Salutations, traveler of The Internets! Welcome to William's Bloody Hell, so named after our founder, Sir Bloody William.
He is seen in the likeness above in a rare, 19th century woodcut. This
image was rumoured to have been
commissioned after a bout of unpleasantness
in the White Chapel district of London. Do enjoy your stay and peruse our many, varied offerings, much of which cannot be found elsewhere!
:: Today's soundtrack: Beethoven "Moonlight Sonata" ::
So, this week is the five year anniversary of the September eleventh plane hijackings in 2001. Yeah, I know everyone and their grandmother is going to mention this in their blog and everything, and you don't really come to my site for serious type shit like that, but well, shut up. I'm acknowledging it, too, and that is that.
I remember where I was when I first heard about the World Trade Center. I was in bed. It was my day off, and I was having myself a bit of a lie-in, you know, relaxing, when the phone rang. It was Forrest Grump and he was telling me that a plane had crashed into one of the towers of the WTC. I didn't believe him and was about to hang up when he said I ought to turn on my television. Trying to call his bluff, I asked which channel I should tune in to. He shouted "it's on EVERY CHANNEL!" Thinking this must actually be serious, I turned on the tiny telly in my bedroom, and sure enough, everywhere I turned was showing footage of a cloud of smoke billowing from the skyscraper. Nobody knew what had happened at first. Naturally, everyone thought it was an accident. The tower is the tallest in the world, the plane was flying too low, out of control, maybe, it all added up to a probable accident, when suddenly, right before my eyes and millions of others on international television, a second plane hit the other tower. Cameras were already filming the scene of the first crash, that the second one was easily filmed and broadcast. I couldn't believe what I was seeing or what this meant; it was no accident. Two planes strike the two towers of the World Trade Center on the same day, hell, in the same hour? Coincidence? No fucking way.
I continued to watch the goings on of New York City from my living room, when I heard my postman on my front porch. For the first time ever, I opened my door to him delivering my bills, my Entertainment Weekly, my whatever, and asked him if he heard the news. He had not. His rounds had started over an hour ago and he had no idea. I invited him into my house to see the broadcast and offer him a glass of water.
A segment on National Public Radio I heard around this time still sticks with me. They had a newsperson interviewing New Yorkers on the streets when they spy a woman absolutely freaking out. They ask her if they can help and she replies simply, "My husband works for the Trade Center on the ___th floor, and the ___th floor isn't there any more!" Just then, a man approaches them, covered from head to toe in soot and debris and embraces the hysterical woman. The newsperson says "Sir! Is there anything you can tell us...?" But the man says "I'd just like to be with my wife now, please." I like this story.
All this time I have this vision in my head of the broadcasts to come: America Rebuilds, Repairing the Damage, etc. Then, suddenly, the south tower collapses onto itself. Less than thirty minutes later, the next one goes. As the north tower tumbled down, I think I stopped breathing. Destruction and death on this grand a scale involving civilians was unthinkable. Thousand of people worked in those buildings and they were right in the middle of a densely populated city.
My mother's sister was flying that day. She lives across the country and comes back to visit once a year, always in September. She was in the air when it all went down, and her plane was grounded in Ohio. It was the evening when we finally heard from her, that she was okay, where she was, and that she'd make it to town by bus if she had to.
I spend the next several days either watching Peter Jennings report or listening to NPR. I become obsessed with learning every little tidbit of information I can about what happened. I really got to admire Jennings for his coverage of the tragedy. I don't think the man slept for 72 hours.
Usually for me time passes oddly. I have trouble distinguishing one day from the next, and what happened exactly when; it all blurs together sometimes. Not this, though. I remember these events of five years ago as though it were last week. The September eleventh attack is definitely my generation's JFK assassination-type moment. I don't think I'll ever forget where I was or what I was thinking when this all happened so fast in 2001. I hope I don't, and I hope none of you do either.
Peace.
William
