We're all told that every generation has at least one event that changes their lives- a time when everyone remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing. For generations past the stories involve moon landings, assassinations, explosions, and the death of The King. For my generation, that event was undoubtedly 9/11. For years, people have asked me where I was on that day. I just reply "Oh, just 950 miles away from home and a two hour drive from Ground Zero."
At the time, I was boarding school student. Back in 2001, I was a freshman at The Hotchkiss School- a prestigious Connecticut boarding school that was only a couple hours fron New York City. I had just gotten out of Mr. Crain's first period algebra class- Mr. Crain was a tough, but incredibly likeable teacher, and I remember it being a good day because I had actually done my homework right and gotten back a quiz I had done well on. I wasn't too eager to head over to Chinese class though- I was quickly falling behind and we were due to start writing characters soon. That's when everbody was summoned to the school auditorium.
I overheard a lot of students talking about what it could be- younger students were praying for an early school holiday, while the upperclassmen explained that Skip (our headmaster) normally doesn't call for a holiday until at least a month into the school year. As we all gathered in the auditorium. Skip sat us down and explained to us the situation. "Terrorists have attacked New York City", he solemnly stated. Classes were officially cancelled for the rest of the day, and 500 stunned students filed out of the auditorium, some visibly more worried than others.
As I headed back to my dorm, I could hear the small TV in our common room already blaring live news coverage of the attack. Just as I found a spot to watch the coverage, a second plane hit the World Trade Center. The dumbfounded anchorman went silent for a minute, and as if he were conflicted about stating something so incredibly obvious, he says "Uhhh......breaking news?"
At this point, I didn't know how to feel. I sat there and I could only imagine how my parents, having sent their 14 year old son away to boarding school just 12 days prior, felt. I could only imagine how my classmates, who had parents who worked in NYC, felt. I felt uncertain, fearful, and most of all, guilty. Sure, I was scared, but I felt guilty that so many people around me had such strong feelings that day, and I couldn't empathize because I wasn't feeling that same level of fear and uncertainty. I never forgot that feeling.
Soon after, the bedlam continued. Another plane hit the Pentagon, and another crashed in a cornfield in Pennsylvania. Once I heard about the Pentagon attack, all I could think of was my mom. She worked for AT&T in downtown Chicago, and although they hadn't been hit, the paranoia that engulfs you in a crisis suddenly hit me.
"Oh my God", I thought. "They're going to hit Chicago next."
My first thought was that the terorists were going to hit the major American cities. I called her job three times and left a message at home. Suddenly, I was thrust into the bin of uncertainty with all of my classmates whose parents worked in New York City. Since the school quickly understood that they would be taking a tidal wave of phone calls from distraught parents, they posted a cork board outside of the administration offices to alleviate the phone rush. Even 10 years ago, teenagers didn't have cell phones, let alone texting capabilities- a crisis of that magnitude would be handled a bit differently nowadays.
Students checked the cork board all day long for messages from their parents- some would camp out near the board, and once something was posted, would sprint at the new message with the same ferocity of Lawrence Taylor rushing an offensive line. I remember this guy- I never knew his name, but I knew he was an upper mid- pacing in front of that board waiting for a message from his parents, and I remember the sheer elation he showed when he found out his parents were okay. That made me feel a little better. "We're all going to be okay", I thought.
By 3 or so, my mother called to let me know that her job had dismissed everyone for the day- she had been at the train station for a long time because, as she put it, "It seemed like everyone in the City of Chicago was trying to get on a train at that time."
"We're all going to be okay", I thought again. That time, I believed it.
As the rest of America held candlelight vigils, mounrned, and visited the site, so did we. It wasn't about anybody's race, or checkbook, or how much they knew- we were all in the same boat. Even during my campus visit, I felt that Hotchkiss was a community. I felt so even more after that day.
And that, in a nutshell, is how I spent my 9/11.
