Since everyone else is remembering September 11, I guess it’s my turn.
I was at a secluded resort near the shores of Lake Michigan attending a gathering with 300 of my closest kinky friends. That morning, I rose early as usual and wandered down to the cook tent. After slurping a cup of coffee, I overheard one of the busboys saying in Spanish that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.
I headed up to the Hotel bar and saw the TV on inside. There before me was the smoking north tower. As more and more people drifted into the bar to watch, we were as confused as the media, until we say the second plane hit the south tower. Immediately everyone said the same word, "terrorists". It didn’t take the announcer to let us know that his was the work of a planned attack.
Now the bar was getting crowded and a friend from New York next to me broke down in tears. "They’re destroying my city", he moaned choking back a sob. I put an arm around him as we continued to watch.
They cut to a correspondent at the Pentagon to get the official response, during her report there was a loud boom and she looked visibly shaken. Conjecture the stuff of the 24-hour news cycle was that there had been an explosion there, she would report back with more as soon as she had details. Before she could finish they cut to another reporter in Washington who said a 3rd plane had crashed into the pentagon.
Then the scene cut back to the towers, as we saw close ups of people jumping in twos and threes to their death rather than be burned alive. The most surreal image was the shower of paper that was streaming from the towers. White sheets fluttered like grim confetti at a parade, but this parade was a funeral march. As we listened to the newspeople babble, trying to make sense of it all, the rumors the unsubstantiated reports, we saw the south tower start to move. Buildings aren’t supposed to do that. Voices everywhere in the bar screamed as it rumbled downward. The announcers fell silent for a moment, bewildered by the sight.
As the clouds of dust and paper engulfed lower Manhattan, my heart was racing wildly. Where would they strike next? Friends from Chicago were on cell phones to people in the Sears tower, telling them to get out. I was on the phone to my lover in Dallas, making sure he was OK. Who knew what was happening?
A few friends and myself decided we needed to go home immediately, from the reports on the news, this could be only the beginning. Rumors of more planes and bombs filled the airwaves, and so we hit the ATM at the resort for a few hundred dollars in cash and headed off with all our luggage in a tiny rented compact car.
Four good-sized men and enough luggage to fill a station wagon were crammed into a Buick Sable and took off for Dallas. We listened to the radio constantly to hear some word from Washington and the President as to what was happening. What we heard was confusion. Bush was in Florida and now was on a plane bound for who knows where; Cheney was at an undisclosed location. It seemed as though the government had vacated Washington while the dust settled.
On the way back we passed gas stations changing their prices to $5 and $6 per gallon. Ah, capitalism at it’s worst! At one station we paid $3.50 a gallon to fill up and the owner was outside changing the sign to $8.00. Everyone at the station confronted him and told him to put the sign down and go back inside. At least there was some decency left!
We stayed the night in the lovely town of Bucksnort, TN (No joke). After watching replays of the days activities on TV we fell into a troubled sleep. The next morning we started off and made it to Dallas by afternoon. Rumors of "marshal law" abounded so we had no idea if we’d be able to get home or not.
Gratefully we pulled into DFW Airport and returned the rental car. We had all parked there when we flew out, so it made sense to return the car there. It was spooky. No planes flying and silence in a normally deafening soundscape. I heard music playing at the curb from the overhead sound system. I have never before or since been able to hear that at the airport. Funny what you remember.
That night I spent with my lover at home recapping the stories and watching TV to see what was really happening. I now know that I panicked needlessly and could have stayed a few more days without problem, but at times of crisis it’s comforting to be with the people you love and to know they are safe.
When I remember that day now, I find myself becoming very angry. Angry with a government whom did nothing while the planes turned and headed for NY and DC. Angry with a President who felt the need to read a story to preschoolers instead of speaking to a frightened and confused nation. Angry at the politicization of the tragedy and the failure to honor the real heroes who gave their lives to save many people in both the Pentagon and WTC. Angry that the President used what was a singularly uniting moment to start a war with Iraq instead of bring the world together to deal with the problem of terrorism and it’s root causes.
I still dream of the people falling from the towers and hear the collective gasp of all my friends watching with me on TV when the Towers crashed. The good that came from that day for me, was a commitment to work toward changing our world. Toward finding paths to peace and not to war, and toward bringing a system of checks and balances back to America through a real democracy.
My late mother once paid Ann Richards her highest compliment by calling her an SOB. To my mom, that meant "Salty Old Broad", and it was a title she gave out sparingly. Ann Richards was indeed salty, and God bless her for that. She opened Texas politics to everyone and may have been one of the best Governors Texas ever had. Sadly she is dead at age 73.
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