My 9/11

On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was driven plenty early to the Logan Airport in Boston to catch a U.S. Airways flight back to Toronto.  My first lecture of the new Brock University term, my first year course, "Canada and the Global Community," was scheduled for that evening from 7 - 9.

I never made that class or any of the others that week.

The Logan Airport was teeming with bustling people that September morning.  The secure area was crowded with well-wishers and I had to push my way to boarding gate.  September 11, 2001 was the last day that anyone could simply walk through to the boarding gate at a U.S. airport with no boarding pass or ID check.  Family and friends were waving good bye to passengers as they walked down the ramp onto the airplane.  It was all very cheerful.

My airplane taxied out onto the runway and we were all set to go, but then we stopped dead and the plane sat on the tarmac for a good long time and then we eventually circled back to the gate.  After sitting on in the 'plane by the gate for a while, we were told that the flight was cancelled due to "flight control issues" so we should return to the ticket counter and process another boarding card for a flight  that would be going at 2:20pm.

While standing in line at the ticket counter I could see the televisions in the bar to the left of the departure lounge.  I saw video of the first 'plane crashing into the World Trade Center in a ball of fire just as I reached the ticket agent.  I said "My God!  Did you see that?  Thousands and thousands of people must work in that enormous building!"  The agent simply said "I wouldn't know. I am just working here, Sir."  At the time I thought that it must have been some sort of horrendous accident, perhaps connected to the "flight control issues."  I imagined the loss of life would be at least 10,000 people.  It appeared to be a terrible, shocking accident.  'Plane flying too low hits a very tall building with massively tragic consequences.

Not long after I settled in with my book to wait for 4 hours 'til I would be boarding the second time, an announcement was made that my flight was further delayed until 6:10pm and that we should line up for new boarding passes yet again.  I realized that I would not be making the 7pm class.  I tried to 'phone St. Catharines to ask my Department Admin Assistant to have a class cancelled note put on the door of the lecture hall, but the mobile 'phone network was overloaded and I could not call out.

While lining up again for a third boarding pass, before I reached the counter, an announcement went out to say that the Airport was being evacuated immediately and listing the luggage carousels where we could recover our checked-in bags.  I had quite a lot of luggage.  There was no possibility of a taxi.  Cell 'phones were still not working.  I humped my bags to the subway and returned to Cambridge.

By this time I realized that something momentous had happened.  I heaved my bags across Harvard Yard.  The day was sunny and cool, the students full of anticipation for the new term were clearly unaware that anything was amiss as they played frisbee and chattered happily to one another as they walked past me.  I was thinking that probably at that very moment there were famous sites all over the USA being destroyed by hi-jacked airplanes and maybe bombs being set off too.

I returned to the large house on Francis Avenue where I had been lodging.  Nobody was home but the front door was unlocked.  I sat down on the sofa to catch my breath and turned on the TV and saw footage of the first tower collapsing and then the second tower collapsing and then news of the other two 'planes.  I called Brock from the land line in the house to cancel the class.  Not long after Don Newman of CBC Newsworld interviewed me live by telephone.  After learning that two of the 'planes had originated at Logan Airport, I began to have intense vivid flashbacks of my morning there.  Which of the people that I had seen rushing to their flights had died in the 'planes that had been crashed?  Had the hi-jackers themselves brushed by me as I drank my Starbucks after checking in?  The Airport had seemed so bustling and normal --- I had felt so happy and relaxed and blissfully unaware of anything amiss.  My mind kept playing the memory of walking through Airport and the faces of the people I had been with there over and over like a video on continuous loop.

I tried calling the Red Cross to find out about donating blood but could not get through. I walked out to a blood donor clinic.  On the way I saw lines at gas stations and people in shops buying up water and food to hoard, but it was not really a situation of general panic.  The Red Cross had more blood than they could manage so I was turned away and walked home.

The next day it seemed that anybody who owned an American flag had it displayed.  Red white and blue everywhere.  I called U.S. Airways to try and re-book my flight home.  But the border with Canada was closed and no flights were going out anywhere from Boston anyway.  It was a beautiful bright cool fall day in Cambridge.  I settled into a chair in the back garden and read a manuscript on Chinese student movements that I had been asked to review for publication.

The following few days were strangely contented ones for me.  I unexpectedly had no program and spent most of my days sitting outside reading in the sunny coolness of the Massachusetts fall.  I determined to my regret that I would have to recommend that the manuscript be rejected by the publisher.  Eventually I realized that the Logan Airport might be closed for some time.  I asked my host to drive me to the bus station the next day.

I arrived at the Greyhound Terminal a couple of hours before the bus to Buffalo was to depart and I joined a long and unruly line up.  The place was a state of relative bedlam.  By the time the bus arrived only about half of us were able to board.  People were angry and upset and there were even minor scuffles over people cutting into line.  The bus schedule was evidently in disarray.  We lurched off before I was still making my way to an empty seat.  The bus barrelled through with as little delay at the intervening stations as possible.  Passengers were not allowed to get out for a smoke or a snack.  We were told sternly that anyone who disembarked would not be let on again.

As a veteran of long distance bus travel, I had an ample supply of sandwiches and a thermos of sweet milky coffee in my rucksack.  But most of my fellow passengers long accustomed to air travel were evidently first time Greyhound passengers.  I got the impression a number of them were expecting a steward with wheeled cart to appear out of nowhere to come down the aisle handing out bags of nuts and taking drink orders preparatory to serving luncheon.  As the trip went on the passengers got more and more grumpy at the inconvenience and relatively crampt conditions.  After some 7 hours of continuous travel with no food a minor insurrection occurred and the bus driver, protesting vociferously and resentfully over the unscheduled stop, was made to turn into a MacDonald's outside Rochester, New York much against his better judgement.  The sweaty and chubby pasengers piled out to buy a hamburger.  I stayed on the bus afraid that the non-plussed driver might suddenly take off for Buffalo without them.  But he didn't.

That night I managed to buy a ticket for a bus to Toronto that made a stop in St. Catharines.  It left 90 minutes ahead of schedule which suited me fine.  U.S. Customs in bullet proof vests and carrying automatic rifles came on to the bus before we crossed the Peace Bridge and started to interrogate a Middle Eastern women sitting in the back row behind me very roughly.  I considered asking them to let her be, but was too spooked to speak up and just sat still, eyes forward.

At the border, the Canadian immigration people looked panicked and exhausted.  The confused and fragmentary questioning of me went on for about 10 long minutes.  I was asked if I had anything to declare 3 times over the course of it (three times I told them that I had some children's toys and that was about it).

The subsequent final Canadian leg of the trip up the QEW in the dark late in the night was peaceful and quiet.

I felt I had been away for a long time.  I felt happy to be finally home again.