A few 9/11 snapshots

Gina and I were in the SF Bay Area working at the facility there that reported to me. Her knock on my hotel room door woke me. When I let her in, she turned on the TV and told me what had happened. We watched the live broadcast of the plane hitting the South Tower.

Some people at our facility cried. We were all zombies.

Gina and I weren't sure we'd get home on Friday, as we'd planned.

The local papers were full of stories of innocent Muslims in San Francisco being harassed by angry people.

We were on the first plane to leave San Jose airport on the day it reopened--the Friday after the attack. We had to arrive three hours early for a 6:20 a.m. flight. Security was a disorganized zoo. The lines wrapped back and forth and ultimately down the escalator, and they took two hours to get through. No one complained. No one fought. You could feel the relief when we took off.

The following Monday, six days after the attack, I flew into New York City. From my seat on the commuter jet I had a clear view of the smoking ruins and the helicopters circling it. The plane was full. You could feel the anger in it. I stared at the people around me. We were all primally, viciously angry. We had been violated--all of us--even though none of us were there.

I cannot imagine the torment of the rescue workers, the survivors still coping with what happened to them, or the families of the victims. My heart goes out to them.