September 11th, 2001. We all know it. It's one of those sad unfortunate events that happen in people's lifetimes that never needs explaining. So. Where were you at?
I will never forget this day. It never gets any less clear as more time passes. I was a patrol officer with LAPD's Rampart Division. I worked 12 hour shifts on Day Watch. On this particular morning I had gotten up at 3:30 am to work out. Came back home, showered and sat down to watch some news and eat my strawberries and oatmeal.
As I'm watching the TV, a live shot from New York is shown. A clear, blue, gorgeous sunny morning. It was about 4:30am my time. 8:30 something East Coast time. The reporters are extolling the virtues of the amazing New York morning and describing how the smoke rising from one of the towers must be a 'small fire'. The smoke begins to rise. The reporters begin to talk about which tower it's in. Oh, and what a beautiful morning for the fire fighters to get in some 'practice'. I'm sure they eat those words to this day.
I sit. My eating slows. I'm ready for work. Just taking my few quiet moments as I do every morning to eat before getting on the freeway. I'm staring. A few other stories come across the screen and eventually, the newscast goes back to the towers. Out of the corner of the screen, movement. Small from my view. Fast. I suddenly realize that my mouth is full. And open. I'm staring and wondering if I really saw what it was I think I just saw. Fireballs don't lie. Suddenly, I lost all track of time. All I knew was, I had to move. I had to get to work. I threw my breakfast on the bed, grabbed my war bag, and ran out the door. Yelling at my roommates to turn on the TV. I didn't know what was going on yet, but I knew, everyone knew, it was big.
The only thing I remember about my drive is the radio. And that I was going fast. I didn't give a shit. I had my badge. I had to get to work. The radio said that they were working on confirming that two jet liners had been hijacked and flown into the Twin Towers. That a third plane had been hijacked and was heading towards somewhere in the Midwest. A third plane? Three?? Is this really happening? A theorist came on and explained that he felt Al Qaeda's plan was to hijack planes from the East Coast, to the West Coast, crashing each one into major landmarks and US populous. West Coast? I work in a major US city. What was more major then LA?
As I pulled into the underground parking lot at the station, I saw other officers driving in quickly, and others practically running from their cars to the back door. Things were moving quickly. So quickly that normal assignments were disregarded. Emergency procedures went into motion. As someone came through the door, someone in uniform with a patrol car ready was waiting. That's who you were with, and your assignment was ready. We were advised that downtown LA was being evacuated and for the most part, shut down. As I came in the back door, everyone was talking about how another airliner had just flown into the Pentagon.
No.
This is really happening.
Because I was a member of Mobile Field Force, I thought that I'd be headed downtown. However, my partner and I remained at the station. Each LAPD station was cordoned off within a two block radius. No one in or out unless you belonged there. My partner and I were posted at the North East corner of the station. This was semi comforting because you could see the front of the station. Semi irritating because you were victim to the media.
It was at this point that my phone began to become inconsolable. My family. My friends. My girlfriend at the time who lived in Virginia and was panicked beyond belief. Once I confirmed that I was indeed more then fine, things slowed down a little. The radio was on without fail. You couldn't stop listening. Watching. All of the TVs in the station were on. Many of the patrol cars had small televisions in them. Mobile patrol vehicles would come by for bathroom relief and to let you watch the news for a bit. Tensions were high. The waiting was hell.
Now the unfortunate news comes that another plane has gone down. Pennsylvania? In the middle of a field? Straight into the ground. Straight. Into. The ground. I don't like to fly. It terrifies me. I never wanted to fly again. And, at that same moment, all I wanted to do was get to my family. To Virginia. Even if it meant flying. The day slowed. Things shut down. People locked themselves down.
The world, that day, stopped.
The Towers came down.
All the while, we watched. We listened. We stared. I worked for 18 hours that day. Went home for 4 and came back for several more. I never felt stress for myself. Only for those I loved and couldn't calm from where I was at.
We all mourned. Watching over the next few days. People throwing themselves to their death to keep from burning or suffocating. So much sadness. Zombies covered in soot and ash, walking from pillowy clouds of jet fuel and tattered paper. Remnants of mechanics, of loss of life. The country mourned.
States.
Cities.
Families.
Friends.
Me. I went to a church service two days later. And I mourned.
My hope, on this anniversary, close to ten years later, is that people wont hate anyone, or hold faithful and loving Muslim Americans responsible for the actions of a few militant extremists. So. Where were you?
