Where Were You on 9/11?

Mom told me about it as I was getting up to go to work.

I asked her point-blank if I was actually awake.*

I was.

It was the emptiness of the skies that day that drove it home; there's almost always a plane in the sky around here.

(* ETA - I have a "lucid dream test" I do in dreams that seem very real: if I can press a thumb or a hand through a surface, like a wall, I know I'm dreaming. 9/11 was one of a very few times I found myself performing the lucid dream test while actually awake.)

I was living in Oakland, a sophomore in college and having a nervous breakdown. Not related to the event, but I remember having really serious night terrors the night before (caused by stress, but the two things have become endlessly linked for me). I remember having to get under the bay on BART to go to school, and finding out the had shut down the tunnel.

I was at SF State, which had a pretty hippy-dippy student body, but I remember how unequivocal the students were in their support standing with the rest of America afterwards.

Sat Nam! (Literally "Truth Name"--a Sikh greeting)

I walked down the hill to our local Party Mart to pick up a birthday card for Mr. Siri. Two workers were having a whispered conversation when I entered the store. Their eyes scuttled when they saw me. (I wear a turban.) While I looked through the cards, I noticed that instead of the usual music there was a news broadcast. I heard the words "this attack on American" and thought "yeah, yeah, some airplane got shot down over contested waters and the news is calling it that to drum up business." Then I heard that the Pentagon had been hit. I thought, "That's an act of war!" Then I heard that the person suspected of masterminding the attack had an Arabic name. (I am half Lebanese.) I thought, "I'm a half-Arab, I'm wearing a turban, and I'm standing in a public space....OH, NO!"

I'd always wondering what people were talking about when they mentioned "the good old days." My "good old days" is everything before that moment.

Blessings,

Siri Kirpal

High school sophomore. I was home for the second day of an illness. I was feeling better enough that I could have gone to school, but I wanted to take the opportunity, so I acted like I was still sick. My parents took my word for it and headed to work while I went back to sleep. A few hours later, I was woken by my dad calling. The radio was saying some planes had hit one of the twin towers, could I turn on the TV and confirm? I had no idea what the twin towers were, but I did as asked. I almost didn't. The TV was already on my usual Home Sick Daytime station, but I made myself find a news channel just so I could report back to Dad and then get to my hooky-playing. The second plane had just hit. I didn't change the channel the rest of the day, just watching the same horrible footage over and over, transfixed, feeling like I was watching a movie and not real life.

it's quite funny but everybody in my county that's my age has the same exact story: "I was in school, taking the benchmarks..."

My teacher disappeared during the state exam for about 30 minutes and came back and told us "we've been bombed"
Now that I'm an educator I have no clue what that woman thought would happen when she said that. I'm guessing she didn't know enough info to know how wrong she was (I lived close to DC)

My mom's story is funnier. She takes the train to her job in DC. Sees it happening on the lobby of her job screens. Boss tells her to go home, and on her way home in the middle of the highway she runs into her dad and he gives her a ride on his way to work (he was a postal worker so you know he still had to go in).

I live in CT, grew up on Staten Island seeing the Twin Towers almost every day. I never worked in them, but I knew the neighborhood and the public levels very well. I used to take out-of-town visitors all around there & bring up to the top to see the view. I used to buy cheap theater tickets at the TKTS booth in the lobby.

On 9/11 I was in Las Vegas, working at a conference. When I woke up that Tuesday I turned on NPR, part of my normal morning routine. But they were talking gibberish. The towers burning? The towers collapsing? WTF?? They were saying the same thing on TV though. With pictures. WTF???!!???

The conference programming was obviously suspended for the day. Everybody kind of drifted around the conference center staring at the TVs on the wall, or retreated to their rooms to stare at the TV in privacy. Everyone was numb, and freaked, and little scared by rumors of an unknown number of unaccounted-for planes that might plausibly be aimed at Las Vegas. All false reports, of course, and quickly disproved, but the eerie emptiness of the sky and the sight of so many planes just sitting at the airport remained an unnerving reminder. I knew I didn't know anybody working in the towers, but one of my colleagues did so I sat with her for a while till she was able to get through to them & confirm they were safe & hadn't even been on site. With flights grounded for an unknown time, people started worrying in the afternoon about how they were going to get home at the end of the week. My boss & a couple of colleagues, in a bit of a panic, rented one of the last RVs in town for a road trip back to New Jersey (our company home base). I decided that much togetherness was bit too much and opted out. (In the end I stayed on in Vegas a few extra days at the conference sponsor's expense till flights resumed & my ticket was rebooked.) I distracted myself from the TV by working on some Powerpoints.

By the next day, the conference resumed. Everyone pretended they were ok. When I finally flew back into NY, you could still see all the way from Queens the black smoke rising from the wreckage.

I never went to see Ground Zero when it was still empty. I still haven't been back to the site since it was built over. I'm glad the hole in the skyline has been filled, and I'm glad it's different and alive again. My Towers, with all my places in them, are still standing in my mind's eye, same as they always were.

I was about three weeks into my first job after college, working as a reporter at a tiny newspaper in rural nowhere. For no reason other than "it had always been like that" the newspaper was an afternoon daily, not a morning daily (but it was "mornings" on the weekend). The front page was put together every weekday morning with the goal to be in boxes around town in time for the lunch hour. So, they were putting the finishing touches on whatever was going to be the front page that day as all this begins going down. We're sort of watching bits and pieces of whatever the first moments are on tv in the breakroom, which had been showing something like Good Morning America or whatever. But we're not paying a ton of attention until the ladies from the circulation department are yelling through the door, "You guys need to see this!" One plane had hit, and while we watched, the second one hit. I'm certain of this, but I have no memory of seeing it. I think I've wiped it from my memory in self-defense.
While it was clear that something big and awful was happening, there was the all-mighty deadline fast approaching, and they were already running the press when the first wire stories started to come in that had enough detail to actually be of use. The editor actually ran out to the press (which was in a building next door) yelling "stop the press!" the entire way. The press boss came in, ink covered and mighty pissed, to make sure whatever was happening was really worth actually scrapping the run. The paper was a little late that day, but not by much, as they took what seemed like the best version available on the wire and ran with it.

My office at the time was ten blocks north of the towers. I got to work late, saw the north tower with its huge gash spilling smoke and wisps of paper into an unbearably clear blue sky. Crossed the street, saw a man jump out of the building. A short time later, the second plane hit (from where I was standing, I couldn't see the plane--there was a boom, followed by a burst of flame, and everyone on the corner where I was standing turned and ran for safety).

My family and I lived in Manhattan on what was aptly named "hospital row" (our apartment was across the street from Beth Israel, and if you go up First Avenue there's Bellevue and NYU). There were signs plastered all over the walls of the hospitals, on street signs, on the glass of bus shelters with the names, ages, and photos of people who never came home.

I remember every detail of that day. Every one.

I visited Ground Zero with my parents on 2008, saw the little chapel next to the towers that withstood the attacks and served as a temporary base for the relief efforts, now converted into a small shrine/museum. My father was happy when the attacks happened. He had grown up during the Cold War, and was involved with the students movements in Mexico in the 70s, when the U.S. was at war against communists and such.

My father cried like a baby at the little shrine. He brought home a huge U.S. flag with the names of the dead.

I'd gone back to college (in 2001, I was 40) for a career change. Our professor didn't show for our morning class, so I headed over to the library, where there was a book sale. As I browsed, I barely registered the staff in a cluster, whispering urgently. Another staffer dashed in, horror on her face, and said "The tower is down." Everyone shopping looked up and the staff knew they had to say something, so they told us. We all drifted out into the main area, where a TV had been set up. By that time, it was pointless to try the Internet so we all sat on the floor, more and more people coming. I had tried to call my husband and my family in Boston, but couldn't get through. I couldn't leave, just sat watching the news and looking at these stricken young faces around me. I wanted to weep for them as much as those who were lost in the attacks.

Temping at MIT

Kaiser-Kun said:

I visited Ground Zero with my parents on 2008, saw the little chapel next to the towers that withstood the attacks and served as a temporary base for the relief efforts, now converted into a small shrine/museum. My father was happy when the attacks happened. He had grown up during the Cold War, and was involved with the students movements in Mexico in the 70s, when the U.S. was at war against communists and such.

My father cried like a baby at the little shrine. He brought home a huge U.S. flag with the names of the dead.

Click to expand...

Just in case anyone else is interested -- that's St. Paul's; it's part of Trinity , been standing since the 1700s. It's still a regular church with services and such.

In denial.

I was pregnant with my son, now about to turn 18 of course. Anyway, while I was getting ready for work I liked to turn the TV on for background noise so I did. I only saw it was on CNN and thought my then-husband had put it there before going to work. I liked to dress to old sit coms so I pressed the channel change button. Except that was CNN too. So was the next. All the channels were CNN which I'd never seen happen before. So I paused. A plane had flown into the first tower, and I only had time to think how awful an accident that was before I watched live as the 2nd plane hit. I sat down then and knew it was no accident, and that the world had changed. America was different and I knew then that my son would grow up hearing about this day in history class.

NYC resident here!!! It was warm and sunny that morning when I left to catch the F train from my Brooklyn apartment to work in downtown Manhattan. The ride starts underground, but after two stops is on an elevated platform. The reactions in the subway were strong as we first saw the towers with their impact points and smoke billowing out. "Holy Sh#t!"

My office, located four blocks away from the towers, was emptied out by the time I arrived. I was about to leave myself when I saw one of the towers start to tilt. I realized it was coming down, so I stayed put. There was a thud and I got away from my window. The first tower was down. The air filled with soot and debris. People caught outside were all covered in white from head to toe. I saw the second tower now starting to tilt, so I waited more before heading out. After the second tower went down, I needed to walk home as the subways were all closed. Fortunately, I didn't have a humungous distance to go.

My office was closed for a month. The burnt plastic smell from the towers lingered in the air for a long time.

It was late at night in Australia, and I had stayed up to watch The West Wing which I was crazy about (this was in its first run - one ep a week, played very late at night.) The channel interrupted to cut to the news - I think that was the first tower. Then there was a second incident (I think it was the Pentagon?) and I woke my then-husband to say something terrible is happening.

I do remember that the whole day was people watching tvs or listening to radios, and there was no escaping the footage. It was so heart-breaking.

It was early on the west coast. My husband was out of town on business and I'd just rolled out of bed for my hour of peace and quiet before I had to start waking my kids for school. I turned the TV on to the morning news shows as was my routine. Matt Lauer (or whoever) was trying to make sense of what had happened with the first plane. They still thought it might have been a tour plane or something, and then in the background of the shot you could see the second plane coming while they were talking.

I was glued to the TV the rest of the day. I don't think I'll never forget seeing the antenna on the second tower to fall start to tip, the swooping, sick feeling in my stomach of knowing what was about to happen. All those souls.

It wasn't until after I'd gotten the kids off to school that my husband called and told me one of our dear friend's law firm was in Building 1. We were frantic all day, waiting for news. There was no calling into NYC, the lines were overwhelmed. It turned out she had been due in court at 10 that morning, so she was still at home when it happened.

My husband was stuck in California for 5 days while the airspace was closed, and I, too, remember the silence from above as being so incredibly eerie.

We were on vacation in Canada and had just put a friend on the bus for the Vancouver airport, then turned on the TV. About 6 hours later he knocked on our door and spent the next 5 days with us. We finally got home about Sept 20.

I was up putzing around. My Mom was visiting from Oregon, my son was 12 so he was at school. I turned the radio on, NPR, and heard that the first plane had it the tower. I remember saying, "Oh no" a couple times and my mom was asking what?

We turned on the TV just before the second plane hit.

My mom had tickets to fly home in a few days. She was very upset and just wanted to get home. So we drove her home the next morning.

Later a fire fighter friend of mine said they just lost 100 guys which I found shocking. He knew how many fire fighters would have been in the buildings. Turned out it was more than 300.


Note: It's very possible I don't remember these details correctly like where my son was. But the big things I remember.

I was at work. An email came through saying the New York office would be closed. It was unusually terse, which made me curious enough to check the news on line.

I remember a friend calling me and telling me her local news was reporting at least six planes still in the air unaccounted for (there was a lot of misinformation). I remember calling my parents in Boston and begging them to leave town. They refused; they didn't want to leave, and all the highways were clogged anyway.

I remember realizing by the time we all started panicking, the planes were already down.

I remember how polite all the drivers were. I remember a few days later when the drivers started getting rude again. I thought that meant we'd be all right. I was wrong.

My husband woke me up and told me. The first plane hit the North Tower at 5:45 Pacific time, and we are on the west coast around 6AM after he got up (he was teaching an early class that semester, and I was on a late afternoon/evening teaching schedule) and saw the news. The second plane hit around the time I got to the TV

The bright spot for me was that none of my closer friends or family members were anywhere near New York City or Washington DC, or traveling, that day. Still, what a horrific day. I think it's the first time I ever cried because of a news story. I felt so horrible for all those who were dying, and for the terrified survivors, and for their loved ones waiting to hear.

I couldn't tear myself away from the TV for hours, until I had to shower and dress to go teach (classes weren't cancelled at the college). We didn't get a lot done that night in class, though, mostly just sat around and talked about it.

Even then, though, I was pretty sure the damage from that day (to our country) would go way beyond the tragedy unfolding on TV. I wish I'd been wrong. Within a few hours, there had been attacks on local mosques (and on one Sikh temple) and numerous cases of abuse and harassment of people with dark skin or who were wearing turbans or head scarfs.

Many of my friends' kids, who are in their mid twenties now, report that 911 was the first major news event they have a coherent memory of. This makes me sad for them, as my first coherent memory was of the 1st Moon Landing.

Roxxsmom said:

Many of my friends' kids, who are in their mid twenties now, report that 911 was the first major news event they have a coherent memory of. This makes me sad for them, as my first coherent memory was of the 1st Moon Landing.

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Huh, I split the difference there. My first major news memory was the Challenger explosion. I was in first grade, and they'd gathered the entire school in the library to watch it live. I remember, at the moment of the explosion, wondering if maybe that was supposed to happen, since I'd never seen a shuttle take off before.

The reaction of the adults and older kids quickly answered that question.

...

I was in college in Rome on 9/11.

At the time, I was trying to get the school to implement a study lab where upperclassmen could volunteer as tutors.

I'd put together a comprehensive proposal about where it would be held, how it would be staffed, subjects covered, hours, etc. My appointment to present my proposal to the Dean fell on the morning of 9/11.

I went into my meeting and had just opened my notes when the phone rang. The Dean received the news while I was sitting there. He told me what had happened, and that was the end of the meeting, because half the student body was American and he suddenly had FAR more urgent issues to attend to.

I immediately went downstairs and joined the crowd around the TV in the student lounge, trying to absorb what I was seeing and what it meant for my country, and for those of us living abroad. There was a whispered series of names floating around... Who had family in New York? Which among them would return immediately to the U.S. and who planned to stay and finish out the semester?

Rome was very different after that. I was used to bumping into American tourists on a regular basis, and I was often approached for directions and whatnot. After 9/11, for a solid year, at least, they vanished almost completely. There were still tourists, just no Americans.

...the tutoring program never did happen.