September 11, 2001 was a day
that will be remembered by all of us, but of course for not the right reasons.
That day of infamy began like most weekdays begin for all of us. We wake up at an appointed time, get ready for the workday, eat breakfast, maybe read the newspaper or catch some television, and then, when the time comes, we are off to work, whether we take the train, a bus, or a car.
I was working as the editor at Exchange and Commissary News at that time, a job that I had since early in 1996 and one that I would eventually stay with until the publication and its parent company, Executive Business Media (EBM), went out of business in the fall of 2019.
I got to work on what appeared to be a picture-perfect day—blue skies and not a cloud in sight--entered our building, walked up the stairs to the facility’s second floor, and went to the office I shared with another editor, who had not yet arrived for the workday.
I was on my computer, looking at the things that I had to do that day, and another editor came into the office—more like ran in—and screamed out, “They hit the World Trade Center!”
I said to him, “What are you talking about?”
“They hit the building … I don’t know anything else.”
I did not know at that time who “they” were or what was happening, but as the rest of my fellow employees came into work, I found out pretty rapidly what was happening.
Nineteen militants associated with the Islamic extremist group al Qaeda hijacked four airplanes and carried out suicide attacks against targets in the U.S.. Two of the planes were flown into the World Trade Center’s twin towers in New York City, a third plane hit the Pentagon just outside Washington, D.C., and the fourth plane crashed into a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, when those on board heroically made sure that the intended target of the White House was not hit.
Almost 3,000 people were killed during the 9/11 terrorist attacks, and it forced our country to shape policy to this very day.
I also put on the radio that we had at work, a radio that we sparingly used, but it was something that became so useful to have on this fateful day.
Usually when we had the radio on, it was pretty much “white noise” and nothing more, buzzing out things that we couldn’t really listen very intently to because we were so busy with work, including putting together the latest issue of Exchange and Commissary News.
But on this day, the radio became our lifeline to what was happening on the outside as we were looking in from our perch on Long Island, just a couple of miles out of New York City.
As everyone came to work, there were tears and there was panic.
I remember that at least one fellow employee could not locate his wife, who I believe worked in the downtown Manhattan area, and that he finally located her hours later and that she was fine.
Since our company was sort of a “third-person” outlet for the military—we were not affiliated with any of the services but covered their military resale, or military shopping operations—we became a conduit of phone calls from the Army, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard.
People that we worked with on a daily basis—public affairs officers—were calling us to find out if we had heard anything about anything, including about their loved ones. The services were on a communications blackout, and we became the only conduit that they had to find out what was going on. Many of them were in facilities that were on lockdown, so they couldn’t even leave their workplaces.
I know I fielded a few calls from the PAOs, with one woman crying as she told me that she could not locate her husband, who had flown in from Virginia the night before for a business meeting.
Others called us to try to find out what was going on in general, not just in Manhattan, because they were completely in the dark about the situation.
And then one radio outlet actually stated that the White House had been hit, and that caused even a further frenzy. When we found out shortly afterward that it was an erroneous report, we all kind of took a deep breath.
The boss of my company was very well known in military circles, and a further worry was that he was in Washington that day, and was at the Pentagon for a meeting.
He later told us that as he was in a hallway in the Pentagon, an officer ran right toward him, and literally told him that he had to get out the building immediately.
When he questioned why, the officer told him, “No questions … get out now!” and he did safely.
As my boss was driving away from the building, he saw the explosion of the aircraft hitting the building form his vantage point in the car.
That day of infamy began like most weekdays begin for all of us. We wake up at an appointed time, get ready for the workday, eat breakfast, maybe read the newspaper or catch some television, and then, when the time comes, we are off to work, whether we take the train, a bus, or a car.
I was working as the editor at Exchange and Commissary News at that time, a job that I had since early in 1996 and one that I would eventually stay with until the publication and its parent company, Executive Business Media (EBM), went out of business in the fall of 2019.
I got to work on what appeared to be a picture-perfect day—blue skies and not a cloud in sight--entered our building, walked up the stairs to the facility’s second floor, and went to the office I shared with another editor, who had not yet arrived for the workday.
I was on my computer, looking at the things that I had to do that day, and another editor came into the office—more like ran in—and screamed out, “They hit the World Trade Center!”
I said to him, “What are you talking about?”
“They hit the building … I don’t know anything else.”
I did not know at that time who “they” were or what was happening, but as the rest of my fellow employees came into work, I found out pretty rapidly what was happening.
Nineteen militants associated with the Islamic extremist group al Qaeda hijacked four airplanes and carried out suicide attacks against targets in the U.S.. Two of the planes were flown into the World Trade Center’s twin towers in New York City, a third plane hit the Pentagon just outside Washington, D.C., and the fourth plane crashed into a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, when those on board heroically made sure that the intended target of the White House was not hit.
Almost 3,000 people were killed during the 9/11 terrorist attacks, and it forced our country to shape policy to this very day.
I also put on the radio that we had at work, a radio that we sparingly used, but it was something that became so useful to have on this fateful day.
Usually when we had the radio on, it was pretty much “white noise” and nothing more, buzzing out things that we couldn’t really listen very intently to because we were so busy with work, including putting together the latest issue of Exchange and Commissary News.
But on this day, the radio became our lifeline to what was happening on the outside as we were looking in from our perch on Long Island, just a couple of miles out of New York City.
As everyone came to work, there were tears and there was panic.
I remember that at least one fellow employee could not locate his wife, who I believe worked in the downtown Manhattan area, and that he finally located her hours later and that she was fine.
Since our company was sort of a “third-person” outlet for the military—we were not affiliated with any of the services but covered their military resale, or military shopping operations—we became a conduit of phone calls from the Army, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard.
People that we worked with on a daily basis—public affairs officers—were calling us to find out if we had heard anything about anything, including about their loved ones. The services were on a communications blackout, and we became the only conduit that they had to find out what was going on. Many of them were in facilities that were on lockdown, so they couldn’t even leave their workplaces.
I know I fielded a few calls from the PAOs, with one woman crying as she told me that she could not locate her husband, who had flown in from Virginia the night before for a business meeting.
Others called us to try to find out what was going on in general, not just in Manhattan, because they were completely in the dark about the situation.
And then one radio outlet actually stated that the White House had been hit, and that caused even a further frenzy. When we found out shortly afterward that it was an erroneous report, we all kind of took a deep breath.
The boss of my company was very well known in military circles, and a further worry was that he was in Washington that day, and was at the Pentagon for a meeting.
He later told us that as he was in a hallway in the Pentagon, an officer ran right toward him, and literally told him that he had to get out the building immediately.
When he questioned why, the officer told him, “No questions … get out now!” and he did safely.
As my boss was driving away from the building, he saw the explosion of the aircraft hitting the building form his vantage point in the car.
What happened to the officer is anyone’s guess.
After working until about mid afternoon, we were told to go home to be with our loved ones, and I remember going home as soon as I could.
I remember stepping outside of the building for the first time since the morning, and the acrid smell of burning and smoke was there, even where we were, less than 40 miles out of Manhattan.
I also saw military planes buzzing above us in the sky, and the sky had turned from a beautiful blue that it had in the morning to a somewhat grayer sky as I left and drove home, along with thousands of others on the roadways.
I got home, where I met my wife and my then six year old son. I spoke to my mother, and at that point, we had no idea where my father was—a New York City cab driver—and that added to our panic.
To make a long story short, he had picked up a passenger at the World Trade Center about five minutes before the first building was struck. He took the passenger to Harlem, and saw what was happening as he drove his car to the destination.
He could not contact my mother during this turmoil, as he actually had to go into New Jersey to get back home to Long Island. There was no other way to do it, as there was such chaos in the city that day.
Back in the office the next day, our boss came into the office, and we were relieved that he was safe.
Things were still unfurling 24 hours after the attacks took place, and we still had a book to get out.
Our boss told us that he wanted us to have a special cover for the next issue of Exchange and Commissary News, and it was my job to find something that we could use that fit this horrid situation, but also a photo that was uplifting and showed the country’s spirit even in times of crisis.
I went through dozens and dozens of photos, but I finally found a photo that hit all the spots: a photo of a battered, but still resilient, U.S. flag draped over the side of the Pentagon, with soldiers and workmen saluting Old Glory.
It is not the exact picture that I put on top of this entry—the one I used was given clearance by the Department of Defense to be used by outlets such as ours—but it is as close as I could find to the photo that we used.
The picture gave us hope, gave us a sense of feeling that we would rebound, and my boss gave it the OK, and that was the photo that ran on the cover of Exchange and Commissary News for that month.
Yes, the world has never been the same since that horrid day, but something came to mind the other day to me and to probably countless others related to the day that has become known simply as “9-11.”
There is an entire generation of younger people who were not around when this tragedy happened, or perhaps like my son, were alive but were too young to understand what was happening.
We—those who were around and understood all too well the gravity of this day—must never let these younger people feel that they can just push the day aside as “ancient history.”
It is real, and it impacts our everyday life as we know it to this very day, and will do so for generations that aren’t even a thought in 2021.
The country did rebound over the past 20 years, and now, we have been hit by a pandemic—the world has—and we know that one way or the other, we will rebound from that too.
If we could do it after that fateful day 20 years ago, we can do it now, too.
But we must never forget 9-11, and how it changed our landscape, how it took so many of our citizens and how it changed our view of the world.
The world has never been the same since that day, and we must not forget that what happened happened, but hopefully, will never happen again.
We are Americans, we are resilient, and we are strong—stronger than those who wish to destroy our way of life.
There is no other way to say it.
Have a good weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday.
After working until about mid afternoon, we were told to go home to be with our loved ones, and I remember going home as soon as I could.
I remember stepping outside of the building for the first time since the morning, and the acrid smell of burning and smoke was there, even where we were, less than 40 miles out of Manhattan.
I also saw military planes buzzing above us in the sky, and the sky had turned from a beautiful blue that it had in the morning to a somewhat grayer sky as I left and drove home, along with thousands of others on the roadways.
I got home, where I met my wife and my then six year old son. I spoke to my mother, and at that point, we had no idea where my father was—a New York City cab driver—and that added to our panic.
To make a long story short, he had picked up a passenger at the World Trade Center about five minutes before the first building was struck. He took the passenger to Harlem, and saw what was happening as he drove his car to the destination.
He could not contact my mother during this turmoil, as he actually had to go into New Jersey to get back home to Long Island. There was no other way to do it, as there was such chaos in the city that day.
Back in the office the next day, our boss came into the office, and we were relieved that he was safe.
Things were still unfurling 24 hours after the attacks took place, and we still had a book to get out.
Our boss told us that he wanted us to have a special cover for the next issue of Exchange and Commissary News, and it was my job to find something that we could use that fit this horrid situation, but also a photo that was uplifting and showed the country’s spirit even in times of crisis.
I went through dozens and dozens of photos, but I finally found a photo that hit all the spots: a photo of a battered, but still resilient, U.S. flag draped over the side of the Pentagon, with soldiers and workmen saluting Old Glory.
It is not the exact picture that I put on top of this entry—the one I used was given clearance by the Department of Defense to be used by outlets such as ours—but it is as close as I could find to the photo that we used.
The picture gave us hope, gave us a sense of feeling that we would rebound, and my boss gave it the OK, and that was the photo that ran on the cover of Exchange and Commissary News for that month.
Yes, the world has never been the same since that horrid day, but something came to mind the other day to me and to probably countless others related to the day that has become known simply as “9-11.”
There is an entire generation of younger people who were not around when this tragedy happened, or perhaps like my son, were alive but were too young to understand what was happening.
We—those who were around and understood all too well the gravity of this day—must never let these younger people feel that they can just push the day aside as “ancient history.”
It is real, and it impacts our everyday life as we know it to this very day, and will do so for generations that aren’t even a thought in 2021.
The country did rebound over the past 20 years, and now, we have been hit by a pandemic—the world has—and we know that one way or the other, we will rebound from that too.
If we could do it after that fateful day 20 years ago, we can do it now, too.
But we must never forget 9-11, and how it changed our landscape, how it took so many of our citizens and how it changed our view of the world.
The world has never been the same since that day, and we must not forget that what happened happened, but hopefully, will never happen again.
We are Americans, we are resilient, and we are strong—stronger than those who wish to destroy our way of life.
There is no other way to say it.
Have a good weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday.
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