On September 11, 2001 around 8 AM, I was sitting in a coffee shop in lower Manhattan, waiting for a co-worker. We were supposed to head to Brooklyn to meet with some folks at Brooklyn College. I don’t remember what I ordered. I do remember that the building rocked and there was a loud explosion. I had no idea what happened, but instinctively I knew it wasn’t good. I grew up in New York, and we New Yorkers are notoriously not fazed by much. I stepped out of the coffee shop and saw the smoke, and I knew this was a problem but had no idea the magnitude of what had happened.
I don’t remember much about that day very clearly. I remember hearing the second explosion. I remember seeing what looked like white paper swirling ever so slowly in the air as if taking a slow motion trip to the ground. I remember being urged to leave the area by a police officer, well several. I remember being told that the subways had been shut down, and no trains were running to New Jersey where I lived. I remember wondering how I was going to get home to my young children – one was at pre-school and the other home with the nanny. I remember calling a friend to ask her to get my son from school. I remember trying to repeatedly reach my then husband with no luck. But that’s it, nothing else is clear.
What I do remember very clearly about that day was the young black man who fell in step next to me as we were herded out of the area. I don’t remember what I said to him, but I remember what he said to me. He promised me that he would get me home to my children no matter what. It just so happened that he lived in New Jersey too, and he did just that. That man, who did not know me from a can of paint, made sure that he stayed right next to me as we figured out how to get home. Keep in mind there was only chaos, no announcements, no clear directions. We had to figure everything out as we went along.
Ultimately, we had to walk from downtown to mid-town, get on a ferry, then get on a bus, but we didn’t know any of this when he made his promise. In fact, each step of the journey unfolded in a very clunky way as we took it. But he stayed right by my side, chatting and joking and keeping me calm when I thought the worst, never being inappropriate or asking anything in return.
I did get home safely, but I never saw that young man again. In fact, I don’t even remember his name. On that day, in the midst of my fear and distress, he reached out and made a connection with me, a total stranger. And I was probably a complete mess. To this day, I remain grateful for that connection.
September 11, 2001 was one of the most unexpected days of my life, and that man’s presence made a really hard day a lot more manageable. I have had a few opportunities to be blessed by unexpected connections. After that day, I learned to get, and remember the names of the people who blessed me, and to send a thank you. I will always regret not getting a chance to thank that young man in the days following 9/11. He made such a huge difference in my life, and it feels odd that I have no connection to him now. I wish he knew how grateful I was on that day, and still am now.
I will never forget how we as a nation cared about one another on that day.
We really showed up for each other.
Yes, that was a time when everybody came together helping each other in any way they could.
It was simultaneously terrifying and remarkable.
Wow!