September has always been one of my favourite months, as leaves begin to slowly transform into bright reds and yellows. The need for a jacket and the anticipation of a new season brings finality to summer, but unfortunately for me, and many others, this much-loved time of year was dramatically 20 years ago, last weekend.
Each one of us will remember where we were on that terrifying morning in 2001, but for some of us the loss was closer to home. I vividly remember September the tenth, as I drove to the airport for a flight to Phoenix to meet some friends.
Jet lagged and tired, I spent a few hours photographing the countryside, and decided to turn in early. I woke up around 5:30 (jet lag will do that to you), turned the TV on, and saw the now immortalized image of the World Trade Centre with smoke rising from it. Suddenly, directly before my eyes, I watched as a plane, a jetliner, crashed into the second tower.
I was stunned, and slowly began to realize the impact of the event. One of the people I was to meet in Phoenix, worked in the Trade Centre along with another good friend, Bernard from Toronto. I tried to telephone, but nothing in New York was working. I showered and dressed, and made my way to the lobby for further news.
The hotel was nearly empty and when I realized all air traffic had been halted and planes in the air rerouted back to their points of origin, I knew it would be a much different trip than what I had anticipated. I met two people from South Africa and Chile. We chatted about the only topic in anyone's mind that day. Not since the first invasion of Iraq, had CNN covered a live news event of this magnitude. The sensationalism and repetitiveness was depressing.
No one else would arrive that day and, and my two new friends and myself, along with Mike Tyson who was also staying there, would be the only guests.
The day unfolded, and the shock of the catastrophic event was in the foreground of every thought, conversation and action. I was able to get through to New York, only to learn that my friend Bernard had been on the 97th floor of the Trade Centre at the wrong time. I was devastated, and the surrealness of the situation had not registered. I then found out that my other friend, Chuck, instead of heading to the airport, stopped at his office in the Trade Centre before heading to LaGuardia. He never made it out.
There was nowhere to turn without hearing the repetition of the morning's events. I wanted to get back to Toronto and recalled, looking up at the skies in one of the south-west's busiest cities and not seeing one airplane. The next morning I received a call from the car rental company, asking if I would be willing to return the rental car, and they would pay me a bonus. People were trying to get back to wherever they came from, and the rental companies were out of cars. I declined, for I had no idea of how long I might be stranded in Arizona, and the thought of me driving north to Calgary had not been ruled out.
I stayed in Phoenix for six days before I was able to leave, and found a unique kinship when I stepped on an Air Canada flight. All I had witnessed about the tragic events of September 11 had been through American m