As It Happened, That Terrible Tuesday…

The day was Tuesday, September 11, 2001. It was shortly after 7:30 a.m. — the beginning of daily classes at John Foster Dulles High School in the prosperous Houston suburb of Sugar Land, Texas — a school named for a former Secretary of State, with colors matching the American flag, and whose mascot is most common in such locales as Greenland and Scandinavia. There I was — five days away from turning 15, already dropped off at the front entrance, and en route to my first class of the day: English with Mrs. Batek. The assignment for the day: read a story entitled The Most Dangerous Game. And it was yours truly who read out most of the final passages in his own, fast-paced voice.

Suddenly, as I drew the story to a close, an even more dangerous game emerged several thousand miles away. Over the public address system, Principal Lynn Marshall broke news of an unfolding disaster in New York City: the twin towers of the World Trade Center were attacked by hijacked jetliners — first the North Tower, and then the South Tower.  As Mrs. Batek turned the television on to Channel 13 (ABC), and we were all exposed to the shocking footage out of Lower Manhattan, it was clear to my classmates and myself that it was no accident — and for more than just the fact that Peter Jennings and not Charlie Gibson was heard off-camera — which itself was a sign that the biggest, most horrific and most tragic story of the year (and recent history) had just occurred. For yours truly — the son of a native of New Jersey — it was shocking enough to the point where I loudly excoriated “Damn those terrorists!” just before the bell rang to go to my second class of the day.

In that second class, I would have normally been studying integrated physics and chemistry — or IPC as most like to call it — in the classroom of Mrs. Choitz. The television was not tuned in to the news, however, but even as the class dragged on over the next 45 minutes, a sinister sort of background music was playing. And the background music consisted of sirens blaring from television screens in other classrooms, that broke the news of that fateful day, and would later prepare me for what transpired once I proceeded on to my next class.

For my third period, Communication Applications was a required Speech course that students had to take as part of their high school graduation plan — though it was one course I will admit I did enjoy. After some lecturing that day from one Mrs. Bulloch, she broke even more of the news to the class. The details were even more shocking at this point: the South Tower had just collapsed, the Pentagon had been attacked (by another jetliner), a fire broke out on the National Mall (this turned out to be a hoax), and evacuations had taken place all over the country from Chicago to Walt Disney World, and by the time the TV was tuned to CNN, the North Tower had also collapsed as well. America had suffered its most catastrophic attack in ages. After this class concluded for the day, I sauntered towards the main hallway, turned left and moved on to my fourth period class.

In the fourth period Spanish 1 class of Coach Fortes, who coached volleyball for the All-American School at the time of the attacks, we were treated to news coverage on Channel 2 (NBC), but not without a reminder that a study on Spanish would soon commence after a minute or two. For those few minutes, I watched then-Houston Mayor Lee Brown hold a press conference (perhaps at Houston Transtar) regarding the tragic events, and saw afternoon anchor Khambrel Marshall and evening anchor Bill Balleza at the anchor desk — outside of their usual timeframe. When your top local news anchors are breaking the news this early in the day, it is the sort of day one would rather forget. The specter of tragedy was even more profound: another jetliner crash occurred in the vicinity of Johnstown, Pa., and a ticker on the bottom of the screen was filled with news of office buildings being evacuated in downtown Houston and stores in the Galleria closing, as well as reminders for parents to pick up their children from school.

As the expansive fifth period (this is when lunch takes place) began, and I ventured into the fifth period Algebra 1 class of Mrs. Desjardins, the expressions throughout the classroom were sullied to a large extent. It seemed as if the appetite for learning had been completely wiped out, consumed by endless news coverage of a tragedy so shocking that even old History Channel documentaries and the most graphic and controversial TV shows of the day (e.g. NYPD Blue, The Sopranos) paled in comparison to the reality that unfolded on the news. As I sat down for “C” lunch (the last of three lunches, which followed the first two lunches), a disappearing act had commenced. Names of various students were being called by faculty members in the cafeteria, each prompted to proceed to the front office to be picked up by their parents. And this is where reality was starting to set in, the conversation now dominated by news of the tragedy and students’ recollections of what they saw on the news.

Then came my sixth period World Geography class with Mrs. Garrey, who had just picked up her child from a nearby Montessori/day school. And shortly after my fellow classmates and myself sat down in their places, it had become clear that everyone was just about ready to go home; the students spent more time watching the news and playing with the little kid as opposed to exploring the globe. Many students had speculated as to who caused the carnage on the East Coast, and calls for justice to be served started to ring loud. And as if that were not enough, a note had suddenly just been sent from the front office for yours truly. In the front office was my father, who had arrived on campus to pick me up and take me back home. And so the day had concluded early, as I skipped my 7th period that would have been spent with Coach Carrabine and my boys’ basketball teammates (this was the first of my eventually four years as a team manager), and I am sure that those who did remain would have most likely either played pick up basketball, watched news of the tragedy on TV screens in the gym or the coaches’ office, or left campus early that day via parents or other peers.

Once I hopped into my father’s SUV, the radio had been tuned to AM 740 (KTRH) with wall-to-wall coverage of the day’s top story — and only story. There was nothing else of note to report — the attacks were all that mattered on the radio that day. Returning home to scan the cable channels for coverage of the disaster, almost every channel was tuned in to the tragedy, just as every television set in the house was fixated on news coverage and ambient Christian music played in the background. Anything Viacom owned (e.g. MTV) was showing Dan Rather, Peter Jennings graced the screen on ESPN, Fox News was simulcast on other Fox-owned networks, CNN was in full force on TBS and TNT, what eventually became the local Telefutura station in Houston (Channel 67) was showing Newsworld International (now Current TV) instead of the Home Shopping Network, my local PBS station was broadcasting news from the BBC, and Food Network and HGTV showed a static image of a flower in a vase, superimposed with the following text:

“Due to the nature of today’s tragic events, Food Network is suspending programming. Our thoughts go out to the victims and their families.”

– Food Network, among other Scripps-owned networks, September 11, 2001

The rest of the day was spent combining homework assignments, dinner and random browsing on the web with coverage of the attacks, including reaction from in and around Greater Houston, as well as a ticker on Fox News that even displayed the tenants of both towers of the now-fallen World Trade Center, including almost all of the Tri-State area’s television stations; the North Tower housed the transmitters of many of these stations, who lost engineers and other personnel that not only perished but never had a chance to get out alive that day, as thick smoke and raging flames enveloped the top floors of the North Tower prior to collapse. There was also the collapsed section of the Pentagon, now draped in an American flag in honor of those military personnel lost in the tragedy, and the scene of charred wreckage near Shanksville, Pennsylvania — where civilian heroes averted even greater tragedy and made the biggest sacrifice imaginable: stopping a jetliner that otherwise would have plowed into another national monument.

For yours truly and many others, the tragedy itself dominated the remainder of the week. And at lunch the following day, from a far distance from where I sat, there sat two female classmates who both exchanged chatter about church services that were held across the country the evening after that fateful day (and I am sure most likely they attended such services). The following Friday, patriotism was on full display as I donned red, white and blue both in honor of the victims of 9/11 and as a show of patriotism en route to my first cross country meet as team manager (Yes, I managed two sports in my high school days). And at church on the following Sunday — my 15th birthday — I was treated to a moving tribute to the victims of the tragedy, accompanied with contemporary Christian music playing in the background as parishioners in surrounding pews wept.

But September 11th marked even more than just the specter of war and remembrance. Patriotism became a high-demand value amongst all Americans. Air travel across the coasts and in the heartland was forever changed, thanks to beefed up security, record operating losses and whatnot. The stock exchange, which once set new daily records at the turn of the century, spiraled downward as a downturn (nothing compared to today’s recession) commenced. And for many in my generation, the glorious childhood we enjoyed in the 90s forever disappeared into the annals of history, as high degrees of adulthood developed almost instantaneously for many of us, now newly concerned about the threat of even more terror attacks and new levels of political polarization that would come in the following decade — as well as the large degree of injustice many of us suffered from laws and statues that were supposed to “protect” us from terrorists, but in the end served only to punish the average American to no avail.

Ten years later, America continues to slowly rebuild from the shadows of that dark and dreadful day on the shores of the Atlantic. As America approaches the 10th anniversary of the most heinous act of terrorism ever committed against the United States, Americans have rejoiced in the capture (and killing) of Osama bin Laden while continuing to deal with the continued threat of potential attacks as pinpointed recently by federal agents. Meanwhile, many are still figuring out as to why lawmakers rushed through unconstitutional legislation and bureaucracy (e.g. USA PATRIOT Act, the TSA’s “groping” powers) aimed at “making America safer”, while first responders who sacrificed time with their families to engage in rescue and recovery at Ground Zero — and lived to tell their stories to a curious public — now deal with a new array of health problems exacerbated by the toxic conditions of the disaster scene that day. In essence, this all serves as a reminder that the impact of this tragedy will never disappear from the realm of American society.

Across the nation, this coming Sunday is more than just a day of the week. To the surprise of no one, there will be professional football on 9/11 — the first Sunday of the regular season, with Fox’s top team of Joe Buck and Troy Aikman calling the Redskins’ season opener against the Giants in a matchup of two division rivals with strong local connections to that September day, and NBC sending Al Michaels to the Meadowlands for the Jets’ home opener against the Dallas Cowboys — America’s Team vs. Gang Green. The U.S. Open tennis tournament also soldiers on in Queens this weekend as well, already time-shifted in the wake of Hurricane Irene. And a pivotal presidential election has begun to emerge, with Barack Obama hoping to win one for the Democrats and an assortment of Republicans clamoring to claim the mantle of Reagan with the goal of taking out the current President.

But the real focal point of Sunday will be in the heart of Lower Manhattan where the Twin Towers once stood tall, in the area surrounding the Pentagon where so many armed servicemen lost their lives, and in a now infamous strip of rural hinterland in southwest Pennsylvania, where there will be moments of silence, somber music, and a strong degree of patriotism as the 10th anniversary of the most despicable act of mass murder ever committed against the United States approaches.

Yet regardless of the paths our respective gods and their prophets have drawn for us over the course of a full decade, regardless of whether or not we achieved grand fame and success or toiled in the bottom of the economic cellar, and regardless of whether we knew a treasure trove of people we lost that day or knew no victims at all, one thing does remain clear: Our pride in America will always continue to burn bright, our strength in one another will always persevere over weakness, and while remaining vigilant of whatever else may come, our resilience will continue to shine through from sea to shining sea across the heartland and beyond.

God Bless America!

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