Journey Through the Great Sadness

I’m big on blogging. I think it’s fabulous for so many reasons. In fact, I’m going to speak at a blogging conference, Blog Indiana 2008, next month! But, when it comes to my own blog, I find it hard to get to. It isn’t that I don’t have anything to write about. I certainly do. However, when it comes to this subject matter, there are times I would just rather not discuss it. I have written about this experience before and made it through just fine. Yet sharing the details of that day, as I have wanted to do the last couple of weeks, has given me a sense of dread. But, that’s part of the journey through the Great Sadness, I suppose.

There are pieces of the story that don’t belong in this particular post. If I started, I wouldn’t finish. So, I’ll start by reminding you that I had worked on a month-long project for the production arm of CBN News. A few weeks after that project, I was asked by the bureau chief to do a live audition for their Capitol Hill Correspondent position. I was delighted!

For many weeks prior to 9/11, I had also been teaching part time at Connecticut Schools of Broadcasting, which was located in the basement of a building in Crystal City, Virginia. If you walked to the Pentagon from this building, it would be no further than 1/2 to 3/4 of a mile.

The morning of 9/11 started out differently than most days. A news junkie, I usually had the Today Show on. But I didn’t even look in the direction of the TV that morning. I was too busy rehearsing the script I had written for my audition. I distinctly remember the watermelon colored dress, the off-white hose and shoes, and the extra attention I paid to my hair and makeup. I even remember what underwear I had on!

Another oddity for that day is that I drove my car. I rarely did that, except to the grocery store every so often. Much like the TV, I would normally have had the radio on in the car. But I was still rehearsing. I wanted to nail that audition!

My schedule for the morning consisted of me stopping off at the school to give final exams to some of my students. From there, I would head into DC and to the CBN bureau for the audition. So, I parked my car under the building and entered the basement floor. I didn’t really notice much going on about me. By this point, I was already focused on the exams.

The students seemed to be milling about, almost nervously. One said, “You better get in RJ’s office.” (RJ was the Executive Director of the school.)

RJ was at his desk with a phone attached to each of his ears.

“Did you hear what happened?”

I shook my head no and tried to speak in between his conversations with the people on either phone; conversations that seemed panicked.

“A plane crashed into the World Trade Center building,” he replied.

Silent from disbelief, I finally responded, “Ok. That’s not a very funny joke, but I’ll wait for the punchline.”

“It’s not a joke,” he screamed. “I’m on the phone with my brother who was in the other WTC building. I’m trying to get him out of the building but they’re saying everyone needs to go back to their desks. I’m also on the phone with his wife. He couldn’t get through to her.”

Again, he started shouting things like, “Get out of the building”. “I don’t care what they told you.” “You’re going to be fine. Calm down.”

Strangely enough, this Radio and TV broadcasting school didn’t have cable so I ran out into the lobby to the McDonald’s that had several TV’s and satellite access. Dozens of people stood around watching in disbelief. Many whispered that it must have been an accident; a small plane that went off course. But the hole looked too big to be a small plane.

And then we all watched the second plane strike. Gasps filled the silence. People covered their gaping mouths with their hands and cried, “Oh, no.”

Someone said, “That wasn’t an accident. We’re under attack.”

Even as I write this… I can see each scene so clearly… as if it were happening again. The pounding in my chest right now reminds me of what I felt that morning.

RJ’s brother. Oh no. I ran back into his office.

“He’s out. He’s out,” RJ kept saying. “It’s ok. He got out. He’s safe.”

By this point, it became apparent that exams would have to wait. Too many students wanted to watch these events unfold, and truthfully, so did I. We walked between the McDonald’s TV’s and our class radio for the latest updates. One visit to the TV’s presented the most awful image – in my opinion – of the entire event.

A man and woman were shown (live) jumping from the building to their deaths. My first reaction was to wonder how bad it must have been where they were that they felt jumping was a much better option. I can’t even comprehend it. Then I noticed the look of peace on their faces. His tie floated skyward while he looked down to the ground that would soon greet him. Her skirt ballooned, and secretly I hoped it would save her from a violent death. But I knew better. To this day, I still can’t get that image out of my mind.

Back in the office listening to the radio, reports were rampant about bombings here and there, mostly in New York. Then reports of bombings in the DC area began flooding the airwaves. So many students had so many questions; I decided to try to make some sort of lesson out of this situation. We gathered in the class room to talk about the reality of what had just happened.

“We talked these last weeks about the types of scenes you would encounter as a journalist,” I started. “Obviously, we’ve never seen anything like this but if you ever faced anything like this, as a reporter, you’d have to do your job. Your life could very well be in danger. You’d witness some horrific things like we’ve seen live on TV today. Can you handle that?”

Many said they couldn’t and journalism was no longer an option for them. I didn’t blame them. It wasn’t an option for me anymore either; at least not that type of journalism.

Some of us returned to the radio while others returned to the televisions in the lobby. Soon, we looked at one another before someone broke the silence and said, “What was that sound?”

“I don’t know,” someone else replied.

“I’m going out to look,” yelled a student as he ran out the door.

“Don’t go out there,” I screamed at him only to finish the thought in my head. “You don’t know what’s out there.”

Shortly thereafter the radio confirmed that the Pentagon had been struck, just the same as the WTC buildings. In between the WTC buildings crumbling and the hijacked plane that crashed in Pennsylvania, many students decided to head back to their homes. There was nothing more to see or do here.

There is so much more from that day but, this post is long enough… and trying enough. I’ll end here for now.