning flight from London to Atlanta, I checked in with a counter agent who suggested that I consider the 0940 Delta flight that would be boarding in 45 minutes. I thought there was nothing wrong with getting home two hours earlier, and even better, the seat next to me was empty. It stayed empty until just before departure, when a twenty-something Yemeni sat down reading a magazine in Arabic. Since there were two empty seats across the aisle, I suggested to my new seatmate that I would move to take advantage of the extra space. As I moved, he introduced himself as Mohammed, telling me that flying for him was free, one of the benefits of his job as an airline baggage handler. Mohammed was dressed in basic western style. He wore a black leather jacket and jeans. I thought it unusual that he also wore a pair of dress slacks over the jeans. I suppose this was his way of dressing up or down depending on the occasion. The slacks were loose enough to pull over the jeans. It was also obvious that English was a second or third language for him even though he claimed to have lived in the US for many years. Go figure. I would say that his proficiency of the English language was poor but a lot better than my Arabic. Mohammed was a nice guy in the wrong place at the wrong time just like many others traveling on that day. He understood why I was moving across the aisle; I'd wanted to make sure that I hadn't offended him.
The Boeing 777 rolled down the runway, and four hours later, somewhere over the North Atlantic, our pilot spoke on the intercom.
"Planes are crashing into buildings in New York, and the FAA will not allow us to return to the United States. We are flying to St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada ---about 130 miles from where we are now. We will have more information when we are on the ground. There is nothing wrong with the aircraft but we have a national emergency.”
After landing, the flight crew broadcast CNN from the cockpit through the intercom and we learned of the unfolding tragedy at the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and western Pennsylvania. About 4300 passengers and crew from 27 international flights were diverted to St. John’s (the capital of Newfoundland). To put this in perspective, St. John’s international airport handles perhaps four of five international (large jet) flights weekly. Now they were besieged with 27 jumbo jets and thousands of multinational passengers. We remained on the aircraft for ten hours until we were allowed to be processed through customs and into one of 90 waiting school buses that whisked us off to the town’s sporting arena. Once at the arena the highly efficient Canadian Red Cross assigned us to one of several shelters established to accommodate this unexpected influx of travelers in a city of only 30,000. And by the way, we were told that all carry on luggage would stay on the aircraft. Women were allowed to take a handbag but no more. We could not have been more dependent and at the mercy of St. Johns, the city that was about to become our home for the next four days. Our trust could not have been better placed.
For those passengers on my flight, we were sent by bus to Holy Heart of Mary High School that instantly became a dormitory. Mats and pillows were provided for sleeping. Classrooms and the gymnasium became bedrooms. Students and teachers did everything possible to put us at ease. Classes were cancelled and the students and teachers became volunteers, providing us with everything from meals to transportation and entertainment. Social workers and nurses were available around the clock, dispensing medications and advice as were free telephones, television, and internet services to help the stranded passengers. The Canadian hospitality was as enthusiastic and welcoming as the day was dark and tragic. Local businesses and citizens donated food, clothing, services, and even rooms in their homes.
The idea though was to keep passengers from all the various flights together to make things more manageable when the time came to depart. Citizens, for example, volunteered to serve as chauffeurs taking passengers in their cars on sightseeing trips to the top of Signal Point overlooking the city, museums, whale watching, or even Wal-Mart. They brought us into their homes for showers or just to visit, sip wine or drink coffee.
One example of typical St. John’s hospitality was when a group of us walked into the school parking lot and a woman sitting in her van asked us if she could drive us anywhere. Her name was Victoria, a pediatrician with some free time and a desire to help any of the stranded passengers. It soon became obvious that the Canadians are truly our best friends and perhaps the most altruistic people in the world. Because nobody knew when we’d be leaving, St. John’s stores did a brisk business of selling clothing and souvenirs.
Finally, on day three of our stay I went to an ATM and withdrew Canadian dollars with the belief that this would help ensure our return flight. It did. At 3:30 the next morning I was awakened to an intercom blasting the announcement that a bus would collect us at 4:30 to take us to the airport for security processing and return to the United States.
Observations
Mohammed kept a low profile during our time in St. John’s. He explained to me that he was the only one pulled aside and frisked at the airport after we disembarked. He was concerned about the harassment and generalizations that he expected to receive upon his arrival back in hometown New York City. At the same time he realized too that the world was changed and that many more innocent people would also perhaps become victims to evil in one way or another.
Lasting friendships were formed among many of the passengers. I met Reggie, a retired caterer, and his wife Margaret from Oxford, England enroute to their winter retreat in Sarasota, Florida. Darren, a London based human resources consultant and I became instant friends. Another passenger that I met was Jay, a Center for Disease Control (CDC) biostatistician going home to Atlanta from a month in Zimbabwe. Another couple from London, Ella and Ed, were on their way to Destin, Florida, for a week’s vacation. Andy and Gina were returning to Baltimore from a honeymoon in Italy, and Mick was heading back to his engineering firm in Idaho.
Perhaps not surprising was that when discussing the events of 11 September with the airline flight crew, the realization merged that the "fun of flying" and serving onboard had changed forever. The relationship between passenger and crew had fundamentally shifted overnight.
As the first international arrival back in Atlanta, airline staff could be seen on the tarmac waving American flags and waving to passengers. Although the international terminal was empty we received a warm welcome to applause and “welcome home!” by the Delta airline employees.
It was a powerful experience to be detained in St. John, Newfoundland, Canada for four days, and witness first-hand, in a time of crisis, the remarkable strength of human compassion and realization of what truly matters most in life.
Collection
Citation
“[Untitled],” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed December 20, 2024, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/96870.