9/11 Ten Years On
I wrote this ten years ago, in the week following 9/11, and posted it on the anniversary for the first five years. It's the first time I've stuck it up in half a decade, but I'm putting it up today. And, for the first time, linking to it from Twitter, Facebook, etc.
Some people on my friends list will have read it before. In some cases, several times. I don't care. For once, I'm freely admitting to self-indulgence.
11th September 2001, I was at work. In the UK.
I work for a company that's owned by the same guys on the other side of the pond that own the Weather Channel. So, I'm walking to the bank. I've got a float to pick up for one of my people who is off to Cyprus to do a film shoot. It's about five past two in the afternoon, British time. I'm just approaching the bank when my mobile rings. It rings with the Mickey Mouse Club theme tune, so I know it's Laura calling.
I answer it. "Hey, sweetheart."
"Don't say anything," comes the response. "Two planes have just crashed into the World Trade Centre. They think it's terrorist. PHONE IAN **NOW**!"
I think I've misheard. "What?" I ask.
She repeats it. I stand still in utter shock. I tell her I'll call back. And then I stand there.
Silent.
I notice that people are still walking around in London, chatting, smiling. I figure I'm one of the few people in the London streets that know.
Then, with trembling fingers, I start punching out the numbers of the direct office number of my best friend in the world.
I've known Ian since we were two years old. We grew up as much in each other's houses as we did in our own. We were each other's Best Men and each of us was the only person on the planet that knew that we were to propose to our respective girlfriends before they did. We've shared confidences, experiences, overdrafts, our lives.
He's the one person on the planet that I'm not related to by blood that if he phoned me at three in the morning and said "I need you here this afternoon" I'd drop everything and go running, no matter what else I had on.
And he works one block over from the World Trade Centre.
A lifetime's worth of memories flow through my mind as I punch out the numbers. Laura's advice was to phone now, since she knew that in short order the international lines would be solid.
The phone rings once. It rings twice.
He picks it up.
"It's me." I say. That's all I have to say.
"Hi," he says. That's all he says. That tells me more than I want to know. For Ian to answer with one word means there's trouble.
He tells me the situation. (Remember, so far, only the two planes have hit. Nothing else. No Pentagon. The WTC is still standing...)
When the first one hit, he was meeting with a colleague. They're on the 18th Floor of their building, three minutes walk from the WTC. They went up to the roof to see what had happened, what had caused that almighty BANG. As they got to the roof, they felt the heat blast and heard the second collision.
"I turned to him and said calmly and clearly, 'let's get the fuck out of here'," Ian said. So we did. "Look, Lee, I've got to let people know I'm OK. I'll call you later, but we're all fine."
I relaxed a bit. My friend was safe. At this time, of course, I hadn't seen the television pictures....
I went to the bank, collected the cash and went back to the office... as I walked in, I found out about the Pentagon.
A short while later, just as I was telling my boss about Ian, the first WTC collapsed, and my heart sank through my backside.
Ian!
Then the second one collapsed.
I tried to call Ian's mobile. The phone lines were busy...
It got worse... A report of the plane crash in Pittsburgh (it was first reported here as being in Pittsburgh, not outside it) and the senior management turned to look at the CEO, whose mother lives there.
My boss just said quietly, "everybody out of the room, now," as the CEO started dialling.
The rest of the day is now a blur. I remember phone calls to Laura and to various friends of mine, with mutual friends in America. I remember checking in on Warren Ellis's DELPHI Forum where all the New York lot were checking in and letting people know they were ok.
I remember getting the train home in utter silence. You could have heard a pin drop on the train. I've never seen so many people reading the evening newspapers. Even the Diana death didn't have this effect of sheer unadulterated hammer-to-the-guts shock. I can't get my thoughts off of Ian. Yes, I know that the building's collapsed inwards, but Ian's one block over...
I got home and as I walk in, there's a call on the answerphone just concluding. Laura had gone to bed. Philip was already in bed.
It's Ian! I call him straight back but it's an hour before I can get through the busy lines.
He's safe... Forgive me, but in that moment, I was more relieved that he was safe than I was for any other person.
As he was walking down the 18 flights of stairs, he heard this huge whirring and rumbling sound. He didn't know what it was... it was the collapse of the tower.
They got to the bottom of the building and found that they couldn't get out. Rubble blocked the entrance. They managed to get into the next building, a hairdressers, and out of their back exit.
He and his staff made it to a friend of Ian's on 40th Street. The friend, a few years back, was maitre'd of the Windows On The World restaurant.
After a while, Ian set out for home. The subways were stopped, so he walked...
Six hours later, he reached Forest Hills and his apartment.
That's when I spoke to him. After his parents and his in-laws, I was the next call he made.
He sounded shaken, but relatively sane. A damned sight more sane that I think he had any reason to be.
We talked trivialities. We both had CNN on and I remember it being weird that we were watching the same programme, the same images appearing on each of our tv screens, 3,000 miles apart.
Both of us not saying what was in our minds. That if the buildings had collapsed like trees, not inwards, I wouldn't have my best friend around any more.
The last 30 seconds of the phone call was the worst... both of us choking up. "Phone me tomorrow," I said.
"Lee," he said, "I'm thirty seven years old, we've been friends for 35 years, and I'm safe."
"It's because we've been friends for 35 years that you're going to do it, OK?" I asked, a lot harder than I intended it.
There was a brief silence before he said "I hear you."
"Ian," I said.
"Yeah?"
A pause. "I'm used to having you around. Watch your back."
"I love you too," he said.
We've spoken twice a day since Tuesday. The last 30 seconds of each call leaves me almost tearful.
I want to be with him. I want to hug my best friend. I want to raise a glass with him in memory of those who didn't make it, to the families who are now suffering.
To ask when the world stopped making sense? Well, that one I know. Around 8:45 am Eastern Time.
11th September 2001.
_____________________________________________________
Update in 2011: For understandable (I hope) reasons, I value Ian as a friend at the moment more than usual...
Some people on my friends list will have read it before. In some cases, several times. I don't care. For once, I'm freely admitting to self-indulgence.
11th September 2001, I was at work. In the UK.
I work for a company that's owned by the same guys on the other side of the pond that own the Weather Channel. So, I'm walking to the bank. I've got a float to pick up for one of my people who is off to Cyprus to do a film shoot. It's about five past two in the afternoon, British time. I'm just approaching the bank when my mobile rings. It rings with the Mickey Mouse Club theme tune, so I know it's Laura calling.
I answer it. "Hey, sweetheart."
"Don't say anything," comes the response. "Two planes have just crashed into the World Trade Centre. They think it's terrorist. PHONE IAN **NOW**!"
I think I've misheard. "What?" I ask.
She repeats it. I stand still in utter shock. I tell her I'll call back. And then I stand there.
Silent.
I notice that people are still walking around in London, chatting, smiling. I figure I'm one of the few people in the London streets that know.
Then, with trembling fingers, I start punching out the numbers of the direct office number of my best friend in the world.
I've known Ian since we were two years old. We grew up as much in each other's houses as we did in our own. We were each other's Best Men and each of us was the only person on the planet that knew that we were to propose to our respective girlfriends before they did. We've shared confidences, experiences, overdrafts, our lives.
He's the one person on the planet that I'm not related to by blood that if he phoned me at three in the morning and said "I need you here this afternoon" I'd drop everything and go running, no matter what else I had on.
And he works one block over from the World Trade Centre.
A lifetime's worth of memories flow through my mind as I punch out the numbers. Laura's advice was to phone now, since she knew that in short order the international lines would be solid.
The phone rings once. It rings twice.
He picks it up.
"It's me." I say. That's all I have to say.
"Hi," he says. That's all he says. That tells me more than I want to know. For Ian to answer with one word means there's trouble.
He tells me the situation. (Remember, so far, only the two planes have hit. Nothing else. No Pentagon. The WTC is still standing...)
When the first one hit, he was meeting with a colleague. They're on the 18th Floor of their building, three minutes walk from the WTC. They went up to the roof to see what had happened, what had caused that almighty BANG. As they got to the roof, they felt the heat blast and heard the second collision.
"I turned to him and said calmly and clearly, 'let's get the fuck out of here'," Ian said. So we did. "Look, Lee, I've got to let people know I'm OK. I'll call you later, but we're all fine."
I relaxed a bit. My friend was safe. At this time, of course, I hadn't seen the television pictures....
I went to the bank, collected the cash and went back to the office... as I walked in, I found out about the Pentagon.
A short while later, just as I was telling my boss about Ian, the first WTC collapsed, and my heart sank through my backside.
Ian!
Then the second one collapsed.
I tried to call Ian's mobile. The phone lines were busy...
It got worse... A report of the plane crash in Pittsburgh (it was first reported here as being in Pittsburgh, not outside it) and the senior management turned to look at the CEO, whose mother lives there.
My boss just said quietly, "everybody out of the room, now," as the CEO started dialling.
The rest of the day is now a blur. I remember phone calls to Laura and to various friends of mine, with mutual friends in America. I remember checking in on Warren Ellis's DELPHI Forum where all the New York lot were checking in and letting people know they were ok.
I remember getting the train home in utter silence. You could have heard a pin drop on the train. I've never seen so many people reading the evening newspapers. Even the Diana death didn't have this effect of sheer unadulterated hammer-to-the-guts shock. I can't get my thoughts off of Ian. Yes, I know that the building's collapsed inwards, but Ian's one block over...
I got home and as I walk in, there's a call on the answerphone just concluding. Laura had gone to bed. Philip was already in bed.
It's Ian! I call him straight back but it's an hour before I can get through the busy lines.
He's safe... Forgive me, but in that moment, I was more relieved that he was safe than I was for any other person.
As he was walking down the 18 flights of stairs, he heard this huge whirring and rumbling sound. He didn't know what it was... it was the collapse of the tower.
They got to the bottom of the building and found that they couldn't get out. Rubble blocked the entrance. They managed to get into the next building, a hairdressers, and out of their back exit.
He and his staff made it to a friend of Ian's on 40th Street. The friend, a few years back, was maitre'd of the Windows On The World restaurant.
After a while, Ian set out for home. The subways were stopped, so he walked...
Six hours later, he reached Forest Hills and his apartment.
That's when I spoke to him. After his parents and his in-laws, I was the next call he made.
He sounded shaken, but relatively sane. A damned sight more sane that I think he had any reason to be.
We talked trivialities. We both had CNN on and I remember it being weird that we were watching the same programme, the same images appearing on each of our tv screens, 3,000 miles apart.
Both of us not saying what was in our minds. That if the buildings had collapsed like trees, not inwards, I wouldn't have my best friend around any more.
The last 30 seconds of the phone call was the worst... both of us choking up. "Phone me tomorrow," I said.
"Lee," he said, "I'm thirty seven years old, we've been friends for 35 years, and I'm safe."
"It's because we've been friends for 35 years that you're going to do it, OK?" I asked, a lot harder than I intended it.
There was a brief silence before he said "I hear you."
"Ian," I said.
"Yeah?"
A pause. "I'm used to having you around. Watch your back."
"I love you too," he said.
We've spoken twice a day since Tuesday. The last 30 seconds of each call leaves me almost tearful.
I want to be with him. I want to hug my best friend. I want to raise a glass with him in memory of those who didn't make it, to the families who are now suffering.
To ask when the world stopped making sense? Well, that one I know. Around 8:45 am Eastern Time.
11th September 2001.
_____________________________________________________
Update in 2011: For understandable (I hope) reasons, I value Ian as a friend at the moment more than usual...