9.11.01

Where were you, that day? I know exactly what I was doing...

One of the joys, and perils, of writing a daily journal—every day since October 12, 1978—is that all the good days, and the very worst ones, are recorded in the moment I was living them. It makes for painful reading on the day my mom died (12.8.17), but so joyful on my wedding day (5.30.87). As I was descending, emotionally, into the 20th anniversary of 9.11.01, I pulled Volume 34, 6.01—8.02, of my journals off of the shelf, to relive the percussive horrors of 8:43 (North Tower) and 9:06 (South Tower) and 9:37 (Pentagon) and 10:03 (Shanksville). I was surprised to find that, by my account, the day was terribly beautiful, in that William Butler Yeats way.

But then, I survived it.

Tuesday, 11 September 2001

The darkest day, historically speaking, I’ve ever witnessed.

I was in my office, soon after my arrival, when Bill S____ came by my office, holding his head and muttering: “There’s something horrible going on at the World Trade Towers.”

So I joined him in front of the television in the c…