It was sunny. When is it not sunny on a September day in
Tempe, Arizona? Mostly in the late afternoon when the “monsoon” moisture builds
up and unleashes a thunderstorm, but mornings usually are hot and sunny, with
fluffy clouds, portents of the afternoon dust-ups, in the air.
I had just got up and was making
breakfast when the phone rang. We’re three hours behind the East Coast at this
time of year.
I had not turned on a TV or anything. So
I answered the phone, not suspecting anything. My mother, who survived as a kid
under bombing raids during World War II, was hysterical on the phone. "How could people do that?" she repeated in a trembling shout maybe three or four times. I
couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. I thought somebody had hurt one of
my siblings. I couldn’t imagine what else would make her sound so outright
panicked. She was not one to cry or explode in anger all that much. It took
real provocation and I couldn’t imagine what it was in this case.
I told her that it was still early out
here and that I’m just getting up, so maybe she could calm down and fill me in
on what’s got her upset.
That’s when she told me step by step
about the planes and that the towers had collapsed. It was just unreal to us,
even when we saw those damn TV images repeated again and again over the next
few days. What was real was that I had an appointment at a doctor’s office that
day. What was totally eerie was driving up the road to his office – our house
was south of Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, so driving north we would consistently
see a stream of planes cross east to west as they took off or west to east in
their final approach – and there was not an airplane in the sky. The sight of
empty skies was real and it brought home the reality of the attack more than
the televised images of the destruction.
For all the shock and all the grief, anger and terror that I
felt, my day proceeded as normal, although I felt like a ghost drifting through
these activities. My kids, the youngest was 14, watched the news. They lay
about the living room knowing they weren’t going to play video games on the TV
today and they watched. Like me, they went about the day doing the normal
things as far as any casual observer could see.
After the doctor’s appointment, I went to Borders to buy Bob
Dylan’s “Love and Theft,” which was released that day. I went home to listen to
it, amid the background noise of the TV reports.
I was a freelance writer then and I was part of an online
group of freelancers and we shared our thoughts and observations.
I know that I wrote -- in response to someone who said that
the day’s attacks changed everything -- something like, “Nothing has changed
between yesterday and today. There was a threat of a terror attack on the
United States yesterday and for years before that, and there is still a threat
of a terror attack on the United States tomorrow and for years to come.” What
had changed was that Americans no longer had the privilege of ignoring that
threat, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think the nation – at least
the generations who were alive to witness those events – has been suffering a
mass case of post-traumatic stress syndrome. This nationwide PTSD has
exacerbated trends that were already on the upswing in national politics, ideas
that politics is a zero-sum game that needs resolution only by total defeat of
the opposing side. When we faced our next crises, whether the Great Recession
of 2008 or the COVID-19 pandemic, we were unable to coalesce the way we were in
the immediate aftermath of the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks. We had a common enemy,
and it produced a moment of solidarity as a nation, but that wouldn’t last
long.
I was emailing an awful lot in those days and one email
communication in particular stood out to me. It was from my friend, Peter, whom
I’ve known since we were in high school back in the Stone Age.
I had sent him an email on Thursday,
9/13, wondering how he was doing, given this earthquake of an event. He worked
at BMG in those days and still lives in New York City. This is what he wrote
back:
“Sal,
“Thanks for sending this e-mail. I've been thinking of
you, was going to call, etc.; what can I say.
“Yes, you're right, BMG is in Mid-Town. On Tuesday I could
see the plumes of smoke from our conference room on the 32nd floor, I went up
to the 38th floor, as I looked out of the window I saw the first tower
collapse, I turned away with tears in my eyes. I left my building around 12:30,
not sure if I should stay in the Times Square area; went to a local bar, a
psychotherapist was sitting to my left and a guy who used to work for the CIA
was to my right … So drinking Margaritas and watching TV with these two was
actually fascinating. The female therapist kept handing me cigarettes, I kept
smoking them.
"Last night, I went over to visit a friend who worked
2-1/2 blocks south of the WTC. He spoke of hearing the second aircraft and
noticing in his peripheral vision, then looking out his window and seeing the
plane bank and crash into the tower. How all hell broke loose, hysteria, he
took two disabled people down the elevator, they got to the lobby, and chaos
pursued, people were trying to get out of the street into the building as
people were trying to get out of the building into the street. He got out, ran
for his life, all he could think of was his son in school on 23rd
street and ran straight for the school.
“I think he is in a state of shock, his wife is concerned
about him, I said let him tell that story as many times as he wants to,
physically he's fine.
“What horror, it's so hard to believe. I don't know
anyone who worked down there other than my friend mentioned above. It still
remains [to be seen] what the casualty toll will be.
Another friend lives (he's in early retirement and was
home) in Jersey City on the 20th floor with a terrace that looks out toward the
Twin Towers; he saw the whole thing from his apartment, I think he is in a
state of shock, perhaps all of New York City is, some more than others. I walked
to work the last two days, noticed the mood, there is less vehicular traffic,
this is a grim time here in the Big Apple, a big chunk has been taken.
“Again, Sal I will keep in touch.
“Hope all is well with you and your family.
“Peter”
It was real, but those of us far away went about our days
like normal, but with that “big chunk” that Peter mentioned taken out of us as
well. But you too know that, don’t you?
Copyright © 2021, Salvatore Caputo
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