Planes Are Falling Out of the Sky!

My friend Dennis Crowley (re)posts his take on 9-11 every year. In that vein, here is my take from the 10 year anniversary.

This morning, I woke up in San Mateo, CA. Doesnt mean much on any other day. But today, being the tenth anniversary of September 11th, I began to read memories written by so many of my friends.

Ten years ago, I woke up in Oakland, CA. Did mean much on any other day. But on that day, planes crashed into the World Trade Center, and changed so much of the American fabric.

I thought about that day in Rockridge this morning. It has a unique significance because just a few months after 9/11, I left California for Colorado for what I expected to be a summer, and ended up being nearly 10 years.

That morning ten years ago, I was busying building a startup in my bedroom in a really nice house I shared with three others. As all us startup folks do, I worked late and woke up late. That morning, for some reason, I woke up early, and as I grasped my door handled and pulled it open, still groggy from the late night, one my one roommates stood in the hallway and looking at me with wide eyes, she yelled at me “Planes are falling out of the sky!”

I remember thinking to myself, “What the fuck, Chicken Little?” But, confused, I turned on CNN just in time to watch the second plane slam into the towers.
Sitting down on my bed, I watched in silence. I kept switching from local news to national news. I knew this wasnt an accident. I knew that it was something bigger. Having family in Israel, I was taught at an early age that everyone wanted to kill Israel. Bombings were common place. Many people forget, but in the first Gulf War, Iraq bombed Israel consistently for weeks without a response (on the orders of the US). Having friends and family go through the mandatory Israeli military service teaches us that the world is full of evil and I remember at the moment being so sad that Americans were getting a taste of the same hardness. It was like learning that fire burned by having a lit cigarette smashed into your arm.

My roommates debated on what we should do — should we stay home? Was the Bay Bridge safe? The news said that the bridges were being targeted as were the major buildings on the West Coast. Mostly, we each sat and listened and watched and worried.

As the days after 9/11 passed, I knew I wanted to go to NY and see the damage for myself. It wasnt until November of 2011 that I could get out to NY given it took a good couple of months for air travel to settle down and get back into a rhythm. I landed in New York with a couple of tshirts, shorts and a pair of tennis shoes. I stayed with a good friend of mine, Channing, from college, who lived in Jersey City at the time, and worked at Edelman in Times Square.

When we got to his apartment, he brought me to his gigantic window, and he pointed to the far right.

“Thats where they were.”

I stood quietly, as he talked about that day in September where he was late for his train, the train that he never missed and always transferred at the WTC stop. He talked about standing in that exact spot and watching the planes hit the towers and feeling completely helpless.

The next day, we took the train into Manhattan, and I walked over to his office. “Im going to wander the city.” I said. I want to visit places that I have never visited.

So, in a longsleeved orange t-shirt, a pair of long shorts and a new set of kicks, I started walking. Even in the middle of November, the energy of the city kept me warm enough (but clearly every New Yorker thought I was an idiot, and didnt fail to remind me it was November).

I walked to the Empire State Building, and went to the top. I marveled at the park and the straightness of the streets. I walked to the Chrysler Building. And I continued to walk, and walk and walk.

Suddenly, I remember noticing that all the noise of the city had ceased. The streets were relatively empty, and seemed to almost shine. As I looked up, I realized that I was on my way to Ground Zero. I hadnt planned walking there, but I was glad that I hadnt stopped to grab a cab.

As I approached Ground Zero, I remember getting almost surreal in its silence, and when I finally reached the site, I reached for my camera to take some photos.

Slowly it dawned on me that I stood in front of a huge fence with thousands and thousands of photos of people lost. I couldnt take a photo, and slid my camera back in my pocket.

For next fifteen or twenty minutes, I just stood there. I just allowed the enormity of what had happened wash over me, and it did. Not in waves; more like a brick. I remember that I didnt get angry, but at that moment, I understood completely the anger felt by so many of my friends. Before me stood, as cliché as it sounds, a reminder that not only were we untouchable as a country, but that people hated us for no good reason. The feeling that sat in my gut was very similar to the feeling I had when I visited Yad Vahshem in Israel and The Holocaust Museum in DC. Its not that I am comparing the Holocaust to 9/11, but the feeling of not understanding why one people hated another for what felt like such stupid reasons.

So I stood quietly. I watched a mother bring her son to the fence and talk to him about what had happened. A young couple stood and cried. And so many people just seemed tired; really, really tired.

After about an hour, I could no longer absorb the energy of the area. Sighing, I turned and continued to walk south towards Battery Park.