I never get sick.
Hardly ever.
But on September 11, 2001, there I was.
On the couch.
I don’t remember what hurt, just that it wasn’t a good day.
That’s the last place I wanted to be that day.
If you’re in the news business like I was, that’s the kind of day you need to be all in.
You need to be there for your team, the viewers, and yourself.
I remember watching the network news (I was supposed to be doing the local cut-ins at the top and bottom of every hour) with my eyes half-open under the covers when the news broke that changed this country and the world.
The Twin Towers were hit.
Twice.
Then the Pennsylvania field.
Then the Pentagon.
It was so out of control, I remember looking out the window, wondering if a plane was going to crash-land in our neighborhood.
If you were around back then, you know just how terrifying that day was.
Then all planes were grounded.
Silence.
It was eery.
I remember the incredible sense of sadness I felt for the victims on the planes, in the towers, and for their shocked families wondering if their loved ones were really on one of those flights.
The horror.
I still think about the NYPD and heroic firefighters and others who lost their lives trying to save others.
I think about the terrorists.
Actually, I don’t anymore.
Not worth my time.
Anywhere you look online today, you’ll see the horrific videos and images of what had been a perfect September morning—until it wasn’t.
It was almost exactly three months later, on December 16, 2001, when I flew to New York City on the team plane with several other media members covering the Cincinnati Bengals as they were about to take on the New York Jets.
The night before the game, a bunch of us went to Ground Zero.
It still smelled like the tragedy had happened just days before.
Even three months later, photos of the missing were still everywhere—taped to poles, walls, fences, anywhere families could put them—each one representing someone still hoping, somehow, against all odds, to find their loved one.
The gaping hole where the towers once stood still looked like Armageddon.
I remember the round-the-clock workers tirelessly trying to clean up the mess.
There were stunned looks “still” on the faces of many.
The memories from that trip will stay with me for a lifetime.
I’m not sure there’s much left to say that hasn’t already been said by just about everyone over the past 25 years.
Images like the one you see below of The Falling Man?
Utterly heartbreaking.
I’m sick to my stomach again today over that day, just in a different way.
All I can say is, I do, in fact, remember.
And I will NEVER FORGET.
God bless the victims, their families, and all their loved ones.
Could anyone forget?
Someone called me and told me to turn on my t.v.
I was standing in my living room watching it unfold. Shocked. Horrified. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. It was like being in a dreamlike state. Every channel in Alberta, Canada was this unbelievable moment.
Later, I watched planes landing near Gander, Newfoundland. It’s a small place but they found room, took passengers in, fed them, welcomed them with big open arms until planes were safe to continue on their destination. I don’t remember how long that was but I do remember the feeling. Neighbours helping neighbours. A tiny bit of humanity restored in the devastation. I will never forget any of it. 🤍 God Bless.