I hadn't really planned on doing a 9/11 post until I read The Ride Report this morning. Chuck did a post about the patch he wears on his cut in memory of the attacks, and it got me to thinking...and remembering. The patch shown here is identical to the one I have on my vest. Like Chuck says about his, "it will be on every vest I wear for the rest of my life." I don't ever want to forget, and I don't mind reminding as many other people as possible. It's said that time heals all wounds, but this is one that will never go away for me, and I didn't even lose anyone that day. I just feel that as Americans, we all lost something that morning.
When I was growing up, my mother and father could tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing when the word came that President Kennedy had been shot dead. Dad's been gone 10 years now, but my mother is 85 and even though she's a little fuzzy on what went on yesterday, she can still describe November 22, 1963 like it was yesterday. Thinking of that took me back to September 11, 2001, and the images remain quite vivid in my mind. Some day my kids will probably ask me about 9/11, and I know I'll still remember it as if it had only just happened. I can't fathom the shock of it in the minds of those who were actually there to witness the events of that terrible day.
I was in the City of Cambridge, Massachusetts that morning, working on the new athletic facility at M.I.T. At that stage of the job the outside walls were not up yet, so from the roof and upper floors of the building there was a great view of the Charles River, and behind it the Boston skyline. Myself and the others on our crew were in a great mood that morning because it was a beautiful day to work outside and it was also payday. At a few minutes before 9am we were heading down to our trailer for coffee break when one of the laborers said to us, "Hey! You guys hear? A plane just hit the World Trade Center!" The first thing we were all thinking was it must have been a small, private plane, like a Cessna or something.
Within minutes, rumors began flying around the job site like dollar bills in a strip club. We had a radio in our trailer and the first bits and pieces were just being announced when my foreman Steve grabbed me and said, "Let's go over to the fitter's trailer...he's got a TV in there." We barely managed to squeeze in the door there were so many other guys inside, and that's when I saw the first images of the towers burning. We had only missed the impact of the second plane into the South Tower by a few minutes, but they kept re-playing it. Except for the voice on the TV, and an occasional "Jesus Christ," or "holy shit," you could have heard a pin drop in there. For the first time ever, I didn't eat or drink a thing during my break. Around 9:30 or so, Steve reluctantly told us all that what was going on was in New York, not here, and that it was time to get back to work.
I was heading up to the roof and feeling numb when I stopped at our gang box on the floor below to get a few things. Another guy passing by said, "They just hit the Pentagon," and a chill went right up and down my spine. When I got up on the roof, I joined a dozen or so other men all standing over by the edge facing the river, just staring at the Boston skyline. The glass facade of the Hancock tower gleamed in the bright morning sun to my left, as did the windows of the Prudential Tower Skywalk to the right. Nobody said it, but we were all thinking a jet plane would hit either one of those buildings any second. It was surreal.
About this time I was starting to think it was nuts to stay on the job and just go back to work like nothing had happened. If a plane did hit in the City of Boston, getting out of Cambridge would be nearly impossible, and at the time, nobody knew the scope of the attacks. I started to head back down to discuss the better part of valor with Steve and felt my chest tighten when I heard the sound of portable air horns - the signal to evacuate the building. A couple of "white hats" from the General Contractor Turner Construction appeared, ordering everyone out. Back on the ground I soon learned the MIT Police had arrived and shut the job down. Apparently, all of MIT was also being closed and evacuated.
As we left the job site and the white hats closed and chained the gate behind us, I was anxious to get the hell outta Dodge. That's when Steve announced, "We have to wait for Billy - he's coming with the checks." Billy was one of the two owners of the shop I was working for at the time and he was an asshole - legendary for leaving early on Fridays when he was a worker - and determined not to let anyone else do it as The Boss. I gave Steve the "you've gotta be shitting me" look and said straight out, "Fuck Billy and the checks...we need to get the hell out of the city while we still can." Unfortunately, my protest fell on deaf ears.
If I had my own vehicle, I would have been gone right then and there, but I was riding in with Steve because we lived fairly close to each other. Steve wanted his check, so we weren't going anywhere, and I felt like a caged animal. It wasn't long before Billy showed up, and as he passed out the checks he joked, "I don't suppose you guys want to go finish the day out at the other job up in Wakefield do you?" We all just stared at him; it wasn't funny. It killed that cheap prick that he had to pay us all for the day and we were out of there by 10:30 in the morning. I vowed then I would never carpool to work or anyplace else ever again, and to this day I have not.
It was a long ride home. Sitting in the traffic in Boston nearly every person you saw on the streets looked like they'd been kicked in the stomach. Going down the Southeast Expressway out of the city people were already hanging American flags from overpasses. We sat listening to the news coverage on the radio as we drove, talking about how unbelievable it all was. I had quit smoking years earlier, but I had a few of Steve's that day to calm my nerves. Like most other people, I watched the live coverage on TV all that night. Like some others, I also had a few stiff drinks.
It's not for me to say how people remember September 11th, but I do believe everyone should remember it in some way. To forget, belittle or dismiss what happened that day is to disrespect the thousands who were killed. To forget is to invite another attack on a similar if not larger scale. To forget is simply wrong.
Where where you when the first plane hit?
