With the ten year anniversary of 9/11 fast approaching, I find myself thinking back to the day the towers fell with astonishing frequency. At times, it’s hard to believe just how much my life has changed over the course of the last decade (writing for The Evening Sun certainly wasn’t on my mind at the time). Add to that the number of people I’ve interviewed over the past week for our hometown daily’s coverage of the event (Julian and I tackled the “man on the street” interviews for Friday’s edition), and I guess it should come as no surprise that my thoughts have been turning back to September 11 lately.
It’s unreal, sometimes, just how deep an event like 9/11 can ingrain itself upon one’s mind. As for me, I must admit, it’s a strange feeling. Some days 9/11 seems as if it was a lifetime ago ... others it’s as if it happened just last week.
For other people, the range of emotions runs the gamut. Some (and this seems wrong, somehow) simply don’t want to talk about it. It’s as if they’d rather forget it ever happened. Personally, I can’t do that. Maybe it’s the musician in me (or the reporter, even) that won’t allow any life-changing event – no matter how tragic – to slip away forgotten. And then, of course, there are those who seem entirely too fixated on that terrible day. Typically, they’re the ones who consider all Muslims to be inherently evil (which is absolutely ridiculous, if you take the time to think about it rationally).
Then again, in the days following 9/11, I suppose I was one of them, as hard as that is to admit.
Like most (if not all) people, my memories of Tuesday, September 11, 2001 remain vivid today. I was 24 years old at the time, living in a small, one-bedroom apartment on Adelaide Street, right here in Norwich. At the time, I was still installing carpet with my father, playing guitar with friends Nick, Troy and Adam as Fools at Play and writing many of the songs that would eventually make-up my first (and only) solo album, 1420...proper street location (a not-so-subtle reference to J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings,” for those who know what to look for).
I remember sitting in the living room of that apartment, drinking coffee, reading a book (probably Tolkien) and waiting for a typical day of carpet installation ... power stretchers, staple guns, seam irons, stair tools and tackstrips included.
Hearing my phone ring shortly before 9 a.m. was certainly no warning, in and of itself. Knowing full well it would be either my father (on his way to pick me up for work) or Adam (we typically spoke mornings to discuss all things band related), I was completely unprepared for what followed.
Adam, a strange note of hysteria in his voice I’d never heard before, immediately related the news that – just moments before – a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Having no cable at the time, I immediately flicked on the radio, just in time to hear, in a strange sort of terrible harmony, Adam and whatever newscaster was on the air at the time begin screaming “NO” and for a pilot unseen to turn the plane.
