It’s been almost a quarter-century since our generation had its own version of Pearl Harbor: 9/11. Every American will remember it as long as they walk this earth.
This is my account. I’ve written it because I want my grandchildren to know there are personal stories that aren’t in history books.
On September 11, 2001, I was in Chicago, attending an international trade show. Since it did not open until 10 a.m., I took a nice early morning walk, went back to my room, and turned on the “Today Show.” Strangely, instead of two hosts, there was a shot of the World Trade Center towers, one of which was spewing black smoke. The reporters weren’t sure what had happened; there was some conjecture that a small plane had hit the building. Maybe the pilot of a corporate jet had suffered a heart attack.
I went to the bathroom, showered and returned to the television. Immediately, I froze in horror at what I saw. The second tower had been hit, a mirror image of the first. Furthermore, we knew the cause, because there was a video of a passenger jet slamming into the building.
The broadcasters were calling it terrorism, and mentioned someone named Osama bin Laden. I went to straight to my hotel window and spotted the Sears Tower, only a block away. I shuddered, because like everyone else in Chicago, I thought it could be on the terrorist’s list.
By the time I got to the lobby, televisions were blaring. The mood was somber, subdued, and scared because everyone realized that America had been attacked; well, everyone but one of my fellow employees, Mims. I met him at the first floor elevator.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“You haven’t had the television on?”
He had not. So I filled him in on everything as he stared at a TV. Finally, he turned to me and said quietly, “One of my good friends has an office in the first tower. I hope he gets out.”
We walked out of the hotel and ducked into a diner for breakfast. Everyone was crowded around a small black and white set on the counter. Soon after ordering, someone pointed at the screen and said, “Look!” We gasped as the first
tower collapsed.
Mims burst into tears. “I just watched him die!” he wailed. Soon, the second skyscraper disintegrated into a cloud of dust and rubble. We were witnessing mass murder right before our eyes.
Within minutes, the FAA suspended all domestic flights, instructing every airborne plane to immediately land at the nearest airport. Flights coming into the United States were directed to land in Mexico or Canada.
Thousands of passengers were stranded, creating a mad scramble at every rental car desk in Chicago. Soon people took desperate measures, like booking trains and buying clunker cars. I even heard of one guy who negotiated a flat rate with a cab to drive him to Dallas.
Our group split up: two of us headed to Hertz, while Mims and I headed to the convention center. The huge pavilion was nearly deserted; the scant few in attendance were watching televisions. Soon, we heard that a plane headed for the White House had been taken down, and the Pentagon had been hit. Could there be more?
By noon, the streets of Chicago, normally bustling with thousands of people, were deserted. No cars, no cabs, no people. The scene of a vibrant city laying silently before us like a wounded animal was one I’ll never forget. The only sounds we heard were fighter jets that continuously circled the downtown area.
It took us days to get ground transportation. We finally snagged a U-Haul truck. It wasn’t our first choice, but it got us home. It was a quiet trip.
Listening to the radio made it clear that 9/11 changed us. Not since The War of 1812 had someone taken the fight to us in our country. We felt vulnerable, angry. Innocents died. People questioned how this could happen in America. However, I also felt a wave of patriotism and unity I haven’t felt since. And stories emerged about heroes, bravery, honor and sacrifice.
Six hundred miles later, we pulled in to my driveway. I took my luggage out and glanced around my neighborhood. Everything looked the same.
But it wasn’t, and it never will be again.
Joe Hobby is a standup comedian, a syndicated columnist, and a long-time writer for Jay Leno. He’s a member of Cullman Electric Cooperative and is very happy now that he can use Sprout from his little place on Smith Lake. Contact him at [email protected].
