Some days are ordinary. You wake up, feed the dogs, have
coffee, get dressed and drive 6.7 miles to the office on Lake Hearn Dr.
That Tuesday was like the beginning of the end of summer.
The high in Atlanta was 86*. It was a sunny
day and a light breeze tickled if you were paying attention.
I got to the Cox Lake Hearn building around 8am. The Customer Care team was assigned offices on the 4th floor, 4 Center Back to be exact. I had a window view at my back. The door to my office spilled onto the dark
paneled center back hallway. I was about 40 or 50 yards from the elevator and
the emergency exit stairwell.
8:46am ~ The
first crash occurs
when Flight 11 slams into the north tower of New York's World Trade Center.
Shorty before 9am, Cindy Shope stood in the doorway of my
office an announced very matter of fact, “A plane just crashed into one of the Twin
Towers in New York”. I remember
immediately responding with the only imaginable scenario.
“Did someone have a heart attack while flying a private
plane?
“NO, it was a
commercial flight, a passenger plane.”
Her
serious tone now coupled with a sense of urgency. Just moments before, Cindy had
seen the video footage on the bank of televisions on the 4th floor
lobby. I immediately got up. We walked to the nearest TV and it was true, the
pictures everywhere, every office and lobby television screen with an audience. Everyone stood still, quiet, watching, trying
to understand, trying to process. I
remember no one was talking.
9:03 a.m. ~ The
second crash when Flight 175 flies into the south tower of the World Trade
Center.
I immediately went back to my office to call my DAD. That
was my first thought, I need to call my DAD and tell him I love him and ask if
any bombs or planes have made their way to the Panama Canal. As much as I wanted the call to go through,
there was a fast busy, all circuits jammed.
I tried and tried.
Unable to reach my Dad, I walked to the 30 Person conference room on the 4th floor. The large
rectangle room was right in the center of the building. It housed a very large dark
wooden table with space for 30 people. There
was a matching podium for presentations, AV equipment and a large credenza for
set up of beverages and catering orders. The presentation screens in this room the
size of the entire wall, like watching a movie in a private theatre.
I sat in the 30-person room for about two hours. I was by
myself. I sat in a chair on the side of the room that was next to the interior wall.
I held onto the bottom metal frame of the chair and shifted. I was nervous,
anxious, and scared.
In that room alone, away from everyone else, I witnessed real time
what millions of people witnessed all over the world, the towers collapsing. And what seemed hundreds of replays of the
actual crashes.
It was incomprehensible. It was surreal. I was still, very still. The audio equipment in
the room not on. I watched everything in
complete silence, the horror of those moments on the large screen, magnified by
my inability to process or associate any comprehension to the events.
At times I was nauseous and taking deep
breaths to stay calm.
10:28a.m~ After burning for 102 minutes, the north tower of New York's
World Trade Center collapses.
At some
point, I did not want to be alone in the room anymore. I wanted to talk to my DAD, I wanted to be
with other people. I wanted to know that
I was not alone in the world.
I walked
back to my office, via the central hallway and cut across to the back passing
by the office of Rich Brehm, who worked in the marketing department. I knew Rich as a work colleague, he was friendly,
easy going and always positive. I’d walked by his office hundreds of times, his
presence was very familiar.
I remember
stopping at his office. I remember standing
at the doorway and without hesitation asking him for a hug. He got up and walked around his desk and we
hugged. I know we exchanged some small talk that made it OK for us to hug, and especially for me to feel comfortable
about my awkward request.
I am not
sure if Rich remembers the hug. A decade
plus later, I do.
Rich knew
about the attacks.
Rich did
not know I had been in the 30-person conference room in a trance like state for
almost 2 hours trying to process the horror and reality of what I saw on the
large screens.
Rich was
extremely gracious in sharing the strength and comfort that can happen between
two people at a time of confusion and pain.
His gesture was confirmation that
the world as bad as it can get, always has the potential for good and for care
and for compassion.
I was
grateful that day. I will always be
grateful to Rich for the hug.