FIRST THOUGHTS: 9/11/01

I honestly thought today was going to be a good day.

My friend’s wife had agreed to come into Manhattan so we could all spend an evening together in the city. (This *never* happens. No, really. NEVER.) I had lunch scheduled with a friend and former coworker. Planned to work with my designer to build a new website. NOTHING particularly taxing. Just one of those days that you’re thankful for, now and again, the kind that injects 7.25 hours of blissful boredom into the frenetic Manhattan workday. Unfortunately, my corner of tranquility was driven straight to hell the second I decided to hail a cab…

Picture this: me, minding my own business, on 30th and Madison. Desperately trying to hail a cab. (A year later, I’m still terrible at flagging down these hacks…) Random Guy on the street walks up to me and tells me a plane has flown into the World Trade Center. I immediately don’t believe him, apparently obvious from the look I shot his way, because he immediately repeated himself LOUDLY and de-lib-er-ate-ly, like an American in Paris. Then he frantically pointed south down Madison Ave. at the biggest, most gut-wrenching column of smoke and debris I’ve ever seen. Okay – now I believe him. This was bad, as in, maybe some lame-ass pilot’s Cessna has clipped the tower. I mean, c’mon, there’s NO WAY IN HELL a commercial airliner could screw up that bad. I couldn’t – I wouldn’t – allow myself to believe that this was intentional. No. I just don’t…can’t…won’t accept it. In the meantime, I finally manage to catch a cabbie’s attention and I’m on my way to the office.

Fast-forward 15 minutes…

I get to the office, which is only about half-full. Buy hey – it’s only about 9:30a, and we’re a pretty lazy bunch, not usually rolling in until at least 10a. I quickly realize, though, that my wishful thinking is totally off-base. This is no small-plane strike. The DirecTV feed in my boss’s office brings me up to speed: Not one plane, but TWO. And they’ve hit the two tallest World Trade Center (WTC) towers, one an ATR (this was incorrect, but the first example of how confused and inaccurate information would spread throughout the day) and the other probably a 737-series aircraft. Jesus. This isn’t happening. My mind can’t deal with it. But the reports are insistent, so I pay attention. Holy mother of god – they’ve got *tape* of the second plane slamming into the WTC. This can’t be. No. NO! What kind of inhuman MONSTERS could perpetrate such a crime against humanity, against the United States, against one of *my* cities? The tape rolls on NBC, and as the plane hungrily devours the last hundred meters of airspace before impact, it’s as if time has stopped. I’m not breathing. Neither is anyone else. There’s not a sound. IMPACT. The explosion looks fake – it has to be, because we’ve seen the exact same type of effects on the silver screen – someone’s fooling us, it’s a sick joke. For the briefest of moments, I retreat into this fantasy, letting myself be enveloped by the slim and intoxicating impossibility that this is someone’s poor idea of humor. But the bubble bursts and the searing pain, the reality, washes over me. I want to cry. I want to hide. I want this day to be over – to start again. Something. Anything. But, as with most things in life, it is what it is.

All around me, people are staring at the tv with glass-eyed silence. Some are shaking. Other choke back tears – some successfully, some not. Others are weeping outright, eventually led by supportive coworkers and friends into our offices for a little bit of privacy, security, comfort. Which are exactly the things that have been stolen from us today: from the victims; from those of us trying to make sense of this insanity; and from the United States of America.

It dawned on us that our offices have a somewhat decent view down Broadway and that we ought to be able to see the WTC from our south-facing windows. I became dizzy at the sight and my thesaurus fails me in trying to adequately describe the gaping wounds in these tall, proud buildings, which my grandfather helped to build. Wounds licked by flames, visible even from my office, a full 4.4 miles uptown. Velvety, obsidian smoke lurching skyward.

Now that we’ve got a sense of the horror that has descended upon Gotham, I immediately work the phones and, in this digital age, the instant messaging network, to let everyone know that I’m safe, to check on the people I care about in New York, Chicago, DC, and LA, and to generally shift information (and some digital pix) around a little faster than broadcast media can handle. For about 30 minutes, it seems like we’ve been through the worst of it. But then, word reaches us that Washington, DC – my adoptive hometown, is also under attack. I’m pushed by this news almost to the breaking point – tears well in my eyes, but somehow I manage to keep from collapsing. I continue to work the lines of communication, and collect the grim news:

• The State Dept. has been hit by a car bomb.

 

• Camp David has been attacked.

 

• There’s a fire in Washington somewhere near the White House.

 

• The bomb squad is rushing to Union Station in DC.

 

• A plane has gone down somewhere in the vicinity of Pittsburgh.

 

• Two or three other planes were listed as “missing”.

 

• One or more of these planes was apparently identified as a “hostile” heading for DC.

 

• A car bomb had exploded in Boston.

 

• Another bomb was in a high school in Manhattan.

 

• F-16s are flying CAP over Washington, DC.

Thankfully, only some of these turned out to be true. In the heat of the moment, people were confusing scattered reports and rumors with “confirmed” accounts. Not good, but as far as I can tell, no harm done.

Also, we quickly realized that the cell phone network had been stressed to the breaking point, as calls were barely getting through. Not to mention that the Internet and plain old telephone service were pretty spotty as well. But we pressed on as best we could, calling friends and relatives across the country. Checking and rechecking, just to be sure. Over the next few hours, we shuttled between our offices, the TV, and the windows, a silent vigil occasionally interrupted by screams of “Oh, Christ, the building just collapsed!,” followed by crazed footsteps to take in the view, desperately trying to understand how, why such a thing could happen.

Finally, our survival instincts kicked in, and three of us decided to head out into the city to track down some pizza and – god willing – beer, to take care of the nerves and stomachs few folks still stuck at our office. Earlier in the day, city officials had closed down the subway, other train systems like the LIRR and Metro North, and all the bridges and tunnels, so if you didn’t live in Manhattan, you were pretty much screwed for a while. It was an odd feeling, at best – the streets were crowded, but no perceptible panic – despite what we all knew was happening just a few miles away. To all appearances, only the normal, end-of-day insanity that grips this city when commuters flee to the ‘burbs. We quickly located pizza (and beer!) and returned to the office to feed the crew. Over time, though, the city has managed to shut down pretty much completely – stores closed, people gone. Even TIMES SQUARE was empty as of about 8p, which NEVER happens.

So where, dear reader, does this leave us? What’s left to be said – what can be said? Certainly I can’t make the pain disappear, much as I like. We can’t start over. But stick with me for another minute or two…

A little over fourteen hours ago, the United States of America was attacked by foreign nationals. We’ve been quick to label this a “tragedy”, and rightly so. But semantics are dreadfully important here. Lots of things are tragic. The death of a parent. Columbine. A car crash. Today’s events are tragic, yes. But they differ in one dramatic and inescapable fact: they’re also an act of war.

Like it or not, The United States of America is now at war. With luck, you’ll hear this phrase more and more over the coming days and weeks. I say “with luck” not because I’m a hawk, but because in recent years America has had the propensity to categorize terrorist acts as crimes within the jurisdiction of traditional law enforcement agencies, with the FBI taking the lead in arresting and prosecuting perpetrators. What’s needed right now, however, is an understanding throughout all levels of government that the rules have changed. This IS NOT a law enforcement matter, but rather a job for the President, the National Security Council, and the Pentagon. It appears that we have been directly attacked by a group of foreign terrorists, supported by or – at the very least – shielded by (the distinction matters very little to me at this point) a foreign government. Warrants and extradition treaties are of little use, even laughable. Diplomacy should be shelved. This is not a time for international coalition building – but rather a time for decisive and unquestionable action. As of right now, only newspaper editors (I applaud the Washington Post for it’s fantastic coverage and bold editorials on these events) and former government officials have had the backbone (and, admittedly, the breathing room) to declare today’s events as acts of war and suggest – even demand – the disproportionate, overwhelming military response that is so richly deserved.

America’s goals for the immediate future should be as follows. First, persevere. We’ll mourn the friends and relatives so cowardly executed, and we’ll rebuild and repair the damage to our great cities. Second, we should erase from the history of the world those responsible for this attack, as well as any groups or governments who have aided and abetted them in these actions. This should happen with all due speed through a series of massive military strikes that are themselves so tremendous and fearsome that they be mistaken for God’s Wrath itself. Third, America should redouble its efforts to penetrate and destroy any and all terrorist groups both at home and abroad. And finally, America should rededicate itself to the protection and promotion of peace, freedom, and democracy throughout the world.