I was at work. Our cubicles hadn't gotten downsized yet, so I occupied then a little over half of my current office space, with my desk and computer facing in the opposite direction from how my space is currently configured. I don't remember how I first heard of what we first assumed was a terrible accident at the WTC, but was soon following the events on line. The hole in the side of North Tower, billowing black smoke, left many questions lurking behind the obvious tragedy that had already unfolded. We were ignorant of how much more terrible it was about to become.
When the second plane slammed into the South Tower, it removed all doubt that we were observing an accidental event. I felt disgusted by the brutal attack on these civilians in the planes and the towers. None of us knew its exact nature, yet, aside from knowing it was pure, unfeeling evil.
The sequence of the remainder of the day blurs together through the intervening years. My good friend Steve was assigned to The Pentagon, and it took a couple hours for us to learn that his office wasn't located there. I think this day may have been the first time I grasped how big that building is.
The South Tower went down first, presumably because its plane hit significantly lower, so there was much more weight bearing down upon the weakened structure. I remember hoping that maybe the North Tower wouldn't fall, too. I wasn't so concerned for the building itself as the people within.
The weeks thereafter were filled with more prayer than I ever remember the country being united in. I've never forgotten the words of the Rabbi who spoke at one of the services, in New York, I think, who warned us that the greatest danger was not what the terrorists might do to us but what we might become in response. I wonder if the rest of the country heard that warning.
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