September 11, 2001 – 2,886 Miles Away

I woke up on Tuesday, September 11, 2001 like I do most days—not as well rested as I would like but anxious to get on with my day.  At the time, my wife and I lived in Farmersville, California (2,886 miles from New York City) where I served as a city manager. 

That morning, I turned on the television to catch up on news while preparing for the day.  My anticipated day changed dramatically as I watched a news report of a plane striking one of the World Trade Center Towers.  At that time, I innocently thought the horrific scene unfolding on television was a freak accident, a glitch in the plane’s mechanics, a weather anomaly—anything but a deliberate act by another human being. 

As the second plane struck the World Trade Center, I realized that the sinister, absurd, and unfathomable was happening.  Somebody deliberately piloted those planes, full of passengers, into two buildings, full of people.  In that moment, I experience shock and disbelief.  A mere thirty minutes later, as I trudged off to work, the gravity of the incidents became personal. 

The night before September 11th, I spoke to my father via telephone—he lives in Virginia.  He happened to mention that the next day (Tuesday morning) he would be at the Pentagon for an important meeting.  As CNN changed its horrifying coverage from New York City to Arlington, Virginia, my heart plummeted and I instinctively called my father—no answer (all I heard was the standard “all phone lines are busy, please try again”).  I called my mother—no answer (“all phone lines are busy, please try again”).  I called other family members that lived in Virginia—no answer (“all phone lines are busy, please try again”). 

Realizing that continuously calling a busy phone line was futile, I left for work with a heavy and troubled heart.  Later that evening, I reached my father and learned his meeting was cancelled that morning just before the attack—the moment of hearing this news I felt the juxtaposition of relief but continued sadness for the day’s events. 

That bizarre day became one of conquering fear and demonstrating inner fortitude.  City staff members suggested we close city hall just as our neighboring cities.  I wanted to go home and be with my family, but it was not the right thing to do—we had a duty.  As a team, my co-workers and I decided to remain open, to keep government running, to continue our lives as normally as possible.  That was what our residents deserved and it was what we could do (albeit small) to stand up and say, “We are not afraid!”    

Perhaps one of the most significant lessons I learned on that dreadful day twelve years ago is that awful things happen to us and others—this is the price we pay for a free and open society. When bad happens, when evil emerges, when innocent suffer, it is easy to turn inward, to hide, and think of self before others.  However, what our society needs is for men, women and children to rise up in solidarity when tragedy strikes, for community members to rally together, to serve one another, to be a little kinder, to roll up our sleeves to solve problems. 

September 11th will always endure in our nation’s collective memory.  Some will undoubtedly bear a heavier burden than others, as many of our fellow Americans live their lives today while their loved ones perished twelve years ago. 

Regardless of our emotional or physical connection to September 11th, it is my hope that when tragedy occurs, we will turn toward one another to serve, show compassion, and demonstrate true courage.