The topic for week 4 of 2024’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge is “Witness to History.” As family historians, we dig deep to unearth the stories of our ancestors while often neglecting to record our own for future generations. We wonder where our family members were when news broke of a particular event. What did they think about it? How did they feel? Plenty of historically significant events have happened during my lifetime and my descendants may wonder how those incidents impacted me. One such incident was 9/11.
The 24-hour news cycle makes all of us feel like we’re witnesses to history whether or not we’re physically there when an event takes place. On September 11, 2001, I was 25 years old. My husband was working from home that day because we were getting a new roof installed. I kissed him goodbye and stumbled out to the car to drive to my job as a recruiter at a nearby temp agency. The day was warm and bright, and I grumpily squinted through my sunglasses at the sun, wishing I was back in bed even though it was nearly 9:00. Never, ever a morning person, I sat bleary-eyed at the traffic light waiting to turn into the parking lot at work when news came on the radio that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think much of it in the moment. I assumed it was a small plane like a Cessna, and the pilot either lost control, an engine died, or it was a suicide attempt. It never in a million years would have occurred to me that terrorists were using a passenger plane as a weapon against us.
There was initially very little talk about the crash as my workday began. I greeted Jamie, my boss, and my two coworkers, and started interviewing potential employees and inputting their data into our computer system. A few people may have commented about a plane crash as they came in to grab applications, but most didn’t know about it yet. How many people started work at 8:00 AM and didn’t have their radios or TVs on when the news hit jut before 9:00? We had internet access, but people didn’t rely on it as much for news in 2001 as they do today. Those who had heard about the crash had no reason to suspect it was a terrorist attack.
My husband was busy working from home, and hadn’t heard anything until 9:30 or so when he was on a work call and a coworker told him a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Had he heard? Did he know anything about it? Alex turned the TV on and didn’t leave the couch for the rest of the day. News was just breaking about the third plane crash – the one that hit the Pentagon. Reporters were saying there was smoke, but in those first few moments, they didn’t realize where it had hit. That’s when he called and told me what happened. While on the phone with him, reporters announced the plane had hit the Pentagon, and suspected it was a planned, terrorist attack.
Both towers of the World Trade Center in the heart of New York. The Pentagon. How could that happen? Who was attacking us and why? How many other planes were controlled by terrorists and what targets were they going to hit? If someone had asked me in that moment how I felt, I probably would have said I was scared, but it wasn’t true. I was shocked. I think we all were. It didn’t feel real. It was like watching a horrible movie. The first genuine feeling to hit me was dread. This didn’t feel over, and I remember thinking, “What’s next?” I worried there would be further attacks in other cities, or they’d attack the White House. It was difficult for any of us to concentrate, and though we kept checking the news when we could, the reporters seemed just as bewildered as the rest of us. The reporting was spotty and speculative as information trickled in. We tried to get some work done, but none of us could concentrate. We all waited for the next call from home, or from one of our other branch offices. By that time we were all calling back and forth, exchanging what information we knew.
Shortly before 10:30, I got a call from a guy named Nate in one of our other offices. Nate, who was always cheerful and easy-going, sounded panicked. “Are you watching the news? Another plane crashed in Pennsylvania, and one of the Twin Towers collapsed! They keep showing it over and over! Go turn on the TV!”
I covered the phone and relayed the message to my co-workers, Jamie, Jeff, and Winnie. Jeff headed towards the training room to turn on the TV, but before he could make it, Nate yelled into the phone, “OH MY GOD!!!!! THE OTHER TOWER COLLAPSED! Oh, my God….oh my God…I can’t believe it! It’s gone!” The terror and anguish in his voice shook me. Bile rushed into my throat and if felt like my heart was going to stop.
“The second tower fell!” I hung up and looked at the pale faces and wide, shocked eyes of my coworkers. We flicked on the TV and watched in horror as the news replayed the towers collapsing over and over and over again in a hellish repeating loop.
When disaster strikes, you want to be somewhere you feel safe. For most people that place is home. As much as we liked each other, none of us wanted to be at work. While we went through the motions to do our jobs if we had to, we were mostly huddled around the TV. We finally got word that all branch offices could close at 1:00, and we shuffled to our cars in a daze.
When I pulled into the driveway, I saw the men working on our roof. Instead of music, news blasted from their radio. I raced inside and Alex and I held each other tight. For the rest of the day, we curled up together on the couch with our dogs and were glued to the news. Most of the nation was doing the same thing. We watched the planes crash and the towers crumble over and over and over. We listened to the same witness interviews and saw the same crowds of ash-covered citizens with glazed eyes try to evacuate the area. The images that stuck with me the most were people jumping to their deaths from the tower. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thought of the terror they must have felt in those final moments, knowing that the hell of plunging to your death was better than the hell that laid behind you. It was an impossible choice.
We were terribly worried about some of our friends. Anyone with friends or family who were traveling or lived in the city were worried. One dear friend worked in the city – we were pretty sure he worked close to the World Trade Center. Another set of friends had moved to the city not even two weeks before. There was so much cell phone traffic that no one could get through. We didn’t hear until later that night or the next day that everyone we cared about was safe.
Those who were born after 2001 or were too young at the time to remember it don’t know how much life changed after 9/11. I could get into the politics of it all, but I mean basic, day-to-day things we used to take for granted. Security tightened everywhere after the attack – especially (and understandably) at airports. Flying became so much more difficult, not that it was a pleasant experience before that. On our honeymoon a couple years before, a stewardess who noticed how nervous I was about the flight offered to let me go up to the cockpit and talk to the pilot to put my mind at ease. I didn’t take her up on it, but I remember thinking at the time that it was dangerous to let a random person visit the cockpit. What if I was a terrorist or something? My mom loves a good disaster movie, so I spent my childhood with traumatizing movies about plane crashes and volcanic explosions playing in the background, which is why my mind went to such a dark and unlikely place. That sweet stewardess’s intentions were good, but I felt less safe knowing it was that easy to gain access to the pilot. All that changed after 9/11. Now the idea of visiting the cockpit and chatting it up with the pilot is unthinkable.
Even with stricter airport security, I didn’t feel safe flying. We were supposed to attend a friend’s wedding in Florida the following month, but canceled the trip because there was no way I was getting on a plane. We considered taking a train, but that didn’t feel much safer. It felt like an attack could happen anywhere, anytime. Even Disney received a threat. Security at stadiums and theme parks tightened with bag checks and searches. Before 9/11 bag checks were an exception at such places, not the rule.
Many of these practices made sense to keep us safe, but others reinforced our fear, like the Security Threat Level Advisory – a color-coded chart that was flashed on the news several times each day. There were five levels with “Severe” in red at the top while the safest level was “Low” in green. Even when the threat level was deemed low, the advisory was a constant reminder that a threat was always present. After all, green was “Low” not “None.” Far from reassuring us, it made us feel less safe.
The biggest thing that stuck with me besides the fear we all felt is the way the media exploited the coverage. The 9/11 footage was shown for months, at first on a repeat loop, and later bits and pieces were shown daily. There was no escape from it, and being constantly exposed to the images wasn’t healthy. It dredged up anxiety and depression in many people. Every year on the anniversary, clips are replayed. A few years ago marked the 20th anniversary of 9/11 and it seemed as though I couldn’t turn the TV on for that entire week without seeing it – especially on the History Channel which for once actually aired history instead of shows about swamp people and pawn brokers. Alex wanted to watch it, but after a few minutes I put on headphones and focused on my computer instead. I couldn’t do it. I tried, but my pulse raced, and my chest felt tight. Living through that time once was more than enough for me. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel ready to watch that footage again.
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