September 7th, 2001 - New York City
I hate being in New York on a Friday afternoon. The traffic is horrendous. By three in the afternoon the streets are gridlocked as people head home early; the masses throng the subway stations, limo’s heading for the airport make their way across Manhattan at a snails pace and the affluent seek to escape to their mansions in the Hamptons. The ride to La Guardia is a lottery, taking anywhere from one to three hours and almost always screwing up my journey home after a long week on the road. To cap it all I am sitting in a draughty booth in the monolithic and soul less Jacob Javitz Convention Center waiting to give a speech at a computer conference. Judging by the sparse crowd in the exhibition hall most of the delegates have already made tracks for home or the nearest bar.
Well I was right. An hour later I face an attentive audience of four people gathered to hear my pearls of wisdom—why did I ever agree to do this speech? It remains a mystery to me; never agree to be the final speaker at any event, particularly on a Friday afternoon. Still, as they say, the show must go on and I try to do the best job I can over the next ninety minutes. At the end all four people clap enthusiastically and stay behind to talk further—they probably felt sorry for me. I quickly make my excuses with stories of planes to catch and jump in a taxi to the airport. Ninety minutes later the taxi pulls up in front of the terminal at LaGuardia and I am in good time for my flight—which is about the first piece of good luck I have had this week. We take off only fifty minutes late, which counts as an on-time departure for New York on a Friday evening. Our route takes us initially to the east before the plane makes a 180 degree turn to the south and west and we head west over the southern end of Manhattan passing almost over the top of the twin towers of the World Trade Center below.
The benefits of frequent flyer elite status manifest themselves in my first class seat and the couple of gin and tonics I sip on the ride back to Cleveland. We land around 7.30pm and I make it home just after eight. I’m still in a pretty foul mood at the wasted day as I walk through the door. Donna senses my grumpiness but thoughtfully provides another cocktail and suggests we sit on the patio, as it is a beautiful late summer evening. I acquiesce. No sooner have I sat down and taken my first slurp when four people jump out from behind the wall in front of me. Stunned surprise washes over me as my best friend (and best man) from England, his wife and two children emerge grinning, to join us on the patio. The reason for their surprise appearance is that next Saturday the 15th I turn 40. I think they are here to celebrate or though it could be gloat at my aged state. My mood brightens considerably and many more drinks are consumed for which a price is paid the next morning.
September 10th, 2001—California
After a relaxing weekend, Monday dawns and I head off the airport and board the morning flight to San Francisco; an afternoon meeting beckons and then a short flight to Los Angeles followed by another meeting Tuesday morning and a return to Cleveland that afternoon—leaving plenty of time to celebrate my four score years in style. All goes smoothly and I make to the Torrance Marriott just south of LAX for dinner on Monday night. Sleep comes easily.
September 11th, 2001 - Los Angeles
The next morning dawns bright and clear and my 6am alarm call shatters my slumber; as is my habit I pick up the television remote and switch on what I think is CNN. In my semi-conscious state I only half notice the pictures showing smoke emerging from a skyscraper. I reach for the remote certain that I have tuned into the wrong channel and am watching a rerun of the Towering Inferno. At that moment my mobile rings. It’s Donna and she’s shouting at me: “Have you seen what’s happening in New York?” I mumble an incoherent response and she goes on: “a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center.” I slowly begin to comprehend and put down the remote as my eyes start to focus on the pictures on the screen. At that moment I hear the reporter shout that another plane has just hit the South Tower. It’s 9.02am on the east coast and it’s September 11th 2001.
For the next hour I stare transfixed at the events unravelling just a few blocks from where I was just four days earlier. At 9.58am the South Tower collapses; this can’t be real—but tragically it is. Just a minute later I head downstairs for a breakfast meeting at which little business is discussed. Our conversation consists of a series of incredulous comments and speculation as to what is happening—terrorism is near the top of our list. After breakfast I return to my room to hear that the North Tower has just collapsed. What the hell is happening?
I regroup with my colleagues and we debate as to whether our meeting will actually happen. Having no means of contacting the client we head over to the offices. The meeting does take place after a fashion; however no one is really paying much attention. After about half an hour we all jump as a loud bang is heard from outside; given our proximity to LAX we decide to call it a day. I make my way back to the airport still thinking about catching my flight back to Cleveland. The radio quickly disabuses me of this notion as it reports that the FAA has grounded all planes and reports that another plane has crashed into the Pentagon possibly en route to a different target—The White House, and another one has apparently crashed in Pennsylvania. Donna calls again and pleads with me not to go near the airport as it maybe a target – again more in disbelief than anything else I head in the opposite direction and try and call some colleagues who I know are in meetings somewhere in Manhattan; however the circuits are all busy.
The rest of the day unfolds like a Tom Clancy novel. Later in the afternoon I check into the LAX Marriott rationalising that with no planes still in the air I should be pretty safe. The area around LAX is like a ghost town. Very few cars are on the roads and of course no planes are moving at the airport. In the early evening I drive down to one of my favourite Irish bars in Hermosa Beach. Hermosa Beach is a classic California beach town, pretty girls, sun, sand and the usual accoutrements of California life. As I sat nursing the first of quite a few beers, President Bush is addressing the nation. Unlike most Presidential broadcasts the bar went completely quiet as everyone listened intently. As the President finished a subdued round of applause broke out and whispered murmerings of American resolve filled the bar as the magnitude of what had happened began to set in. Estimates of the death toll range as high as ten thousand and as a mixture of news, rumour and ill-informed speculation poured out of New York, heart rending stories of people calling their loved ones on their mobile phones from the airplanes or the Twin Towers began to emerge. I couldn’t help but be moved by the stories, in fact there were misty eyes all around the bar. Most chilling was the apparent calmness with which so many of these people seemed to be facing the certainty of their imminent death. It was not an easy night’s sleep.
September 12th-14th 2001—Los Angeles/Las Vegas
The next two days were spent glued to the television screen as further information emerged. Perhaps the only good news was that the death toll estimates were falling as the missing people were being steadily accounted for. Scenes of what was now being called Ground Zero looked unreal as smoke and charred, twisted metal littered lower Manhattan. There was little to do but sit and wait for the planes to start flying again. Selfishly I began to bemoan the fact that my 40th birthday would more than likely be spent alone in a hotel room. By the morning of September 13th there were rumours that some flights might start flying again the next day though it was unlikely that any would leave from Los Angeles. I spent a few hours online researching options and formulated a game plan. I booked seats on two flights out of Las Vegas and then another two out of Denver. I would keep driving east until a plane left or I made it back until Ohio. Thankfully I had not returned my rental car so I packed up and headed east across the Mojave Desert. It was about ninety degrees but the air-conditioned made it bearable as I listened to more heart-rending stories as I drove. On entering Las Vegas, I found a ghost town—there was even a tumbleweed blowing down the Strip. Very few cars were on the road. Most of the people who had been stranded in town were either at the airport or had started driving. I checked into the nearly empty Mandalay Bay Hotel not far from the airport. Walking through the casino that evening I could have picked my own table to play at never mind my own chair. I have never seen Vegas so quiet, even the few people who were around were understandably subdued.
One of my possible flights was a 6am nonstop flight to Cleveland on September 14th, so I made sure to be at the airport by 4am. I made someone’s day when I returned my rental car. I drove into the lot and there was not a car in sight. Outside the office was a line of over forty people all waiting patiently for the means to start the journey home. My car was gassed up and gone before I boarded the shuttle bus. The concourse was teeming with people trying to get home. There was not much activity at the check-in counters so I suspected flights were not going to be leaving anytime soon but on looking at the departure board, one flight, mine had the two words “On Time” next to it amid a sea of cancellations. I went to the counter and the agent informed me that if the FAA released the plane in time they expected the flight to leave on time. I tried not to get too excited as I happily passed through security. At the gate boarding was already starting and I claimed my seat, hoping but not really expecting to leave. The pilot came on the PA system and advised us of a twenty-minute hold; surely not an air traffic delay, there were no planes in the sky after all. Remarkably we pushed back from the gate, taxied to the end of the runway and took off for Cleveland, one of the very first planes to return to the skies after 9/11. I made it home with just a few hours to spare before the start of my birthday.
September 15th, 2001—Bath, Ohio
Turning forty is one of those birthdays, like your 21st, that is vested with some extra significance. Due to world events, mine was tinged with relief that I had made it this far, and sadness for those who just last weekend were enjoying life to the full. I feel guilty admitting it but I had a great day surrounded by family and friends. My feelings on passing this milestone can perhaps best be summed up by a quote from Winston Churchill when describing the victory at El Alamein: “Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”
Ten years on - my 50th approaches - I just wish those 2,997 could have enjoyed another 10 years...
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