Like every American over the age of 10 (and for some, probably younger), I remember Sept. 11, 2001 extremely vividly. My recollections are no more special than any other Milwaukeean's -- but with this blog as my soapbox, it seems appropriate to reflect back on that dark day exactly five years ago.
My clock radio awoke me to a live news conference from President Bush. Not so much what he was saying, but the tone in his voice -- and the fact he was addressing the country on a weekday morning -- prevented me from hitting the snooze button. Instead, I turned on the TV and saw that the first tower had been hit. It looked bad, but not too bad. The commentators were vacillating between and accident or intent, so I hopped in the shower and grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading to the office.
In the car, I heard the NPR "Morning Edition" anchor report that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon. I remember how shaky her voice sounded. In an instant, I knew this wasn't an accident.
I ate breakfast, anyway. In retrospect, I realize that some of my reactions on Sept. 11 were glib, dismissive and perhaps inappropriate. But it's hard to be prepared for your feelings when your country is under attack.
By the time I got over to our old office on North and Cambridge, everyone was huddled around the TV in the conference room. Both of the towers will still standing. Then, as the cable news anchors reported anything they heard -- generally, without any confirmation -- someone had noticed one tower wasn't there anymore. A few minutes later, the anchor noticed it, too. I recall our landlord George saying, "The other one will collapse, too."
But in a way, I had seen enough. A strange resignation had come over me as I went back to try to do some work, which was hard, since most of the Internet was slow or offline. A few news sites had text-only versions of their Web sites running, also publishing unsubstantiated rumors. I remember one from CNN.com that reported that a bomb had exploded in front of the State Department. Locally, TV was reporting that the then Firstar Bank building had been evacuated because of a suspicious-looking truck parked in front.
As the gravity of the situation unfolded, we decided, if for no other reason that it seemed like the right thing to do, to let our employees go home. I stayed at the office for a bit, trying to get a hold of friends in New York and Washington. Cell phones weren't working, but Instant Messenger was. My college friends in D.C. told me how Hummers and tanks were out in the streets, warplanes breaking the sound barrier, zooming around the skies. I wished I was there with them, not here in peaceful Milwaukee.
That afternoon and evening, I found myself glued to the TV, sad, depressed and resigned to a new reality that I had actually come to understand studying international affairs at George Washington University. It was easy to say then, but I was mostly surprised that it took this long.
As the sun fell, my friends Corey and Laura suggested we get a drink at the Y-Not II on Lyon. And why not? Driving through the East Side, the city's landmarks looked different to me. More vivid. More fragile? I can't explain it really. I also saw the gas station on the corner of Humboldt and North, and they had jacked their prices in anticipation of the perceived run on the pumps. (After that, I haven't given that station a penny of my business.)
So Corey, Laura and I raised a toast for the victims, and in retrospect, it seems pretty foolish. The subsequent months would be the most unusual I've ever seen in my life, as Americans grappled with terror, war and a general malaise that manifested itself upon every sector of the economy -- especially ours at OnMilwaukee.com.
But that night, there was no talk of retribution or smoking anything or anyone out of its hole. In fact, there just wasn't much talk at all.
My clock radio awoke me to a live news conference from President Bush. Not so much what he was saying, but the tone in his voice -- and the fact he was addressing the country on a weekday morning -- prevented me from hitting the snooze button. Instead, I turned on the TV and saw that the first tower had been hit. It looked bad, but not too bad. The commentators were vacillating between and accident or intent, so I hopped in the shower and grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading to the office.
In the car, I heard the NPR "Morning Edition" anchor report that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon. I remember how shaky her voice sounded. In an instant, I knew this wasn't an accident.
I ate breakfast, anyway. In retrospect, I realize that some of my reactions on Sept. 11 were glib, dismissive and perhaps inappropriate. But it's hard to be prepared for your feelings when your country is under attack.
By the time I got over to our old office on North and Cambridge, everyone was huddled around the TV in the conference room. Both of the towers will still standing. Then, as the cable news anchors reported anything they heard -- generally, without any confirmation -- someone had noticed one tower wasn't there anymore. A few minutes later, the anchor noticed it, too. I recall our landlord George saying, "The other one will collapse, too."
But in a way, I had seen enough. A strange resignation had come over me as I went back to try to do some work, which was hard, since most of the Internet was slow or offline. A few news sites had text-only versions of their Web sites running, also publishing unsubstantiated rumors. I remember one from CNN.com that reported that a bomb had exploded in front of the State Department. Locally, TV was reporting that the then Firstar Bank building had been evacuated because of a suspicious-looking truck parked in front.
As the gravity of the situation unfolded, we decided, if for no other reason that it seemed like the right thing to do, to let our employees go home. I stayed at the office for a bit, trying to get a hold of friends in New York and Washington. Cell phones weren't working, but Instant Messenger was. My college friends in D.C. told me how Hummers and tanks were out in the streets, warplanes breaking the sound barrier, zooming around the skies. I wished I was there with them, not here in peaceful Milwaukee.
That afternoon and evening, I found myself glued to the TV, sad, depressed and resigned to a new reality that I had actually come to understand studying international affairs at George Washington University. It was easy to say then, but I was mostly surprised that it took this long.
As the sun fell, my friends Corey and Laura suggested we get a drink at the Y-Not II on Lyon. And why not? Driving through the East Side, the city's landmarks looked different to me. More vivid. More fragile? I can't explain it really. I also saw the gas station on the corner of Humboldt and North, and they had jacked their prices in anticipation of the perceived run on the pumps. (After that, I haven't given that station a penny of my business.)
So Corey, Laura and I raised a toast for the victims, and in retrospect, it seems pretty foolish. The subsequent months would be the most unusual I've ever seen in my life, as Americans grappled with terror, war and a general malaise that manifested itself upon every sector of the economy -- especially ours at OnMilwaukee.com.
But that night, there was no talk of retribution or smoking anything or anyone out of its hole. In fact, there just wasn't much talk at all.
Andy is the president, publisher and founder of OnMilwaukee. He returned to Milwaukee in 1996 after living on the East Coast for nine years, where he wrote for The Dallas Morning News Washington Bureau and worked in the White House Office of Communications. He was also Associate Editor of The GW Hatchet, his college newspaper at The George Washington University.
Before launching OnMilwaukee.com in 1998 at age 23, he worked in public relations for two Milwaukee firms, most of the time daydreaming about starting his own publication.
Hobbies include running when he finds the time, fixing the rust on his '75 MGB, mowing the lawn at his cottage in the Northwoods, and making an annual pilgrimage to Phoenix for Brewers Spring Training.
