9/11. If we learn nothing else from this tragedy...
My memories of 9/11 have faded over time. Not the event itself. Rather, the aftermath seems fuzzy. Were I asked to explain it to someone that wasn't alive then (or too young to remember it), I suppose I would repeat myself:
The miracle is not that we survived, but that we rose up with our heads held high, hand in hand.
My generation is too young to understand the strong feelings of anger and solidarity following the attack on Pearl Harbor. We were blessed in that we never truly knew war, a peer group too young to comprehend Vietnam.
On September 11, we each paused in our daily routine to watch, to listen, to mourn or to gnash our teeth. We were swept up in that moment, bound together across the country by a deluge of emotions. Our cohesion was a miracle. We were not separated by status or race, gender or orientation.-Bemused Muse 5 Sept 2008
That cohesion seems absent now. We are a nation divided.
We were a nation divided back in 2001 as well. America was a selfish, self-serving country. Issues were more important than neighbors. It was the damn liberals or It was the damn conservatives, depending upon your point of view. We were...well, we were asshats.
All of that was thrown aside on September 11th. It took an unimaginable horror - a terrorist attack on our soil, people, and psyche - to bring about any semblance of unity.
September 11, 2001
Our first surgery of the day was already in the chair. Her name was Ginny and she was a sweetheart. The Today Show played on the television screen above her, and she asked if I could turn the volume up to calm her nerves as I prepped her for surgery.This is that live broadcast. I skipped ahead to the moment the news broke:
We sat in stony silence as the program cut interviews short for breaking news.
8:46 a.m. EST: Flight 11 crashes into floors 93 through 99 of 1 World Trade Center, known as the North Tower, severing all three emergency stairwells. First responders are dispatched to the scene and an evacuation begins.
What a horrible accident. How did a small plane... wait, it was a commercial liner?
9:03 a.m.: Flight 175 crashes into floors 77 through 85 of the South Tower. Two of the three emergency stairwells are rendered impassible.
A second plane. We saw it flying, we saw it hitting the Tower. It was a surreal moment captured during a live broadcast.
This had to be a terrorist attack. We were in Colorado Springs, in NORAD's shadow. We could be considered a target.
By now, most of the staff had crowded into the room while Doc worked to get a cable hooked to the larger TV in our break room.
Ginny asked if we could reschedule her. She had a brother in the South Tower. No problem, no fee, go home and God bless you and your family. I walked her to the waiting room where her husband sat, and helped her out of the building and into her car.
I can't begin to explain the anguish gripping us. We had moved to the break room by then. The TV was huge - large enough to see the dark forms of people plummeting to their death.
"They began jumping not long after the first plane hit the North Tower, not long after the fire started. They kept jumping until the tower fell. They jumped through windows already broken and then, later, through windows they broke themselves. They jumped to escape the smoke and the fire; they jumped when the ceilings fell and the floors collapsed; they jumped just to breathe once more before they died. They jumped continually, from all four sides of the building, and from all floors above and around the building's fatal wound. They jumped from the offices of Marsh & McLennan, the insurance company; from the offices of Cantor Fitzgerald, the bond-trading company; from Windows on the World, the restaurant on the 106th and 107th floors—the top. For more than an hour and a half, they streamed from the building, one after another, consecutively rather than en masse, as if each individual required the sight of another individual jumping before mustering the courage to jump himself or herself." - Esquire, "The Falling Man"
I have never been able to remove those images from my mind. This memory surges past all others to be first when 9/11 is mentioned.
9:05 a.m.: White House chief of staff Andrew Card informs George W Bush that the South Tower was hit and this was not an accident. "A second plane hit the second tower. America is under attack," Card told MSNBC were the words he said to the president.
The POTUS was visiting an elementary school at the time. A staffer whispered the news into his ear.
His face became momentarily grim. And then he finished reading the story to the children in front of him. It was the worst moment of his life.
I called Better Half. I can't remember if I told him to turn on the news or if he already had it on. I was pretty certain the schools were closed up tight by this point, though they may send the students home. He would remain there in case our exchange student from the Ukraine, Vova, was sent home. I told Better Half that I loved him. He responded in kind.
9:37 a.m.: Flight 77 crashes into the Pentagon.
The structure's design saved the lives of many.
Shit was getting too real at this point. Our phone rang and rang; patients cancelling. No problem. We'll call you in a day or two to reschedule. It seemed that every call ended in, "God bless you".
People trapped in the Tower broke windows to escape the heat and toxic fumes. I'm sure many hoped to be rescued.
9:41 a.m.: AP photographer Richard Drew captures the image of "The Falling Man" plummeting to earth.
[The story of the Falling Man - believed to be Jonathan Eric Briley - is available via various reputable sources. Esquire has an article covering it, as well as the series of photographs. I won't post them here. I can't handle the memories of those jumpers. "The Falling Man, An unforgettable story", Tom Junod, 9 September 2016.]
I've reached my mother by phone by now. She's fine. Dad's fine. I can't remember if they were still living in a rental or had bought their home. Both were in Peterson AFB's territory. Dad was on the base that day. He was locked down with the rest of the personnel. I hung up and returned to the TV in time to see oblivion.
9:59 a.m.: The South Tower collapses.
There aren't words that can convey what went through my mind as I watched it crumple. People were still inside, as well as the brave first responders that responded to their distress.
We were all numb. Some of us cried in silence as we watched. Others, unable to bear any more pain, left the break room.
I wanted to go home and hug my family tight. We couldn't leave. Doc was being a dick. "It's safer here". Bollocks. He just wanted us to stay in case a patient came in.
10:03 a.m.: Passengers and crew members storm the cockpit of Flight 93. It crashes in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, about 20 minutes flying time from Washington, D.C.
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The Final Minutes of Flight 93 |
Technically, we didn't hear about these heroes until later that afternoon. They seem forgotten every year. The focus in the Towers, with lesser attention given to the Pentagon.
10:28 a.m.: The North Tower collapses.
This was inevitable. We watched it fall. We said more quiet prayers for the people inside, and the first responders. Hope of saving people in that Tower was lost.
My memories are captured in black and white, with the occasional punch of red and orange. This is likely due to the dust coating everything after the Towers fell. Socioeconomic status didn't matter. Ethnicity didn't matter. All were the same. All were the stuff that made our nation a melting pot.
I can't remember how long we stayed. The drive home had an eerie feel. There weren't many cars on the road. I noticed American flags adorning houses that seldom flew them. All of downtown was freshly bathed in red, white, and blue bunting, flags, banners, and whatever else people had in their garages or seasonal boxes.
This was juxtaposed with some of the graphic images seared into my brain. White concrete, black ash, punches of red and orange caused by splattered bodies. Jumpers.
I remember arriving home and hugging the stuff'n out of Better Half. I had gone down the hall and found Vova already home. His red eyes spoke of his grief. I held him as he cried. How odd it would be to this young man that had survived Chernobyl only to find himself in a disaster zone in the US.
The rest of the day - indeed, the week! - merges into a foggy soup. We were united. We mourned our losses, uplifted our heroes, and gnashed our teeth. The terrorists sough to assault our psyche; they underestimated our resolve.
Stories began to swirl - the bravery of people, the grief of doctors, the reunions and funerals and attempts to find loved ones, the cadaver dogs and their raw pads.
We were defiantly American. National pride soared. Each of us became a patriot in our own way. Yes, there were conspiracy theorists and fuckwhistles that tried to sully the events, but most of us would give them the middle finger if we had the opportunity.
19 years later, we face another unimaginable horror. Over 200k have died from a virus we can't yet defeat. Now isn't the time to divide ourselves, or take political sides and square off against each other. None of us are winning.
Now is the time for all good patriots to come to the aid of their country. (No typing pun intended.) We have got to put aside our BS and unite against an enemy that doesn't discriminate between ethnicity, socioeconomic class, gender, or political party.
It starts with two people. It starts with you and me.
Life is short and there is no time for hate.
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The quoted timeline above can be found in its entirety at "9/11 Timeline: How the September 11 Attacks Unfolded at World Trade Center, Pentagon, Flight 93", Jenni Fink, Newsweek, 9/10/20. Pulled 9/11/20
Websites:
Related articles:
"A Cardiologist's Story", Sandeep Jauhar, Nautilus
"How the Pentagon's design saved lives on September 11", History.com
"19 Years On, Does a Post-9/11 Generation Remember the Attacks?", Leslie Bonilla, Voice of America
"Jon Stewart-Backed 9/11 First Responders’ Bill Passes After Emotional Congress Speech", Yohana Desta, Vanity Fair