Fourteen years ago, our nation was forever changed as 19 terrorists hijacked four passenger airliners and murdered almost 3,000 people on American soil. Those planes did not only crash into buildings, they punched a hole in our sense of safety and security that we had taken for granted for so long.
Suicide attacks didn’t happen over here, it wasn’t something we (as Americans) were concerned with. Stuff like that happened over there, in some vague middle eastern country.
As part of “Generation X,” I wasn’t around yet when Kennedy was assassinated. But there is a commonality between all of those that were — everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when they heard the president had been shot. Sept. 11 is very similar in that respect — everyone remembers what they were doing when the towers fell.
I was living in New Orleans at the time and waiting for my Navy recruiter to pick me up and take me to the airport to fly up to Great Lakes Illinois to begin my basic training. Sept. 11 was my departure date. Needless to say, that never happened.
A phone call prompted me to turn on the news and I watched the now familiar live footage of the smoking tower in New York City. At the time it was being reported as a tragic accident — a plane had struck the World Trade Center.
I will never forget the newscaster’s voice saying “There’s another plane.”
He seemed almost confused as that second plane approached, having not yet realized that the first flight, American Airlines flight 11, was no accident. No one did. Of course, it all became terribly clear once the second flight, United Airlines flight 175, struck the South tower.
Shortly afterwards the news broke about AA flight 77 hitting the Pentagon and the live feed was switched from NYC to show the smoking wreckage in Arlington. Twenty-two minutes later we watched in horror as the first tower collapsed.
It wasn’t until later that day I heard about UA flight 93 crashing near Shanksville, Pa., after passengers fought back.
I didn’t know anyone who had died as a result of that day’s events, but the experience still felt personal to me. My heart went out to all the victims and their families but especially to the first responders – the firefighters, police and paramedics who perished because they ran into burning buildings to try and save people.
In some ways it doesn’t seem like this happened 14 years ago, it feels like it just happened. In other ways, it seems like a lifetime ago. It’s strange how your perception of time changes depending on the day.
A few years later I moved to NYC and I found myself living in a city that still bore the scars of that day. It seemed that everyone either knew or knew someone who had lost someone when the towers fell. The wreckage had long been cleared, but it still felt raw to the people affected. I think for some, it probably always will.
