The morning
alarm, preset to the local Grand Rapids, Michigan Public Broadcast Station
(PBS), was airing National Public Radio’s (NPR) morning news feed, Morning
Edition. It was a little later than
usual for me because I didn’t have to open my store that day.
NPR was
plodding along with their pre-recorded feed, and I was none the wiser that
anything of import had happened. Neither
the local PBS or NPR thought the events unfolding on Manhattan Island merited
interrupting the canned feed. I don’t
know what NPR’s excuse was, but the local PBS blamed it on having a contractual
agreement with NPR to not interrupt their feed.
If memory serves (and honestly, it doesn’t always) NPR DID tell me that
the President was going to be in Florida visiting an elementary school, a point
they would emphasize later in their ‘objective, unbiased,’ editorialized
reports following the incident.
I was in my car
driving to my store when I got the first hint that anything was happening. A Grand Rapids Country Music station informed
me that they were getting reports out of New York of a major event, and would
interrupt their programming as soon as they knew more.
Running score
Country Music Radio 1 – NPR 0
I arrived at my
store – I have no idea of the exact time – and began my usual morning
managerial procedures, when the manager of an adjacent store called out to
me. Perhaps I should clarify that I
managed a custom film processing lab that was physically located inside of a
copy shop. My bosses leases the space
from the copy shop which was, itself, located in a strip mall off of the first
westbound exit from the interstate that ran from Lansing Michigan to Grand
Rapids.
My crew were
finishing off the morning newborn packages when the copy shop manager called
me. He had a TV in his office, and as I
walked back to see what the commotion was all about, I couldn’t help but notice
that everyone in his store – customers and staff alike – was gathered around
the static laced 21 inch screen.
I arrived just
in time to see the second aircraft plunge through the second tower. Once the initial round of gasps and ‘Oh my
God’ had passed, we all stood slack-jawed, glued in place, staring in shock as
the network replayed the loop of the impact over and over again for the now
silent audience.
Silent, except
for the hum or machines warming up in the background, and the occasional choked
sob from the crowd watching the surreal drama unfolding before our grief stricken,
and for the most part, tear stained eyes.
Then the unthinkable became the absurdly unthinkable as we watch the
tower slowly crumble into a cloud of debris, dust and smoke, live and in static
filled color by Technicolor on national television.
Morning Edition
was winding down on NPR, its listeners outside of the Big Apple blissfully unaware
that the world as we knew it had suddenly changed.
In this one,
singular moment, America changed. The
invulnerable giant that was the United States of America had been brought to
its knees by an act of terrorism. We who
were beyond touch suddenly shared the same sense of night sweats and uncertain
fear as had our cousins across the pond sixty years earlier, under the
impending threat of the Nazi U2 blitzkrieg. If New York City wasn’t safe, where could we
hide?
I tried calling
my wife in Europe to tell her I was okay, but the satellites had been shut down
to all but government and military feeds.
It would be the next day before either of us could get through.
Another
aircraft went down in Pennsylvania, missing its intended target thanks to the
bravery of a rebellious group of airline passengers who agreed, in effect, ‘not
on our watch!’
Another
aircraft struck the Pentagon in the wing where my brother would have been
working had he not been diverted to Dulles National by his bosses during his
drive into work.
A war was waged
because of this day – a war fought for the right reasons, but against, it turns
out, the wrong enemy.
And America
changed. A flood of patriotism this
nation hadn’t seen since World War II flooded every level of the nation. A sense of national pride and unity – a sense
of purpose – a focus on a single enemy – swept and seeped into every crack and
corner of a populace still stinging from Viet Nam. It would be short lived, but it was
there. For a while, once again, America
stood together, arm in arm, one nation; one nation under God.
And the
question that saturated the memory of Americans in the years following the
tragic events of November 22, 1963, once again danced on the lips of
Americans. Country Music icon Alan
Jackson probably said it best when he penned the words, “Where were you whenthe world stopped turning?” Country
Music 2 – NPR 0.
Where were you?
