On the morning of September 11, 2001, I did not want to get out of bed. It was primary day in New York City and with my father, I had agreed to campaign for my first grade teacher’s son who was running for office. But when my eyes opened that day, my heart just wasn’t in it. I wanted to go back to sleep.
I was living with my parents. I had graduated from college two years prior but was sleeping on a living room couch in a small apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Personally, it was a dark time for me. I was unemployed and very unhappy. I should’ve greeted any chance to leave that apartment with great eagerness, but on that morning I was slapping myself for volunteering my services. In all truth, I think my resistance stemmed from the fact that I am not a morning person. If I had complete control over my life, I’d probably be nocturnal.
I turned on the television. It was a beautiful day. It seemed very normal. I was watching one of the network morning shows. During one of the local-newscasts break-ins it was announced that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Like most people, I assumed that it was probably a small plane that had lost its way.
Then the television reception went out. Most channels were gone.
Growing up in Brooklyn, I never had cable. We were one of the last places in the country to have cable even available to us and our proximity to the antennae meant that we had nearly perfect reception on all the broadcast channels. Being without television, even for a few moments, was a strange feeling. But my father and I figured we’d head out as we had promised and continue our Primary Day duties.
I grabbed my discman on the way out the door. It had a radio and as we were walking down 7th Avenue, I listened to a news radio station that was still on the air. A few blocks into our journey it was announced that the second tower had been hit. Shortly afterwards, the first tower fell.
A few blocks away from our destination, I ran into a friend of mine I hadn’t seen since high school. He was in a panic. He told me he was babysitting some kids and he knew their father worked in the World Trade Center and that he was frantically trying to find out if he was all right. The street was buzzing. What was happening? We were all upset and nervous, unsure of what was going on and why. It was truly scary. I wished my friend good luck and we each went our uneasy ways.
* * *
A few months later I ran into that same friend on the subway. He told me the father of the children he had been baby-sitting had been killed. My heart sank.
* * *
My father and I arrived at our destination. Very few people were coming through to vote. All the volunteers stood there, very uncertain. With my headphones on, I served as a newsman, delivering little bits of news to the crowd that filtered in. I heard about the crash at the Pentagon. I heard about the crash in Pennsylvania. My jaw would have dropped at what I was hearing if I hadn’t been so numb. As the second tower fell, I could see smoke and ashy dust over the horizon. It was about that time when we got word that the primary had been postponed.
My father walked home. We parted ways because it was Tuesday and I wanted to stop by “SoundTrack,” a record store on the way, to get the new They Might Be Giants album, “Mink Car.” Considering that I love TMBG, I had been looking forward to this day since I’d seen them perform their single, “Man, It’s So Loud In Here,” the Friday before on “Late Night With Conan O’Brien.”
I walked into the store as someone else exited. It was just me and the guy behind the counter. I was a well-known music-junkie and a regular fixture in the store, so we knew each other. I quickly grabbed the disc and as I checked out, we had a very short conversation about the mayhem outside. Both of us were bewildered and in utter disbelief. We wished each other the best and I left with my black plastic bag in hand. I didn’t buy another CD for the next five months.
A million thoughts ran through my mind as I walked home. How safe were we? How many people had died and were dying? Why had this happened? I felt clueless, helpless and sad all at once. There was a harsh, burning metallic smell in the air. I felt very uncertain.
When I walked back in, my father had found a channel that was still on the air. We watched it for updates. Slowly the News broke, how this had been a terror plot. All I could think of was why. Over and over again I saw the footage of those planes hitting the towers. Over and over again I saw those orange balls of fire. It looked like something out of “Die Hard.” But it was real. People were in those buildings. The news was filled with stories of people successfully escaping or dying trying to escape. People were jumping out of windows. That sounded the most horrific to me. I can’t imagine having to make that decision to jump. Being so desperate.
My mom, being a teacher, had heard that a plane had hit the World trade Center and assumed like we all did, the small-plane scenario. As information passed through the school, they eventually sent the kids home early and closed. A lot of her class parents worked in the World Trade Center, but because it was primary day and because her class had had an early-morning parents’ breakfast in the classroom, they were later to work than usual. Those two factors probably saved some lives.
She arrived home and we all sat there, glued to the television. It was bewildering and uncomfortable. The air still reeked of burning metal. I put on my headphones, longing for some sense of comfort; I turned on “Mink Car,” intermittently stopping to get an update. We were under attack…..
Some stories were harrowing. Most were tragic. So many good people lost their lives. These were innocent people who just were going to work that day. People were missing. How many were gone? I thought about sitting in Prospect Park a few weeks earlier, hearing Incubus’ latest single on the radio, “Wish You Were Here.” I knew that the song would now possibly become an anthem and a tribute to those who weren’t.
The whole event was so numbing. Here I was, feeling helpless already due to my lack of employment but it was all put into perspective by this event. I still had my family. My parents and sister were all safe. Even if the future was uncertain, I knew we had each other.
So many people lost loved ones. So many lives were shattered. So many people had to pick up the pieces and try to make sense of something that was unexplainable within the realms of reason and human decency.
As the day went on, absent television channels returned to the air by borrowing signals of less-crucial UHF stations. The pictures were fuzzier, but if you searched around you could find what you needed to get information. I just remember a sinking sadness.
The following days were alarmingly stark. News would trickle in. Many heroes in the NYPD and the New York Fire Department saved many lives, but thousands of people were dead and/or missing.
Walking the streets of the neighborhood was like entering into a deadened world. As much as we were fighting back and as much as we were each trying to reclaim our lives, something had changed. Our innocence had been stolen.
I remember later in the week, I went to the supermarket with my mother. As we walked down our street, a silent group walked across the way, each carrying a candle. Our firehouse lost a lot of people. This was a silent, roaming vigil. Like melancholy, mute apparitions, these mourners moved down the street. Pain was in the air and it left that damn lingering burnt metallic smell.
Grocery shopping at this time was really strange. People were walking around as if guided by autopilot. But at the same time the best was brought out by the soul-stealing tragedy. People were giving each other glances and faint acknowledgement on the street, as if to say, “If we stick together we will be OK.”
I remember being shocked at how the national media seemed surprised that New Yorkers were so resilient and were coming together in the face of terror. People from across the country, from small towns were being quoted on the news saying how amazed they were that we were working together and helping each other out. After all, some of these people viewed New York as a rude, godless place. We weren’t “real Americans.” And this was still in the undertone of their sound bites. As a lifelong New Yorker, I took offence to the rest of the country’s surprise. New York may have a harsh, fast-paced image, but when the chips are down, it can be like a giant small town. We stick together. People from all around the world flock here and they live in peace no matter what their nationality or faith. New York, contrary to its outdated image, is actually one of the most harmonious and diverse cities on the planet. Of course we felt each other’s pain. Of course we came together. That’s what people should do in times of unrest. We were all in this together. There was no escaping it.
On the other hand, all across the country there were some misguided acts of Anti-Muslim backlash. The people who committed 9/11's acts of terror were extremists. They had bent and mangled their faith in order to justify their means. They had virtually nothing in common with your average Muslim American. The Anti-Muslim acts of violence were unfortunate and should have been treated like any other hate-crime. We will never get anywhere if we don’t take a moment to try to understand and appreciate our differences. Nothing is black and white and when ignorant people act in violent ways it is usually because they are thinking in absolutes. That’s the kind of closed-minded generalization that caused 9/11 in the first place. That path can only lead to anger and sadness.
Ten years later, we should remember how we felt on that day and how we fought against adversity. We should hug and kiss the ones we love and teach each other as much as we can about the world. We must treat each other with respect and never forget that sense of pain and loss. Something like this should never happen again. We are a global society and we should be able to handle everything that entails.
Close your eyes for a minute today. Think about all the things you have and all the people you love. Remember all those who lost their lives a decade ago. Remember all the people missing from dinner tables. Only when we learn to walk in other people’s shoes will the violence and hatred be fully put to rest.
Love and appreciate the world. It’s all we have. We are all in this together!
PEACE! - Allan Raible - September 11, 2011
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDelete