September 11 2001

On September 8, 2001, I was in Oklahoma City to cover the annual convention of the Mid-South Booksellers Association for Publishers Weekly. My wife came with me out of curiosity and a desire to see the recently opened memorial to the 168 people killed when Timothy McVeigh planted a truck bomb in front of the Murrah Building on April 19, 1995, at the time, the bloodiest terrorist attack in US history. The memorial - which consists of giant bronze gates, a reflecting pool, and a field of empty chairs - was enormously moving; seen at night, the chairs are lit from below and look as if they are floating, making it look like a concert hall for an audience that will never arrive. Later, as I was checking my carry-on through the metal detector at the airport in Oklahoma City when I commented to my wife that security seemed especially strict, especially for such a small city; then, when I was forced to eat BBQ from the airport concession using plastic utensils, I complained. The lady behind the counter had a terse, but not unsympathetic reply: "Terrorism, sweetheart." Two days later, as I watched the Twin Towers fall from the window at my office in New York, I began to understand what she meant. September 11, 2001 Many of us who worked at Publishers Weekly were witnesses that day. Our offices were on 17th Street and 8th Avenue about a mile or two uptown, and we had south-facing windows, giving us a full view as the first tower fell and then, a short time later, the second. I had been one of the first in the office that morning, there a bit early for a 9 am meeting, but moments after I sat at my desk in my cubicle, my phone rang. It was my wife telling me to go look out the window since the television was reporting that a "small plane had hit the World Trade Center." I asked where she was calling from - my wife worked on Rector Street, two blocks from the World Trade Center - but she was still at home, luckily, late for work. Someone turned on the television in the conference room and people gasped as reports came in about the crashes in Washington and in Pennsylvania. People feared another plane was hijacked; some worried about one hitting the Empire State Building or the Rainbow Room, where Warner Books had planned a launch party for Jack Welch's Straight from the Gut. Word reached us that nearby St. Vincent's Hospital wanted volunteers to go and give blood, as they were expecting a wave of survivors. One of the women editors stood transfixed at the window, crying; a male editor, a native New Yorker who'd used the towers his whole life to orient himself on the island - kept repeating repeated, "It's gone, I can't believe it's ... just gone. "Someone came back from St. Vincent's and said that no one was coming from the site of the fallen towers. There weren't waves of survivors or wounded. Eventually, people started making arrangements to just try and get home.
On September 8, 2001, I was in Oklahoma City to cover the annual conference of the Association of Booksellers in the mid-south to Publishers Weekly. My wife came with me out of curiosity and a desire to see the memorial, which opened recently to the 168 people killed when Timothy McVeigh planted a bomb in a truck in front of Mora, on April 19, 1995, at the time, in the deadliest terrorist attack in U.S. history. The memorial - which consists of gates bronze giant, reflecting pool, and a field of chairs empty - was moving dramatically; see at night, lit from under the chairs and look as if they were floating, making it look like a concert hall to the public that will not reach .
Later, as was checking my carry-on through the metal detector at the airport in Oklahoma City when he was suspended for my wife that the security seemed tough, and particularly to a small town like this, then, when I had to eat from the grill franchise airport using plastic utensils, and complained to me. Began two days later, as I watched the fall of the twin towers of the World Trade Center from the window in my office in New York, to understand what she meant: lady behind the counter was in response to a brief, but not sympathetic to "terrorism, sweetheart."
September 11, 2001
Many of us who have worked in Publishers Weekly and the witnesses that day. And had offices at 17 Street and 8th Street about a mile or two, Uptown, and we had a south-facing windows, and this gives us a complete picture as the first tower fell, and shortly thereafter, and the second.
I was one of the first in the office that morning, and there a little early for the 9:00 meeting, but my phone rang moments after I sat at my desk in my room. My wife was telling me to go look out the window since the television was the report that I asked where was the call from "a small plane had hit the World Trade Center." - My wife works in University Street, two blocks from the World Trade Center - but it was still in the house, and, fortunately, late for work.
Someone turned on the TV screen in the conference hall and people with breathless reports about the crash in Washington and Pennsylvania. People feared hijacked another plane, and some concern about one hit the Empire State Building or the rainbow room, where books, Warner had planned to launch by Jack Welch, Straight from the gut.
Word reached us that St. Vincent's Hospital in nearby volunteers wanted to go and donate blood, as they had expected a wave of survivors. One of the editors of women stood at the window crying and distraught; Editor male, a native New Yorker, which you use the towers to direct his whole life on the island itself - and continued to frequent repetition, "he's gone, I can not believe ... it's just gone."
Someone came from behind and St. Vincent and said no one was coming from the site of the fallen towers. There were not waves of the survivors and the wounded. Eventually, people started trying to put arrangements in a fair and get home.