9/11/2001. 8:45am I had just driven from my hamlet down for a visit to my company’s MA based office – laptop upgrade, software upgrade by IT, chat with a couple of sales folks to see what help I could be technically for pitches to be made, face time with other tech folks to swap stories and see what was flashing.
Getting out of the Suburban, the radio crackled news that I could not believe. Hurrying into the office, I phoned home – I’m OK, what’s on the TV? Confirmation. Into the office, plugged in the net and immediately tried to stream a local radio station (er, that was a new thing back then – most people thought I was nuts). Grabbed the TV normally used for training, literally reshaped some coat hangers, and got a local Boston station.
A small crowd gathered, one or two at first. Then more. A normally bustling office slowly became silent as the whispers went around and people gathered to see the images, images that we never thought we would see and certainly not on our national soil. Horror filled the room as the first news of jumpers reached us.
The second plane hit…and there was silence. And then a groaning, followed quiet by cursing. People watched, transfigured at history in the making and the horror of the moment. I heard sobbing.
At that, one by one desks emptied and what seemed to be the entire facility was now grouped around that jury-rigged tv with the scratchy sound and the sometimes snowy picture. But that was enough – we all knew what had happened and what it really meant even as none of knew exactly what it meant.
One by one, the crowd grew smaller; things were gathered up, desktop PCs shut down, monitors shut off, and desks tidied up. Managers looked the other way, and then did the same. I packed up, put the TV away, walked down the stairs, called home to say I was fine and heading to the highway.
Coming through the door, …
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