One Year Later
by Joseph C. Hinson
July 6, 2002

On September 11, 2001, I was a few weeks into my first semester at York Technical College.  At age 32 with a wife and two small children, it was time to go back to school and be something other than a stocker at a grocery store.  I was running late that day and had not been listening to the radio while I got ready as I normally would have.  At just before 9 o’clock, I was getting into my car when my wife came out.

“A plane just hit the World Trade Center,” she said.  I asked her if the news men had said what type of plane it had been.  At that time, no one knew anything other than the bare minimum.  I had to stop by my landlord’s office momentarily, but as I pulled out of the parking lot, I switched the radio to WBT 99.3.

A lot of that day is hazy.  In the forty minutes from the time I heard about the first plane hitting until I made it to York Tech, the second plane had hit and everyone knew it was a planned attack.  All flights were canceled and the planes still in the air were rerouted to the closest airport.  At that time, no one was sure how many planes were missing.  There were rumors and speculation, but no one seemed to be acting on cold, hard fact.

I went to class in a state of shock.  The world would not be the same, but how it would change was something I could not fathom.  Would we go to war?  This was obviously something that the country would not let pass without retaliation.  Were there more attacks coming?  What else would be a target?

In class, we talked about what was going on.  A student came in and said that one of the towers had fallen.  I didn’t believe him.  Even with all that had taken place that morning, it was still inconceivable that those towers could come down.  If the World Trade Center, a symbol of prosperity and economic freedom, could collapse, then nothing was unthinkable anymore.

After class, I rushed to the car to hear the latest on the radio.  It was almost noon by now and I had not seen any of the images.  I went to the mall.  Surely one of the stores would have the TVs on.  I can’t say that I wanted to see the images.  I toyed with the thought that if I didn’t see it, then it meant that none of it had happened.  It sounds silly to me now, but these are the games we play with our minds to accept hard truths.

There was a small crowd at the store watching a couple of screens, each from different networks, each showing the same horrific images.  I’m sure the volume was turned up on at least one of the stations, but for the life of me I cannot imagine what the talking heads would have been saying to make sense of any of this.  The first station I paid attention to was showing the second plane hitting.  It looked unreal, like special effects from a Hollywood movie.  I found myself wondering why they didn’t get a better camera angle and why they didn’t use a tripod.

The mall was not busy.  I don’t remembering any muzak being played, but I’m not sure if that’s because none was playing or if I just can’t recall it.  People looked like they were at a wake.  They seemed to be going through the motions.  We didn’t say a lot to one another, but there was a closeness there that I can’t describe.  There was a hint of recognition in our eyes, not because we knew one another, but because we were connected, all of us strangers in a time of uncertainty.

The walk from the Radio Shack to my car through the food court seemed to take an hour.  I couldn’t think clearly.  Outside, it was a beautiful late summer day.  I got in the car and pointed it in the direction of the school.  Looking around, I wasn’t sure how anyone was able to drive.  How could they remember to use turn signals?  How were they able to focus on where they were going?  How could it be that we could get through this day while in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania, gruesome scenes of death and destruction were being played out.

School didn’t seem so important at the moment.  I decided to call my wife.  I wanted to tell her I loved her and to tell her to give the kids a hug for me.  She said she had been watching the scenes on TV since I had left hours before.  She was glad I called and was looking forward to when I would be home.

Like many, I tried to make sense of that day.  I didn’t understand how planes could vanish off radar and out of contact with air traffic controllers for so long and not raise alarms somewhere.  I tried to imagine men who were willing to die for their cause and wanted to take as many civilians with them as possible.  I tried to create scenarios in my mind what happened on the plane in Pennsylvania.  Where was it heading?  The White House?  The Capitol?  I couldn’t fathom what would have happened if the men and women on that plane had not acted so heroically.

Life has not got back to normal for us yet.  Maybe it never will.  Or perhaps normal will morph into a new state of being.  Did things ever return to normal after the Pearl Habour attacks?  Every day we are treated to the scrolls at the bottom of the screen on the cable news outlets.  The government seems to be running around in circles trying to figure out what to do.  Airport security is tightened and as a result, old men and women and mothers with newborns are searched to or three times before they get on a plane.  At the same time, security happens to find a gun on a woman who has already flown on one plane that day with the piece on her person.

In my own life, I try to remember the little things.  Today, for example, was an absolutely amazing day.  The temperature was perfect and the clouds reminded me of my trips to Colorado in 1999.  It was like the weather can’t decide if it’s summer or autumn.  I try to pay more attention to days like this now.  The snow fall in January was a reminder that sometimes we need to take a step back and see things through other pairs of eyes now and then.  Work can wait.  Family time is important.  And let’s stock up on that milk and bread!

I try to focus on the good things that can happen with little notice.  My children give me great comfort.  They’re young and every day is something new for them.  I like the smile on my daughters face when I’ve been away for a few hours.  I like the way my son runs up to me and throws his arms around my legs when I come home.  I like spending down time with the kids and my wife.  In the past, I probably would want to be doing something or going somewhere.  I subscribed to the theory that we are only happy when we are in motion.  We have to have more, more, more.  A bigger car, our own house with an in ground pool in the backyard and two car payments in the driveway.  I don’t believe that anymore.  I think the best times in life can be when we’re sitting around talking about the day with our arms around one another.

We will never forget the horrific events on September 11, 2001. But I hope that we, the nation and the individuals within it, remember that it is us, the collected, that makes this nation great.  It is us, not fancy buildings or who drives the biggest and best SUV.  It is the smile of young children, the hope of a new love, the waves lapping the shore and the fresh white blanket of a recent snowfall.

We will never forget 9/11.  But we will move in.  It’s what we do.

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The above was published as is in the Chester News & Reporter on September 11, 2002.