"No Longer Yesterday and Not Yet History" (A September 11 Memory)

(Note: I can't lay claim to the headline for this entry - I found the phrase in an excellent article featured in this week's issue of Newsweek.)

I grew up fascinated with the events surrounding the assassination of President Kennedy. It happened seven years before I was born but the event was something of an obsession of mine. I read books, watched incessant documentaries and quizzed everyone I knew who lived through the event about where they were at the time. I can't quite put a finger on why it so fascinated me and still does. Perhaps it was the notion of living through such a seminal moment in history, one whose every detail is scrutinized by future generations. Little did I know I would have that sad opportunity visited upon me on September 11, 2001.

I lived in Nassau County, Long Island, at the time and worked (and still do) at a large private university in Queens, New York. This school (I believe) sits atop the highest point in Queens and I had a perfect view of the Manhattan skyline from the building I worked in. The day started like any other but on this day I was scheduled to meet a friend in lower Manhattan to see a special screening of the film, "An American Werewolf in London," and meet its' director and star. I was going to work half a day then go back home and hop a train into the city around 3.

My first recollection of the day was opening a package left on my stoop containing a special medallion that would be my "press pass" for the screening. I always left early for work, and made plans with my wife to coordinate getting me to the train later. I arrived at work about 7:30 and was writing movie reviews for a now-defunct website I ran.

I used to work in an office with no windows that was set apart from the rest of my department. It was very insulated and news usually took awhile to filter down to me. I had a radio but for some reason it wasn't on that day. About 8:30 my friend called me to finalize our plans for the screening and we were chatting for about 20 minutes when he told me that he heard a plane had hit the World Trade Center.

Like so many that day I assumed it was a small plane, and didn't really consider it could be anything worse than that. We got off the phone at somewhere between 8:55 and 9:00 and I brought up CNN's website on my computer. The first image I saw of that awful day was a still photo of the gaping hole left in Tower One after the first plane hit. I looked up from my desk and saw someone running past my office down the hall in a panic.

I walked down to my boss' office to tell her, and she was crying. I left her alone and went back down toward my office when I passed the office of the media relations director. He had a television and people were already gathered around it. I immediately sat down to see a replay of the second plane hitting Tower Two. I spent the next 20-25 minutes sitting there awestruck in horror with my colleagues. The flash came in that the Pentagon had been hit and I viewed that first coverage live. I sat there numb while people all around me with loved ones in Manhattan were making frantic calls.

I went back to my office at some point and tried calling my wife and my parents. I left a message for my father but the phone lines were jammed and I couldn't get any more calls out. I ran to my car, got my cell phone and reached my wife who had heard what happened but hadn't seen it. She had no idea of the enormity of what was going on and was surprised at how shaken I was.

The last thing I did before I went home that morning was walk outside the building with my boss and another colleague to see firsthand what had been wrought. It was a beautiful sunny morning with clear blue skies but for the miles-long train of smoke billowing out from lower Manhattan. The towers had not fallen yet and I could see them clearly. It was a searing image from an unforgettable day.

The University closed almost immediately. Police and emergency vehicles were screaming westward as I traveled east towards home. Another enduring image for me was that of firemen assembled at public bus stops deep into Long Island, waiting for city buses to take them in to that hell. I arrived at my parents’ house and sat with my father for about an hour. Both towers fell in the time it took me to get there.

I returned home and sat in front of the television and watched as much coverage as I could stand. I alternated it by watching a DVD of "Citizen Kane," which was waiting for me when I got home. I needed some escape from the day which had become too overwhelming. I spoke to a friend in the afternoon and waited for my wife to arrive home. I saw Mayor Giuliani utter his famous response that the casualties would be "more than any of us can bear," when asked for an estimate. My last recollections of that Tuesday were when I finally spoke to the friend who was supposed to attend the screening with me that day to hear he made it home safely.

I immediately knew I had lived through the worst moment in my country's history, a day that, in my opinion, eclipsed that of the Kennedy Assassination or perhaps even Pearl Harbor in terms of its' sheer horror. I now knew what it was to live through a moment, a day, a time forever frozen in history, one that would be remembered with stunning clarity and analyzed for generations to come.

As with the Kennedy Assassination I collected the requisite books and documentaries but this scholarship was tainted with my own memories of the event, my own personal horror at having (at least peripherally) experienced something that forever changed the world I lived in, for the worse.

Seven years later, I find the day quickly receding from the view and I fear that, while it is essential we move on as a city and a country, we are quickly forgetting the lessons we learned. I was extremely fortunate not to have lost anyone. The closest it came to hitting me directly was through "friends of friends," or past acquaintances from many years ago.

What I lost was a measure of innocence and naivete. I gained a harsher, more cynical view of the world than I already had. That being said, I will never forget the heroism and bravery of firefighters, policemen, emergency service workers and ordinary men and women on display that day. Their selflessness is the one beacon of hope I retain from that awful day. They restored the faith I had immediately lost.