Why today is special

Two years ago, sustained winds ripped the aluminum top of the silo from its mounts. The concrete portion of the silo, an idle monument to a past era, still stands majestically next to the barn. I wonder how many cattle were fed from this storage tower and how many gallons of milk resulted from years of its filling and refilling; funny how a storm’s damage can stimulate thoughts and feelings.

I’ll bet that anyone reading this can recount exactly where they were and what they were doing on September 11, 2001 at 8:46 am EDT when American Airlines Flight 11 slammed into the north face of Tower One of the World Trade Center (WTC) at about 466 mph. I had finished breakfast with a friend and was driving home to pack and drive to Dayton, Ohio for a work function. That same friend, after returning to the office, got news that something had happened in New York and called my cell as I pulled into the driveway. I went into the house and turned on the television.

Only half of the silo’s roof came off during that initial storm. What was left resembled a bad hair lick in a 3rd grade composite photo. The part that was knocked away landed a scant five yards from hitting the garage and resembled foil one would peel from a street vendor’s Coney dog, crumpled and discarded. No one was hurt; no collateral damage.

At 9:03 am EDT, United Airlines Flight 175 hit WTC Tower Two at nearly 600 mph. I had just poured a glass of orange juice and sat down to see what Good Morning America could tell me about the strange accident in New York. Watching this plane hit the towers live shook me. I remember mental conjectures and prayers said aloud and I remember feeling sick.

It took all of 10 minutes to roll up the downed aluminum and load on my trailer to haul to the scrap yard. I think that, all told, the scrapper paid about $20 for the aluminum from the silo’s top.

At 9:37 am EDT, American Airlines Flight 77 hit the western side of the Pentagon. I heard a foreign sound outside of my window – the lawn crew had arrived and started mowing. I ran outside and signaled them to stop and come into the house. I think I said, “History is happening.”

Just before 10 am, Tower Two of the WTC collapsed.  A scant three minutes later, United Airlines Flight 93 is crashed by its hijackers when faced with brave and bold citizen resistance to terrorism – it impacts about 80 miles southeast of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in a Somerset County field.

The guys go back to mowing. I wonder if I should drive to Ohio. Mom called – she wanted to hear my voice and asked that I try to find my brother. I do manage to reach him on his cell phone as he was biking out of Chicago – far from skyscrapers that may still be targets.

At 10:28 am EDT, Tower One of the WTC collapses. I call Mom and let her know that I reached my brother. I decide not to go to Ohio.

The first bids I received to replace the top of the silo were in the five figure range – laughable by the insurance adjuster’s tables. Subsequent bids were far more reasonable.


Why is it a natural tendency to define disaster as what “it means to me?” I didn’t lose anyone I knew on September 11, 2001, but I’ve thought long and hard as to how it affected me. I’m embarrassed that it took too long before I considered what that day of infamy (parallel purposeful) meant to those families directly affected. I don’t know the count, but I’d bet more than a few babies born anytime in 2001 have never known their mother or father; that many of today’s 'tweens are hearing both “America First” and “America’s Fault” narratives.

With the exception of some annoyances at the airport and disallowed packs and purses at sporting events, few of us have had much of our lives upended from that day. So many families’ lives were more than upended that day – and in extension, so many families of military heroes.

 I’m taking a couple of minutes out of my day to reflect and pray. As we mark the 10th anniversary of the horror of September 11, 2001, I think I’ll make the bald silo my personal and daily reminder of how lucky and blessed I am.


(Photos of the tower collapse and the spot light memorial reported to be in the public domain.  Credit NYC Police Authority for the photo of the tower collapse and credit the U.S. Department of Defense for the memorial photo)