The Sunday Memory Drawer - 9/11 Plus 10

Well, you didn't really want me to lead this off with another picture of burning buildings, did you?

Fittingly, I am in my hometown of New York today.  Ten years ago, I was not.  Part of me is glad that I was 3,000 miles away.  But, there is a portion of my soul that wanted to share that experience here with all the support and solace I could muster.

Prior to 2001, the last time this nation was truly united behind one cause came during World War II, most likely the days and months following Pearl Harbor.  On 9/11, we came together again as a single unit.  It didn't last long and, sadly, the patriotism was short-lived.  Yet, still, for a fleeting moment, we were one nation.  Under God.  Indivisible.  

The images of that day don't return like cherished tapestries.  Instead, they are brief and blinding flashes of light as if someone clicked on a digital camera that was a little too close to your eyes.

I posted this tale last year and, on this day, it bears repeating.  A time when Los Angeles and New York were intertwined as cities and as people.  And how this New Yorker watched the day unfold.

For reasons only someone who grew up in New York could totally comprehend, I regret not being there in the metropolitan area on that day. It was a lonely and helpless feeling for me 3000 miles away and three hours earlier. Most of my life had been in New York and this was a reminder that I had moved away from some very good friends.

For me, that day started very ordinarily. I was dressing to the local TV news. Since I like to work NY hours even in Los Angeles, I was up early enough to see the second plane hit. I watched this unfold before me in my bedroom, but, still, I did not disrupt my routine. Finish dressing. Go to the kitchen for a little breakfast and my eighteen vitamin supplements. Back to my bedroom and bathroom for teeth brushing, hair drying, and the final comb. Despite the drama, I never broke step.

I still left the house at the same daily appointed time. I still got into my SUV and left the garage. I was two blocks away at a traffic light on Wilshire Boulevard. Howard Stern was on my "free" radio as usual, but he was still live as opposed to the usual West Coast tape delay. He was watching his studio television. And, suddenly, the first tower collapsed. Howard's voice cracked as he described it and he sounded like he never has before. I was finally frightened.

I made an immediate and abrupt U-turn on Wilshire and headed home.

I knocked on my roommate's bedroom and woke him up. I had never done that before and certainly have not tried it since. But this was unprecedented. 

We popped on the television and watched. Moments later, the second tower fell. There was still a fire at the Pentagon. He thought about his sister and her family living five minutes away from there. I got an urgent e-mail from a cousin that I had not heard from in about a year. She was praying that I would answer, given that she was aware of my bi-coastal existence. Scary, scary stuff in a country where democracy allegedly reigns supreme.

My company's office in NY had evacuated their building. There were thoughts that some plane might be headed to the West Coast for another target. Our company's head was also in NY that day and he sent word back that he was fine. But, there was no other direction for the LA staff. I reflected on the senior management in place in the LA office. Most of them can barely make a decision regarding lunch, let alone if there was some sort of emergency in the building. I told my roommate that I needed to go into the office.

It was the calmest LA freeway day ever. While there was the usual bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic, no one seemed to be in their customary hurry mode. Eerily quiet. And borderline pleasant.

As I had suspected, the corporate managers who bothered to come in that day were totally unassuming when it came down to any level of authority. (Most of these dimwits have since been flushed out of our sewer system.) The most senior of directors, who packed only 30 watts of brain power on a good day, was sitting in his office. His feet were up on the desk and his door was partially open as he surveyed his breakfast. The standard "don't bother me" mode. I noted that we would be getting no salient authority from him on that day. So, I made my own executive decision.

I went from office to office and floor to floor. I talked to people I didn't know. I gave them all the same message.

"If you want to stay here for a while to talk, please feel free to do so. But I am closing the office. Whatever you choose to do, please be safe."

I recited my speech so much that I can repeat it verbatim nine years later. Most people took me up on the offer. By the time I got to the senior manager's floor, he had already gobbled up his scone and coffee and left the building to head for wherever ineffectual business people live. I kicked the last person out of the building at 1045AM Pacific time. Just as Mary Richards had done at WJM, I turned out the lights.

On the way home, I drove past my church. There were strangers walking around the parking lot. They weren't casing the joint. They were people from the neighborhood looking for some sort of a safe haven. I called my pastor and told her to open the doors wide.

I then passed the Federal Building in Westwood. I finally grasped the enormity of it all. There were soldiers all over the grounds. They were all looking to the sky with their rifles held high. They were ready to shoot at anything or everything.

Like most Americans that day, I consumed a lot of visual memories on television. By 530PM, the immense tension had created an appetite. My roommate and I decided to venture out for food. Wilshire Boulevard, which is usually a speedway at that hour, was empty. You could shoot a cannon down the block and not hit anybody. All of a sudden, it was like Christmas Eve. There were no restaurants open. For once, people were staying home and having a cherished dinner with their loved ones.

The only eatery open happened to be the delicatessen/restaurant, Nate N Al's, in Beverly Hills. Regardless of what was transpiring on the other coast, there would be people who would not be denied their brisket with gravy. Inside, we would have our most surreal moment of a day that was filled with 1000 of them. In the booth beside us, we found Rodney Dangerfield. Sitting in his pajamas. With the worst case of bed head known to man.

I remember this all with fresh sadness. It is just one story of 200 million others that lived through that experience.

And, unfortunately, there are another 3,000 or so stories that were never quite finished.

A week later, I was on one of the first American Airlines flights out of LAX.  I got upgraded to first class and, frankly, there was room for about six or seven friends if I wanted to bring them along.  There were only about five folks up in the fancy seats.  One was actor Timothy Busfield from "Thirtysomething" and "The West Wing."  We were all strangers as is usually the case on an airplane.

That day, we chatted like longtime friends.

Approaching Newark Airport, the day was way too overcast for us to see anything.  My very first image came the next ultra-sunny day as I crossed 6th Avenue at 50th Street.  I looked south.

Smoke.  Nothing but.

I stared long and hard.  

This is why, at the very top of this blog, you are enjoying a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Dinner last night:  Sausage and peppers at Carlo's in Yonkers.