On September 11th, 2001 I was working for a nationally known company in corporate America. My group hadn't moved into the main building yet and were still working in its annex. The annex had stark interior with concrete floors and pipe and electrical cord ceilings. The space was always either too cold or too hot.
Ron, a big, strapping, 6 foot 7 tall man who shared my love of coffee and hatred of mornings had just walked passed me and said "the World Trade Center is on fire."
I didn't believe him. Not even ten minutes later, he was bringing a TV from the meeting room in and rigging it up so we could get SOME kind of news about it. All of us stood in front of that thing transfixed. Our TV time was cut cruelly and abruptly short by management who decided that the phones needed to be answered because "we're losing customers while you stare at the idiot box."
I remember heading back to my desk when Dianne said she had to go home. The school her children attended was closing and she had to pick them up. Dianne was fired for that the next day. The impersonal ways of corporate American nudges itself into our lives in such ruthless ways sometimes.
I am positive there are other stories one could hear. I'm fascinated by them all. It's not just 911 stories that grab my attention. I am also interested in stories people tell me of when Kennedy was assassinated, or what might have gone through some minds when Pearl Harbor was attacked.
In psychology these kinds of memories are known as flashbulb memories. It is a moment in time that is seared into our brains usually because of something traumatic and shocking. I'm sure there are people who have flashbulb memories of happy times, but as a nation, 911, the Kennedy assassination and Pearl Harbor unite us if only by reminding us that we share a culture.
My friend Kathy was in the 8th grade when Kennedy as assassinated. She said she and her class were outside in the playground waiting for the next class period. The school bell rang early and they were all instructed to go to the assembly hall. The principal of her school made the announcement. Schools were still segregated in her community and the hope that the Kennedy administration posed for Kathy and her people faltered for a while. Look magazine had already sent out the current issue - a full spread on the Kennedy family, including pictures of Carol and John Jr.
Camelot had been shattered.
My father was 10 when Pearl Harbor was attacked. He was sitting at the kitchen table with his parents having lunch. His father had just come in from work for the lunch hour. After a few beats of silence and stillness, my grandfather told both my father and my grandmother "we are at war."
Both parents burst into tears and it wasn't for another 20 minutes or so that my father was able to learn about what happened in Hawaii. It could have been the moon as far as my father new, but even a small 10 year old boy from a very small town knew it was a serious situation. My father is 75 now, and he remembers that day as if it were yesterday.
These stories are about ordinary people reacting to extraordinary events.
They hold my attention because it's the only way I have of honoring the victims of these events.
