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September 03, 2003Where I Was When The World Stopped TurningFor some of my gentle readers, you may be familiar with Michele at A Small Victory’s project called Voices. 'Voices’ is Michele’s attempt to continue collecting first person accounts of individual’s recollections of that day, 9/11. If you’ll remember, I have written on the bounds of 9/11 only once before with the piece “We Can’ t Forget.” I read through Michele’s collection of accounts from last year’s anniversary. I fought back tears often as I read the various stories. I wanted to add my story, but I was afraid to dredge up all those feelings and thoughts again. After 9/11, I had nightmares for months. They always revolved around me being close enough to see someone who needed help and were crying out to me—not in general, but specifically to me—begging to be rescued from under a steel beam, a burning room, from the smoke, from everything. I was always just out of reach to help them. I heard their terrifying screams, the howls of their intense pain and suffering, and I cried for failing to reach them. Whether reasonable or not, I wondered upon waking some nights if a tormented soul had just reached out to me. I never told but a few of my closest friends about those nightmares. My dad and I shared stories of our nightmares. As a Vietnam veteran and a firefighter, I cannot imagine the horrible scenes that haunted his sleep. Those nightmares are still clear to me when I take time to remember them and they are still as terrifying. They are the chief reason I was reluctant to write down the story of my 9/11. On occasion, those dreams re-visit me and I wanted nothing to do with writing a story that might make them come again. And then I read Kate’s story today. I realized if Kate was willing to open up the way she did, I should be willing to do the same. And I realized that of most bloggers I know of, I am one of the few writing from a small, rural Southern town. I am proud of how we responded that day. I wanted our story to be included somewhere. So I took a deep breath and started writing. I’m glad I did. I hope you enjoy it.
It was beautiful south Arkansas morning that day. Unlike me, I had rose early that day, made my coffee, and settled in on the couch for my favorite morning news, Fox and Friends. The sun had just broke over the hill facing my house and the bright yellow rays of a harvest sunrise streamed in through the front window. My yellow labradors were at my feet. Byron, the two-year-old, laid his head on my feet. Abby, the three-month-old, alternately tried to get him and I to play. I said a short prayer for my father who was having back surgery at that very moment. I made a mental note, again, to call my stepmother in a couple of hours. I thought about what I needed to do at the office about the annual banquet that my economic development commission would be holding jointly with the Chamber of Commerce that evening for the first time in many years. The talking points I needed to polish for our chairman, the plaques we needed to have ready, the remarks I would make, the way the local media would cover the event as a new era of cooperation in the formerly rivaling organizations. Our two organizations had been secretly and silently at odds with each other for the past few years. The new director at the Chamber and I were determined to end that era and move forward demonstrating cooperation. Tonight would be the first very public demonstration of that cooperation. Everything had to be planned and executed perfectly to convince not only the local media, but also our directors and members. Fox and Friends had been an entertaining show as usual, and I had not noticed eight o’clock was fast approaching, and needed to dress and head for the office. I finished off my now tepid coffee in my favorite green mug, leaned forward to set it on the coffee table and stand up. And then the first word came through—“We’re having reports that a plane-a small plane-has just hit the World Trade Center.” At first, I wasn’t alarmed. It made me raise an eyebrow. Terrorism fleetingly went through my mind, and I dismissed it almost as quickly as the media began to tell us that “we can’t say this is terrorism at this point.” Instead, I wondered what kind of fool at almost nine in the morning would not notice that he was about to run into one of the tallest buildings in the world. Shortly, Fox News had live footage of the building. Gazing at the huge plumes of smoke I doubted immediately that a small plane had caused that much smoke. Daddy’s a firefighter. I knew that much smoke was not proportionate to an impact by a small plane. I said a short prayer. The voice over the video continued to repeat “we’re looking at live footage of the World Trade Center where a plane has collided with the building.” It almost became a mantra. And that’s when it happened. As I watched the footage, suddenly from the edge of the screen a sharply banking passenger jet slammed into the building. At first, I thought I was seeing exclusive footage of the first crash that the network was able to obtain. I’m not sure exactly when it dawned on, within seconds, that now both buildings were burning and at different levels. I said another prayer. By this time Abby was in my lap trying to chew on my fingers. She had that warm, soft puppy fur that reminds you of your favorite stuffed animal as a child. As I realized what I had just witnessed on live television, I gasped, my mouth dropped open, and I held on to Abby. In stunned silence, I watched as the voice on the television realized and then broadcast the same thing that millions of us was trying to get our arms around. Both of the World Trade Center towers were impacted and at least one by a large passenger jet. As the initial shock of what I witnessed wore off, I came to the same realization that the entire country had—we were under attack. We were under attack on our home soil. WE had been attacked and WE were experiencing it on live network television. Despite the horror, I continued watching, still hoping this was the worst fake broadcast since War of The Worlds. I began to scan all the channels. It was really happening. I knew I wouldn’t be in the office anytime soon. I called my assistant. She had heard nothing of the situation. I quickly filled her in and told her I’d be by the phone if she needed me. As I was hanging up another call came in—my mother in Little Rock. “Do you know what’s happening?!?” “I’m sitting here watching it, Mom. I saw the second plane hit! This is terrible.” “I can’t believe it. Are you okay?” “Of course, there’s no way they’d hit a small town like this. They’re not that smart, Mom. If they did that, the entire country would shut down. You’re in the big city, are you okay?” “We’re fine—“ “Have you talked to Amanda? Is she okay?” “I just got off the phone with her. She didn’t know about it.” “Mom, go home right now. If they hit anything else, it will be in big cities. You’re in Little Rock, stay away from downtown.” “I’m thinking about—“ “Oh MY GOD!” “What, What?!?” “Mom, they hit the Pentagon!” “The what?” “The Pentagon, Mom, in Washington!” “Oh, God.” “Mom, go home. I’ll call you in a little while.” “I love you, son.” “I love you, too, Mom. Please be careful.” “I will.” *beep* I clicked over, to find my sister. “Can you believe this?” “What is going on, Adam?!” “Sis, we’re under attack. It’s most likely terrorism.” “But why?” For the first moment I considered why we were attacked. Who would do such a thing to our country? To this day, I don’t know how my mind reached the answer I told her. “Sis, think about what they’ve hit. The World Trade Center and the Pentagon. One represents the capitalism and the free economy, the other represents American military strength. Put them together and it’s the so-called military-industrial complex. Whoever it is, they’re attacking the two greatest symbols of America and the free world’s strength of economy and military might. They can’t attack either on fair ground, but they can attack the symbols.” “Probably, but there’s still planes out there, they say the White House and the Capitol may be next.” “I know. I have friends at the Capitol. Pray for all these folks, sis.” “I have been.” “Are you okay?” “Yeah, bubba. Are you?” “Yeah, they’re not going bother hitting small towns like ours.” “Yeah.” “Have you talked to _______(stepmother)? Is Dad okay?” “I haven’t tried yet, but he’s still in surgery.” “Do you think she’d have her cell on in the hospital?” “I don’t know, we could try.” “What’s her cell?” “555-555-5555.” “Thanks, are you going to call her first or am I?” “Go ahead, I’m going to call Chuck back.” “Alright. I love you, sis.” “I love you too, bubba.” “I’ll call you in a little bit.” “Okay.” “Tell Chuck to be careful.” “I will.” We said our goodbyes, and I gazed at the screen again. Fox News had a split screen with a reporter live in front of the burning Pentagon in the foreground, the burning towers smaller in the background. As I listened to the reporter describe the scene at the Pentagon, my eyes darted back and forth between the two pictures. Suddenly, I noticed a puff of white smoke come from the second building hit. The puff of smoke contrasted with the black smoke rising eerily into the beautiful blue sky over Manhattan. It seemed to have shot out horizontally from the building. My gaze froze on the puff as it grew, and grew, and grew. And then I realized what was happening. I had only witnessed one building implosion in person. The color of that puff matched the color of the clouds of dust when the old Baptist Hospital in Little Rock was imploded years ago. The top of the building shifted and frozen in horror and shock, I watched the building slide into oblivion, taking all the people still inside with it on a terrible race to the ground. I clutched Abby closer. The little pup sensed how I was feeling and sat calmly for the first time in young her life. Byron had climbed onto the couch next to me and nestled his head in my lap. Byron had been with me long enough to know. And he had never seen me in such a state. Within seconds, the Fox anchor had cut the Pentagon reporter off and switched to a full screen from the New York feed. By this time all that remained of the building was a large gray and white cloud that was eerily suggestive of a ghost hovering over the remains of a ruined corpse. I remember grasping for words, speaking out loud to no one, but myself and the dogs. “It….! It’s….! It….Oh my God! It fe-…. It fel-….Oh my God, It just Fell!” I said another prayer. I called my assistant and told her what had happened. It was now nine o’clock in Arkansas. Something snapped finally in my mind and I remembered that I was a public official with the city, an advisor to the mayor, and the only one with experience and training in civil-military affairs. I knew I needed to get to the office. I told my assistant I’d be right in. Upon arriving, I brought my staff up to date with what had happened and told them we’d wait for a while before we started considering what to do about the annual dinner that night and actions we need to take. I headed next door to the City Hall and walked in the Mayor’s office. The Mayor and all the city employees were huddled around a small 13-inch television in his office. “Harold, can you believe this?” “Hey Adam. This is just crazy.” Harold had been mayor of this town for over a decade. Before that he had been the county judge. He had been through all sorts of up and downs in this community and knew it better than most anyone. In my 11 months here, we had went through the worst disaster to hit the town in decades. The town’s largest employer announced it was shutting down. With that mill and all the dependent jobs, we faced a loss of over 1000 jobs. In a town of 10,000 that severe of a hit to the local economy is usually a death knell. In many long nights and frantic days, we had found a buyer for the mill who kept it running with less employees, assisted two other factories with expansions of 100 jobs each, and somehow, someway, kept the town moving despite the hit. He was a close friend and a man a respect like few others. I determined I’d be in close contact, if not with him, all day. I watched for a few minutes with the city staff and took my leave to go back to the office and let my staff come over and watch some of the coverage. When I returned to the office, I sent my assistant over to watch for a bit and with the instructions to call me if anything else major developed. I sat down at my desk, turned on my computer, and went to the Drudge Report site. The page wouldn’t load. I opened the talking points I had prepared for our chairman for the evening’s annual dinner. I needed to give them one final treatment before I sent them on to him. I tried. I tried to polish and spin and articulate our recent accomplishments. I couldn’t. There was no way I could concentrate. I decided to call my stepmother to check on Dad. He had come through the surgery fine and was just awaking from the anesthesia. She had been watching the coverage in his room. When he first groggily opened his eyes and saw the television, he asked her what movie she was watching. I told her to be careful and to give Dad my love and that I’d call him after he had a chance to rest. I turned back to the talking points. Nothing came. I decided to walk back next door and bring the staff back. Maybe having them around could spark me back into the task at hand. It was approximately 10:30 a.m. When I walked back into the Mayor’s office most of the other workers had gone back to their desks. There was an eerie silence. I walked to the television to see the latest news. The screen showed the Manhattan skyline and a lot of gray-white smoke. I looked at it again. And again. Where was the other building? It just fell, my assistant told me. I sat down and put my head in my hands. For a minute I sat there in silence, praying, and hoping, and fearing. I looked back up and told the staff that we had to get back and figure out what we were going to do about the annual dinner. We walked out of City Hall and back to our office. When I saw the flag on our building I knew what needed to be done. My research specialist sensed the same thing and we lowered our flag to half-staff. Soon, all the flags in the city would be there as well. Remembering my military days, I considered hanging it upside down—the symbol for distress. The staff and I gathered in our conference room and I bounced for the first time the idea of canceling the dinner. They agreed, but noted we needed to coordinate with the Chamber to send out a joint announcement. I called my counterpart at the Chamber and she agreed but wanted to discuss it with her chairman. I agreed and called my chairman. He agreed and said he’d call the Chamber chairman. Within the hour, we had drafted a joint statement canceling the event and released to the radio stations and emailed our members. I settled back into my chair and tried to be quiet and still for a moment. My mind raced and I said another prayer. I felt helpless. I felt useless. I wanted to do something to ease others and my own pain. I decided to go back over to the mayor to see if there were any locally important developments. Everyone I saw wore the same expression of pained shock and sadness. Of insecurity, and some fear. I’m sure it was that way across the nation. We were all struck, if not physically, then at the very heart of our spirit and our souls. We were still stunned that someone could attack our nation in such a way. We were more stunned that someone actually would attack our nation in this way. All was safe in our little town much like I had predicted to Mom hours before. He looked at me and said he needed a cigarette. I thought I’d have one too. We climbed into his car and drove around town for a bit to check things out. All was calm. Until we passed the gas stations. Lines had already begun to form as people began to rush to fill their tanks. Rumors had floated into town that pipelines in Louisiana had been attacked and a fuel shortage would soon follow. Others who had not heard the rumor only saw the lines and figured they better get in line as well. Whatever it was that had happened, those who didn’t know better decided not to take any chances. It had a snowball effect. Some of the gas stations had begun to raise their prices. By the evening, the prices had been returned to their normal price, but not before the scare had led many people to fill up their tanks. Throughout this time, I wanted to do something. To help our people, our nation in some way, and to do it today. And that’s when I remembered. It was almost three and a half years ago. I had just left a an alumni leadership series luncheon where we had listened to Arkansas State Alumnae who was the American Red Cross president. The end of my term as president of the student body was fast approaching and my successor had been elected. I had been feeling a bit blasé about it all. As I was walking downstairs to my student government office in the student center, my treasurer met me breathlessly asking if I had heard the news. Someone had opened fire at one of the local schools and schoolchildren were dead. We sat in shock as CNN carried the news with reporting coming from one of our friends who worked at a local radio station. The same feeling I was experiencing now had flooded over me. We had to do something. We need to come together and we needed to pray. Realizing we were one of the few organizations with the resources, time, and access to accomplish the task I went into action. In a flash, my student government staff and our Student Activities Board combined forces with the Wesley group on campus (Methodist collegiate organization) and organized a candlelight prayer vigil at the foot of the clock tower of the university library. We learned that night that hundreds of people felt the same way—they wanted to do something and the only thing we could do was pray. And we did. We gathered and circles and held hands and prayed. Sometimes aloud, sometimes taking turns, sometimes silently. To this day, I believe that some of the survivors were saved by prayer. Only later had it occurred to me for the greater purpose God had intended for our prayer vigil. When the shootings first happened, it was around noon in Arkansas. By the time the national media had arrived in Jonesboro via Memphis International the only thing ‘happening’ related to the event was our prayer vigil. All the major networks covered the vigil. A New York Times reporter and photographer came to my sister’s apartment to electronically file their story and photos. What this resulted in was that the first images the nation saw live and direct from the networks that night and the next morning was the people of Jonesboro came together and turned to their faith in God. In the midst of such a horrible tragedy, God had found a way to allow His followers to be a witness to the rest of the nation and world. We unwittingly served that purpose, but were grateful afterwards. Coming back to the day 9/11 and Monticello, I realized the same was true of my situation now. We were one of the very few organizations in town that had the resources and time to accomplish the task of providing the people a place to come together, to pray together, and to see the President together. I set the staff in motion. I called my preacher at First Baptist. He in turn called the ministerial alliance. My research specialist prepared the audio-visual equipment to allow us to project the image and sound of President Bush’s address. The radio stations were notified and they began to announce that at six o’clock that evening there would be a candlelight prayer vigil on the county courthouse lawn by the war monuments. Ironically enough from the first prayer vigil I had a part in, the First United Methodist church was the only church that opted to have their own, separate vigil. We never broadcast our organization’s name, and I didn’t attach my name to or speak at the vigil. We simply organized it and ran the sound and video. And we prayed. At the appointed hour, hundreds of local citizens converged on the courthouse lawn. Whites, blacks, small children, college students, elderly, professionals, and factory workers came together. We sang hymns and we prayed. I cannot tell you how surreal the sight was as the Methodists left their service a block away and emerged with candles and walked to the courthouse and joined our inter-faith community vigil. For the President’s address to the nation, we had connected a projector normally used for power point presentations to a VCR with an antenna. We were able to pick up the signal of one network affiliate nearly fifty miles away. We had stripped some wires to attach the speakers to the VCR for sound and brought out our largest screen. Unfortunately, the screen was far too small for the size of the people assembled. We moved it and projected the President’s image on the face of the courthouse. Centered on one of the two story columns, it seemed as if he was there with us. His words reassured and our prayers uplifted us. After it was over, everyone returned home to their loved ones. I helped my staff tear down the equipment and loaded it into my car to take back to the office. They all had loved ones to return home to. I had my dogs. Pulling up at the office, I toted the a/v equipment inside and locked the doors behind me. After putting it away, I sank into my office chair at the end of a long day. I thought about all that had happened, how our world would change, about the people who died, and the people they left behind. I thought about how across the nation and the world people in towns as small as mine and as large as NYC, London, Tokyo, Paris, Moscow, and everything in between had turned to God and united together. Again in the face of tragedy, God again had shown that His followers turn to Him and provide a witness for all the world. I said another prayer.
Comments
that is an awesome post! Thanks for sharing! Posted by: ho at September 4, 2003 11:35 AMPost a comment
 
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