We’ll all remember where we were a month ago today when we found out that an airplane had struck the World Trade Center. It’s one of those moments that will remain frozen in time. I was asleep in bed while my wife watched the morning news. She ran in to tell me what was happening.
I remember the first thing that popped into my head: I have to get to work. I had to do something — anything — to occupy myself. I’ve worked on both the print and Web versions of The Herald and through terrible news events in the past, it’s been easier to be on the job. If you work in the news, you can’t let every sad story affect you, so out of necessity you develop a certain detachment from it. Detachment was exactly what I was looking for on Sept. 11.
I told my wife once after the Alaska Airlines crash in 1999 that I didn’t think the news could really get to me anymore. Boy, was I wrong.
I was ready to call off our long-planned vacation to, of all places, New York City and Washington, D.C. Our departure date was supposed to be just two days after the attacks. After seeing so many pictures of the planes crashing into the Twin Towers, I didn’t think there was enough liquor in the airport to get me on a plane. After a couple of delays, we decided to go ahead with it. The thought of canceling the trip and letting the terrorists win was worse than the thought of flying.
It was nice to get away, but throughout the trip, there were reminders of how our world has changed.
People in the airports look suspiciously at fellow passengers, especially those who, like us, are selected to have their luggage searched by hand.
In New York, we stayed a half-block from a fire station that had obviously lost some people in the disaster. Makeshift memorials, flowers and banners line the length of the fire station. The city is draped in red, white and blue, at least the parts you can get to. The city’s financial district is still closed, and the Statue of Liberty is off limits indefinitely.
Having never been there before, I didn’t realize what a symbol of New York those World Trade Center towers were. Pictures of them line shop windows, grace the front of sweatshirts and decorate shot glasses. It’s hard to find a souvenir without them. In addition to American flags, “FDNY” and “NYPD” t-shirts are the big sellers.
The reminders are everywhere in Washington, D.C., too, but in a different way. Security was so tight that we felt like unwelcome visitors to a military camp. We could barely get within sight of the White House, and what we saw were armed, black-dressed men walking on its roof. We could walk the museums and visit the monuments, but at many stops the tourists were outnumbered by security personnel. It’s an odd juxtaposition — reading all of these words of freedom on the monuments’ walls while being watched at virtually every turn.
All of this security is supposed to make us feel better, but I couldn’t help thinking that no matter how we retaliate, the terrorists have already won this war by changing the way we live. I couldn’t help thinking how very sad it all is.
Now I’m back home and back to work, but with this story there’s no detachment. Not while the images of Sept. 11 are still fresh. Some wounds will never heal.
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