I had a modest, handshake relationship with the World Trade Center Towers. I would occasionally go there for work in the 80s. My company was based out of New Jersey, and we had customers at One World Trade Center. I would go in to help them with our software. I always enjoyed those days because it allowed me to skip my 45-minute commute and instead take the train into Manhattan. The hustle and bustle of lower Manhattan was a nice change of pace compared to my usual suburban office space environment; it was an adventure. So, in appreciation, I’d give a friendly tip of the hat to the towers when, on a clear day, they would be visible from my office.
When friends from Wisconsin visited me in New Jersey I would often take them into Manhattan. I liked to cross the Hudson River over the George Washington bridge, find a parking spot on the upper west side somewhere, and then take the A train down to the World Trade Center (yes, Duke Ellington’s A train!). Then we’d go up to the top of the south tower where there was an outdoor observation deck. It was always an impressive vista; once the Goodyear blimp was in town and a friend of mine got a picture looking down at the blimp from the top of the Trade Center! Then the “tour” would continue: we’d walk up to Wall Street; make a pass through Trinity Church Cemetery (where Alexander Hamilton is buried); up to Chinatown for some dim sum; through Little Italy for some cappuccino; and finally on to Greenwich Village and Washington Square Park. It was a nice hike and a nice little taste of lower Manhattan.
Fast forward to 2001. I now lived in Seattle and travelled for work. I was on an early morning plane to San Francisco when the pilot came on and, without explanation, said US air space had been shut down and we’d have to land in Medford Oregon. When we landed, the airport was pure pandemonium. The towers had both been hit but hadn’t yet fallen. I tried to get a rental car but that proved impossible. Then, God bless them, United announced they had buses available. You could either take a bus onward to San Francisco or a bus back to Seattle. I chose the bus back to Seattle; on that day the only place you wanted to be was home.
Medford to Seattle is about a eight-hour bus ride. There was a TV on the bus that was showing the news of the unfolding tragedy, but I just sat way in the back and ignored it; I was already in sensory overload. We got back to SeaTac airport about five, I picked up my car and was home before six. For me, the best possible ending to the worst possible day.
Later I realized just how lucky I had been. Lots of stories about people stranded across America for weeks, including some of my peers. And that pales in comparison to the grief of survivors and families directly touched by the tragedy, grief that continues to this day.
For me, twenty-four years later and it’s mostly story to tell; an interesting side note on how the attack cascaded across the United States.
