I have never been able to completely stop thinking about those poor, innocent souls, forever frozen in time by the click of a camera shutter as they plunged to their death.
In the photos, some were tumbling head over feet, some plunging feet first toward the New York asphalt 1,368 feet below
What were they thinking in their last few seconds of existence on this earth?
Did they think of the family they had kissed goodbye before heading off to what was supposed to be a typical Monday at the office?
Did they pray?
Were they able to find comfort in those final moments?
Did they have any idea at all what had happened to them?
We will never know, but even now, I feel teary-eyed thinking about them.
—
Finally.
The date was September 11, 2001.
After almost a year of battling deadlines, reticent reporters, grumpy pressmen, and disgruntled customers, it was the first day of my planned week of vacation.
Osama bin Laden had a different, sinister plan that day.
My day started with a cup of hot black coffee. I settled into my overstuffed recliner in the living room and tuned to Imus In The Morning on MSNBC.
It was a show I liked at the time but seldom got to watch because of my job as editor of the Citizen-Tribune in Morristown, Tennessee.
It felt good to relax.
At about the same time, four fuel-laden airliners, carrying a total of 246 passengers, were taking off from different airports in the Northeast Corridor: Newark International Airport in New Jersey, Logan International Airport in Boston, and Dulles Airport near Washington, D.C.
Around 9 a.m., Imus was interrupted by a breaking news bulletin about the World Trade Center in New York.
===
Those first few moments were total chaos.
Was there an explosion inside the North Tower?
Had a small plane hit the building?
Was there some sort of accident?
Or was the tragedy unfolding on live television something more sinister?
It didn’t take long to get answers.
As horrified announcers looked on at the burning North Tower, United Airlines Flight 175 was briefly seen by millions of shocked viewers before it slammed through the South Tower.
Clearly, America was under attack.
==
I phoned the newsroom.
The presses normally started rolling for our afternoon daily around noon. Shaving with one hand, holding the phone as I talked to the copy desk editor on duty with the other, we developed our plan.
We would print our normal edition with as much information as was available by the normal deadline, then put out a rare “special edition” later that afternoon.
The Internet back then was not what it is today. Many, if not most, people relied on their newspaper to be their primary source of information.
We knew the story was developing, that it was major, and we would need time to collect and try to make sense of the surreal reports coming in.
I drove the two miles to the newspaper office, my heart racing. Seared in my brain was that image of that airplane slamming into the South Tower.
By the time I got to the newsroom, the South Tower was about to collapse. The North Tower followed.
We gathered around the break room television and were horrified by what we saw. Some gasp. Many sobbed. The rest looked on in stunned silence.
History was being made before our eyes.
And our small newspaper would be reporting the same story as the New York Times, CBS News, and every major news outlet in the world.
It was both a heady notion, and a disgusting, sickening one.
==
We began the process known as “pulling copy,” basically compiling the Associated Press stories coming in.
Meanwhile, I took a seat at the copy desk. The first images were beginning to move on the AP Photo Wire.
Some of the best photojournalists in New York were streaming pictures of the smoke, the chaos, the falling debris.
==
And there were the jumpers.
As the towers were about to collapse and the flames began reaching the upper floors, people were making the heartbreaking choice to jump to their deaths rather than let the smoke and flames take them.
We watched,
disbelieving and helpless,
on that savage day.
People we love
began falling,
helpless and in disbelief.
– Poem by Eric Fischl
911memorial.org
We flipped through photo after photo, minds reeling, as we selected the photos we would publish.
The most shocking pictures, we chose not to publish.
But those images remain seared into my brain more than two decades later.
===
We got out two editions that day. The first contained early bulletins and photos. The second contained more detailed information, with lots of sidebar stories about the buildings, the people trapped inside them, and those on the outside risking their own lives to rescue as many victims as possible.
Both editions were sellouts.
==
In the days and weeks following the most deadly attack on our country since Pearl Harbor, American flags began appearing in yards, draped from porch banisters, and attached to car antennas.
Alan Jackson sang “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning).”
“God Bless the USA” filled the airwaves.
Never in my lifetime has our country felt so united. It was sad that it took such a tragedy to rally everyone but gratifying to see the unabashed signs of patriotism on display.
Fast forward 22 years, and I am sorry to report that our country is more torn and divided than at any time that I can remember.
They say the long pendulum of history arcs first one way, then the other.
Let’s hope the day will soon come when passions cool, tempers simmer and we have a rebirth of the spirit behind Ronald Reagan’s Morning in America.
I pray we don’t need another 9/11-type disaster to serve as our wake-up call.