I suppose everybody remembers where they were on Sept. 11, 2001. This is my story. My home telephone rang about 9 in the morning. It was the news director of the radio station I worked for. He told me to turn on my television. I asked him which channel. He said any channel. After I saw the images in New York, he told me I had to get to the station as soon as possible. I was needed to anchor the coverage.
As I pulled into the garage, a third plane hit the Pentagon. The windows in our newsroom faced that direction so we could plainly see smoke in the distance. I sat down in the anchor chair at 10 and stayed in it until 6. I suppose I ate something during those eight hours, but I don’t remember doing so. My mind was too preoccupied by the horror. There were rumors of another plane heading our way. We assumed the target was the White House or more likely the Capitol.
At 6 that evening I was told I could head home. At that point the streets of Washington were devoid of traffic. There was an eerie silence considering it was the height of rush hour. When I got home, I changed into my jogging clothes and went for a run to clear my head. I waved to my next-door neighbor as I jogged past. He looked forlorn. What I didn’t know was that his brother worked for Cantor Fitzgerald at the top of the World Trade Center.
When I got home, I sat on the living room sofa and cried. Then our family went to the back porch for dinner. We heard planes flying over us. My then-7-year-old daughter was worried about the unfamiliar noise. I remember telling her not to be, because those were the good guys and that was the sound of freedom.
This was a Tuesday. The next day I had to go back to work at the radio station to continue to try to figure out what was going on. And so it was for weeks on end.
Years later I got an email from a listener named Joanna. She wrote: On that day I worked two blocks from the White House. My husband was out of town, but I couldn’t reach him because all cell services were down. So, I started to drive to my home in Alexandria. The traffic was a horrible mess, and I felt completely and utterly alone. My only comfort was the sound of your voice. I told myself that as long as you kept talking on the radio, everything was going to be alright. And you kept talking and eventually everything was alright.
Sometimes my show on the radio was just filling time, trying to be entertaining. Sometimes, like this day 25 years ago, it really mattered. What I also remember about that time was how much the rest of the world supported us. Loved us. I got a phone call from a friend in Scotland who just called to make sure I was OK. Here is something I wonder about now. If we were attacked again 25 years later, would the rest of the world be as sympathetic as they were in 2001? I hope so, but I fear not. And that will be on my mind when I vote in November.
Chris Core is a former Washington, D.C. radio and television personality who now lives in Pass-a-Grille. He is a winner of the Edward R. Murrow Award for outstanding achievement in broadcast journalism.