The mind of a child on 9/11
Ten years ago, I heard a psychologist say that every time a child saw a newscast of a plane crashing into the Twin Tower, that child likely thought every building in the world was being attacked.
Children probably didn’t realize that what they saw was a rebroadcast of the planes hitting the buildings or the buildings falling down, the psychologist said. I’m not a child, but I can’t watch the footage of the planes hitting the buildings or the buildings collapsing. Each time I see the footage, I’m terrified all over again. I’m angry. I’m flabbergasted. I’m sad.
Mostly, I’m terrified. Not that we will be attacked again, even though that does scare me. I’m terrified that someone could have been so sinister as to hijack a plane and crash it into a building.
A plane.
I hated flying before 9/11. Now, I’m terrified to fly.
Yes, I’ve flown since then, but each time, I’ve been terrified.
I hate bouncing around the sky. I hate that someone I don’t know is in control of the plane. Now, I hate the thought that the plane could be hijacked and flown into a building.
Ten years ago, I was in my office, with the television on NBC’s “Today,” watching Bryant Gumbel do a segment with Martha Stewart, when the first plane hit. I remember walking into my boss’ office and telling her the news and suggesting she turn on her TV. She’s a New Yorker and knew the towers well.
I remember that federal workers were given the option of leaving or staying in the office. We both stayed but were both dumbfounded as the morning went on. I’m sure no work was done by anyone anywhere in this country that day. A month later, my boss and others in my Army Reserve unit were on active military duty.
In November that year, I was to attend a work-related conference in Washington, 11 hours away. I drove a rental vehicle, refusing to fly. I recall sitting in my hotel one evening and seeing what appeared to be a dilapidated building in the distance. As I focused, I realized I was seeing the side of the Pentagon that a plane had flown into.
When I left the area a few days later, I wanted to take a picture of the Pentagon as I drove by. I couldn’t bring myself to look that way, let alone stop.
Last year, I did go to the Ground Zero Museum in New York’s Meatpacking District on West 14th Street. I can’t write about the experience, but I didn’t go alone. The stories, images and remnants stir raw emotions.
Go there. Experience it. Take someone you love with you.
When I fly now, I’m careful to pack only things that the Transportation Security Agency says are OK to carry on. I’m conscientious, but the type of person who would use a plane as a weapon or who would put a bomb in his underwear or his shoe doesn’t think that way.
Logic tells me that if someone is devious enough to hijack a plane or put a bomb in hidden places, they may try different tactics next time.
I wonder how carefully passenger luggage is screened. I wonder how carefully airline workers are screened. I wonder how carefully pilots are screened. I wonder if the screeners know what they are supposed to be looking for.
I also wonder how those who survived the collapse of the Twin Towers fared emotionally and psychologically. I wonder about the family members of those who didn’t survive. I wonder about the New York firefighter I interviewed who lost co-workers at ground zero, and who may have lost his own life but for being off that Tuesday. I wonder how those born on Sept. 11 celebrate their birthdays on this day so tied to terror. I wonder how long enemies will go tit for tat before the wars end.
Mostly, I wonder if I will ever feel safe flying again, or if I’ll continue to have the mind of a child and forever see that plane hitting the first building as if all buildings in the world were being struck by hijacked planes.
It’s been 10 years, and I’m still terrified.
- Ground Zero Museum Tours in New York City – September 11th Recovery of NYC from the World Trade Ce Months after the 9/11 attacks, Marlon Suson became the official photographer at Ground Zero. He was allowed unlimited access and given strict guidelines: Not to release any images until the recovery was over, and not to shoot images of human remains.
In the middle of nowhere, but absolutely loving it
Seems odd these days to stay at any hotel anywhere that doesn’t have in every room a flat-screen TV, Wi-Fi, cable service, and at least a bedside clock/radio (or iPod docking station, in some cases).
Yet, I find myself at such a place, by choice.
Well, I figured I might not have Internet connectivity or cellphone service. I did, however, expect a TV.
Here I sit, though, at Pisgah View Ranch listening to crickets and birds chirping (That sound crickets make is called chirping, right?). Katydids are abuzz, almost in a mating call and response.
It’s as if time stood still here in these mountains of North Carolina.
In fact, on the property is a two-room log cabin built in 1790, according to the sign. My cabin is slightly larger, is better constructed, and has a bathroom.
When I pulled up, my GPS said, “Your destination is on the right.” That’s the last time my phone had a signal.
I was greeted by the cook, who immediately wanted to discuss my dietary needs, in particular, what I wanted to eat for dinner. She advised me that the dinner bell would sound at 6 p.m.
As I read through the waivers and charges, a wrangler from the barn called down to say she would be ready in 15 minutes to take me out on the trail. Wow, even before I finished checking in, my ride was ready.
Nothing fancy here, and I know some of my friends would not fare well here. A bed, two chairs, a dresser, a nightstand, a luggage rack and two hangers. And windows that actually open.
This is my kind of place – and at least for 24 hours, I’m the only guest here. Talk about service.
I dated a self-professed hotel snob, so when we traveled, we tended to stay in the finest hotel in the city, and although I do remember being impressed that the bellhops and maitre des knew him by sight and called him by name, I don’t recall a chef or cook or anyone taking our meal order as we checked in.
Being here reminds me – in an odd way – of my stay at New Orleans’ Le Pavillon about two weeks after Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast but before the water from the broken levies had fully receded.
At the time, most hotels were either closed or were open only to law enforcement officers, emergency workers, utility companies employees and the like.
A fellow Army Reservist and I volunteered to travel to New Orleans to help tell the stories of Reserve troops and their mission there to support the 82nd Airborne Corps and others, as needed.
Our first night there, we slept in our respective vehicles, me in a rented SUV, to keep from sleeping in tents. The second night was in tents with other soldiers. The next few nights were at the Four Seasons Hotel in suites where the carpets had been pulled up because the pool had flooded.
Then, while searching for hotel availability online, I found Le Pavillon, which, before Katrina, featured nightly peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches in the lobby as a nighttime snack.
The price per night was exorbitant, but it was within the per diem rate. The website required full payment up front to reserve the room. We booked two rooms immediately.
When we arrived, we were greeted by police officers hired to live in the hotel to guard the valuables. They told us the hotel was not open to guests, but when I explained how I found the site, I was told to call back later to talk with the manager.
For about two weeks, my fellow Army Reservist and I were the only guests at this once five-star hotel walking distance to the French Quarters.
At Le Pavillon, however, no one asked me what I wanted to have for breakfast or any other meal, as the kitchen was not fit for cooking meals for guests. I ate MREs: meals ready to eat. The other soldier and I each had been given cases to take with us.
At Pisgah View Ranch, after my trail ride – on an amazing (and privately owned) Missouri fox trotter named Gypsy that one of the wranglers let me ride because I wanted a gaited horse – I went back to my cabin and freshened up, and then headed to the main house, the one spot on premises with Internet connectivity.
After all, I needed to let someone know exactly where I was, and since I couldn’t call, email was the next best thing.
So, for the next few days, I’ll enjoy this piece of heaven and the sounds of nature, punctuated by the occasional pickup truck (everyone here seems to have one) and barking dog.
I’ll also enjoy the comforts of home … from back in the day, including the mockingbird, my natural alarm clock that woke me at 6 this morning, and the homemade biscuits and oatmeal made just for me.
Pisgah View Ranch
- Pisgah View Ranch :: Candler, NC :: Dude Ranch Resort 16 miles from Asheville, North Carolina
Welcome to Pisgah View Ranch, NC, the best dude ranch east of the Mississippi. Come and experience your next Dude Ranch Family Vacation at the Pisgah View Ranch. For more than half a century, spending time at Pisgah View Ranch has been a tradition fo
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