A new Confessor dropped me an email suggesting this, and it struck me as a great idea. I invite you to tell the Nation your memories of 9/11. Ticket memories are welcome if you have any, but if not, we would still be grateful for your account.
Here's mine in abbreviated form so I can get this thing online:
My main memory of 9/11 is the blue of the Chicago sky. No jets lowering to O'Hare or Midway, no contrails making some new weather, nothing. Just blue.
I was driving east on Irving Park when I heard the first report on -- of course -- the sports-talk radio station WSCR The Score. I switched over to NewsRadio WBBM 780. Even the earliest reports -- erroneously reporting that it was a DC-3 that hit the first tower -- made it sound deliberate. I was driving south on the Kennedy toward downtown when the second plane hit. My eyes went immediately upward -- to the Sears Tower, as it was then known, already visible in the distance. My office building was kitty-corner from it.
I called Mrs. Plainsman, in charge of an elementary school in a suburb. I called her out of a meeting and told her to get a TV on pronto.
No work got done that day. There was concern over whether the Sears Tower would be targeted, and our building closed down by midday. I had the only TV in the office, and people huddled around, disbelieving.
I had spent some of my young-guy life in New York City, but a few emails and phone calls blessedly confirmed that no one I knew had been injured or killed. I didn't know of the full impact of 9/11 on my life until several years later. I was vaguely aware that my best childhood friend growing up in the Midwest, a brilliant kid and a brilliant man, had eventually ended up at the Pentagon as a financial analyst. I had not kept in touch with him over the years, and I hadn't thought about him on 9/11. Later, I did.
If he had been sitting in his office in the Pentagon on 9/11, he would have survived.
He wasn't. He was in the jet that hit it.