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9/11/23 post: Below is a very poignant article by Pam B. about her personal experience of being in NYC right after 9/11:
2001 FACING FEAR IN NEW YORK
It has been three days since the Eastern Shore Harvest Festival and my eyes are still burning, my throat still irritated. No, I wasn’t at the Harvest Festival. While many folks on the Eastern Shore of Virginia were enjoying lovely weather and the camaraderie of friends, I was standing in lower Manhattan as close to Ground Zero as the National Guard would allow. I was confronting my fear, a fear that had nearly kept me on the Shore.
My fear began on September 11 when I witnessed the crash of the second jetliner on my television set at home. I was shaken to the core, extremely nauseous and fearful. An airline ticket to New York City was on my desk at work, a ticket purchased months ago for a board meeting of the National Association for Specialty Food on October 3. I knew that the Specialty Food Association’s offices were located just six blocks from the World Trade Center.
As the days passed, my fear did not subside. There was no way I could go to New York! My fear would not allow it. I heard stories from the SFA staff about seeing the jetliner hit the building, watching paperwork and business cards flutter by their windows on the 27th floor of their Wall Street location, and the difficulties they were having getting to work because of heightened security and closed tunnels, bridges and streets. I hoped that the meeting would be canceled. It was not.
My sense of responsibility to the board as well as my desire to get my life back to normal and not let terrorism cripple me began to erode my fear. I contacted dozens of friends, seeking someone to accompany me on an all expense paid train trip to New York including two free nights at the Waldorf Astoria, where our meeting had been moved. Everyone either couldn’t or wouldn’t go. So on Tuesday morning, October 2, I packed my bag and drove to the Norfolk airport alone.
I was apprehensive as I drove through the two tunnels under the Chesapeake Bay, but I made it to the airport, parked and headed to check-in at US Airways. I was the only person there! As I walked down the corridor to the last gate, I noticed that all the other gates sat empty, no departing flights, no passengers. When I reached my gate, there were four agents and once again, only me. By the time our flight left an hour and a half later, there were a total of 7 adults and 2 babies on board.
As we neared New York’s LaGuardia Airport, the captain announced that the city could be seen out the left side of the plane. I was seated on the right and all the seats around me were empty. I struggled with myself, not knowing if I wanted to look at where the towers had stood or not. I thought, “maybe if I don’t look it will go away, maybe it didn’t really happen”. At the last moment, I moved to the window seat on the left. I saw many buildings in New Jersey, then water, then….there she was, the Statue of Liberty, her head held proudly high. It was an uplifting moment quickly displaced by the sight of lower Manhattan and the smoldering remains of the World Trade Center. It was real.
Upon landing it occurred to me that this had been the shortest flight I ever had to LaGuardia, as we didn’t have to spend endless minutes circling and waiting for a position to land. I actually felt safer in the air than before at what was once one of the busiest airports in the country. When my taxi arrived in the city, the first American flag I saw was draped over a homeless man, asleep on the sidewalk near a building’s entrance.
The next morning one of my fellow board members and I took a cab to Ladder Company 24/Engine Company #1 on 31st Street, across from the church where Father Myke, the fire department’s chaplain who died in the tragedy, had lived. My staff had sort of “adopted” this fire department. It is located just behind the hotel where we stayed several times a year during food and gift trade shows. Many times we walked by and spoke to the firefighters as they cleaned their trucks or gear. We shipped a care package, a sympathy card and a letter to their members a week or so earlier.
Flowers, cards, letters, candles and large photos of company members who had perished lined the entrance to the station. Wall hangings made by children hung from the walls and ceiling. Several firefighters stood around, shaking hands with anyone who passed by offering condolences. I spent several minutes speaking with Steve, who had carried Father Myke’s coffin at the funeral. He pointed up to the church and the windows of Father Myke’s living quarters. His eyes welled with tears. I told him about my employees in Virginia and how they felt so bonded with his company. Being there was a very moving experience for me.
My associate and I then headed down to lower Manhattan in a cab. We finally reached a point where the streets were off limits to all vehicles. We began walking, and as we walked, the low-hanging acrid smell became stronger and stronger. We passed a woman wearing a dust mask. A little while later, there was a man wearing a gas mask. I do not know if he wore it to protect himself from the asbestos in the air or if he feared something worse. I began to have difficulty taking in each breath, my eyes began burning, my nose and throat became irritated. I knew this probably wasn’t good for my asthma. My friend asked if I would like to turn around. “No,” I replied, “this is something I have to do.”
We continued along, finally reaching an area along Broadway that is cordoned off with checkpoints manned by the National Guard. Only people who can prove that they live beyond these points are allowed to pass. All of the businesses within these checkpoints are closed. Ahead of us we could see the smoldering wreckage of the World Trade Center. Behind that we could see the badly damaged World Financial Center building with many, many windows missing. I gazed around at the people around us, some were crying, some were taking photos, but everyone seemed like they were in a state of shock. The city was so quiet, none of the usual hubbub of traffic, honking horns and noise. The buildings behind us were blanketed in layers of ash and concrete dust. A shop’s front door stood open: inside were displays of blue jeans and t-shirts, all covered with dust. Very few of the businesses in the area were open and it was apparent that the ones that were open were freshly cleaned.
We left the area by subway, and once again I was apprehensive. I have never been so happy to see the sun when I arrived back in mid-town. I went back to my hotel room and took a shower, trying to rid my skin of the smell and itchiness left by the foul air in lower Manhattan. I could not get the taste out of my mouth, even though I brushed my teeth three times.
That day and the next, I heard personal stories from my association’s board and staff members who had witnessed the tragedy, lost loved ones or had close calls. Following our meeting, I hailed a cab to get back to the airport. My cab driver was an extremely gregarious young fellow from Pakistan who was anxious to share his story. He had come to this country in 1985 when only sixteen years old. On that fateful day of September 11, he and his passengers were stopped in traffic a block or two from the World Trade Center. He saw the airliner coming toward the building. He described the scene as hundreds of people fled the area, scrambling over his car. Many of them beat on his windows, wanting a ride from the area. He saw people jumping from the windows of the World Trade Center. He feared for his life, as traffic was blocked and he thought his car would be crushed. He did not work for three days afterwards and believes he will not be able to drive in that area again. He cannot sleep.
I asked him what his name was and he smiled sheepishly. “Oh,” he explained, “people do not believe me when I tell them.” “How do you spell it?”, I asked. "B-U-T-T”, he grinned, “and my friends call me Cute Butt.” I told him I was going to tell my employees about his experience and he begged, “Please tell everyone in Virginia to come to New York, we need them, our businesses are suffering and all of our people here, please tell them to come.”
When I arrived at the airport, I headed over to the Us Airways Shuttle concourse to check out their complimentary magazines and newspapers. There were a handful of people within view, and the person within a few feet of me was Senator Joseph Lieberman, Al Gore’s running mate. I did not speak to him, as I did not want to invade his privacy. I assume that he was showing his support for the opening of Reagan Airport that day as he was en route to Washington, DC. I picked up a complimentary copy of a small book entitled The Action Principles, Create a Life of Purpose, Passion, Prosperity and Peace by Bill FitzPatrick and headed back to my gate.
Aboard the plane, I glanced through the little book and came upon a page entitled “Face Fear.” At the bottom of the page were these words: “After facing fear, you will feel exhilarated. Without fear, there can be no courage. Fear provides the opportunity to be brave.” I am now home on the Eastern Shore, and I am glad that I took this trip.
Pam B October 5, 2001 7/7/23 post: I hope there are at least a few "blue skyers" out there who will join in these "Master Plan" discussions. This post is about our Bryan House since it's our corner landmark. I asked our own Hazel L. about an idea, since she was raised in that house, the 7th of 9 children. She was in favor. The idea: our country will have to import healthcare workers from other countries (legally, with hopefully accelerated procedures of the State Department). If we provided temporary housing to newcomers while they acclimate to their new country and surroundings, TVAB might become a sought-after destination. The Bryan House could be made into a dormitory, permitting these newcomers time to locate their own housing and roommates. Aldi's is close enough for walking or biking for those without cars. It could also be used as a place for our local staff to spend the night when bad weather prevents a safe drive home or coming to work the next day. Same "dormitory" possibility could be considered for a section of the Edgewood Building. Jennifer Y. 2/13/23 post: From DailyOm Newsletter: Aging Gracefully"When the time comes for us to let go of the creations of our middle lives, we are like a tree in autumn dropping leaves, as we release our past attachments and prepare for a new phase of growth. The children move on, and careers shift or end. The lines on our faces, the stretch marks, and the grey hairs are beautiful testaments to the fullness of our experience. In the winter of our lives, we become stripped down to our essence like a tree. We may become more radiant than ever at this stage, because our inner light shines brighter through our eyes as time passes. Beauty at this age comes from the very core of our being—our essence. This essence is a reminder that there is nothing to fear in growing older and that there is a kind of beauty that comes only after one has spent many years on earth." Sent in by Pam B. 2/21/22 post: Nothing submitted yet. However, go to Recommendations and read John F's account of his NC Zoo visit.
It has been three days since the Eastern Shore Harvest Festival and my eyes are still burning, my throat still irritated. No, I wasn’t at the Harvest Festival. While many folks on the Eastern Shore of Virginia were enjoying lovely weather and the camaraderie of friends, I was standing in lower Manhattan as close to Ground Zero as the National Guard would allow. I was confronting my fear, a fear that had nearly kept me on the Shore.
My fear began on September 11 when I witnessed the crash of the second jetliner on my television set at home. I was shaken to the core, extremely nauseous and fearful. An airline ticket to New York City was on my desk at work, a ticket purchased months ago for a board meeting of the National Association for Specialty Food on October 3. I knew that the Specialty Food Association’s offices were located just six blocks from the World Trade Center.
As the days passed, my fear did not subside. There was no way I could go to New York! My fear would not allow it. I heard stories from the SFA staff about seeing the jetliner hit the building, watching paperwork and business cards flutter by their windows on the 27th floor of their Wall Street location, and the difficulties they were having getting to work because of heightened security and closed tunnels, bridges and streets. I hoped that the meeting would be canceled. It was not.
My sense of responsibility to the board as well as my desire to get my life back to normal and not let terrorism cripple me began to erode my fear. I contacted dozens of friends, seeking someone to accompany me on an all expense paid train trip to New York including two free nights at the Waldorf Astoria, where our meeting had been moved. Everyone either couldn’t or wouldn’t go. So on Tuesday morning, October 2, I packed my bag and drove to the Norfolk airport alone.
I was apprehensive as I drove through the two tunnels under the Chesapeake Bay, but I made it to the airport, parked and headed to check-in at US Airways. I was the only person there! As I walked down the corridor to the last gate, I noticed that all the other gates sat empty, no departing flights, no passengers. When I reached my gate, there were four agents and once again, only me. By the time our flight left an hour and a half later, there were a total of 7 adults and 2 babies on board.
As we neared New York’s LaGuardia Airport, the captain announced that the city could be seen out the left side of the plane. I was seated on the right and all the seats around me were empty. I struggled with myself, not knowing if I wanted to look at where the towers had stood or not. I thought, “maybe if I don’t look it will go away, maybe it didn’t really happen”. At the last moment, I moved to the window seat on the left. I saw many buildings in New Jersey, then water, then….there she was, the Statue of Liberty, her head held proudly high. It was an uplifting moment quickly displaced by the sight of lower Manhattan and the smoldering remains of the World Trade Center. It was real.
Upon landing it occurred to me that this had been the shortest flight I ever had to LaGuardia, as we didn’t have to spend endless minutes circling and waiting for a position to land. I actually felt safer in the air than before at what was once one of the busiest airports in the country. When my taxi arrived in the city, the first American flag I saw was draped over a homeless man, asleep on the sidewalk near a building’s entrance.
The next morning one of my fellow board members and I took a cab to Ladder Company 24/Engine Company #1 on 31st Street, across from the church where Father Myke, the fire department’s chaplain who died in the tragedy, had lived. My staff had sort of “adopted” this fire department. It is located just behind the hotel where we stayed several times a year during food and gift trade shows. Many times we walked by and spoke to the firefighters as they cleaned their trucks or gear. We shipped a care package, a sympathy card and a letter to their members a week or so earlier.
Flowers, cards, letters, candles and large photos of company members who had perished lined the entrance to the station. Wall hangings made by children hung from the walls and ceiling. Several firefighters stood around, shaking hands with anyone who passed by offering condolences. I spent several minutes speaking with Steve, who had carried Father Myke’s coffin at the funeral. He pointed up to the church and the windows of Father Myke’s living quarters. His eyes welled with tears. I told him about my employees in Virginia and how they felt so bonded with his company. Being there was a very moving experience for me.
My associate and I then headed down to lower Manhattan in a cab. We finally reached a point where the streets were off limits to all vehicles. We began walking, and as we walked, the low-hanging acrid smell became stronger and stronger. We passed a woman wearing a dust mask. A little while later, there was a man wearing a gas mask. I do not know if he wore it to protect himself from the asbestos in the air or if he feared something worse. I began to have difficulty taking in each breath, my eyes began burning, my nose and throat became irritated. I knew this probably wasn’t good for my asthma. My friend asked if I would like to turn around. “No,” I replied, “this is something I have to do.”
We continued along, finally reaching an area along Broadway that is cordoned off with checkpoints manned by the National Guard. Only people who can prove that they live beyond these points are allowed to pass. All of the businesses within these checkpoints are closed. Ahead of us we could see the smoldering wreckage of the World Trade Center. Behind that we could see the badly damaged World Financial Center building with many, many windows missing. I gazed around at the people around us, some were crying, some were taking photos, but everyone seemed like they were in a state of shock. The city was so quiet, none of the usual hubbub of traffic, honking horns and noise. The buildings behind us were blanketed in layers of ash and concrete dust. A shop’s front door stood open: inside were displays of blue jeans and t-shirts, all covered with dust. Very few of the businesses in the area were open and it was apparent that the ones that were open were freshly cleaned.
We left the area by subway, and once again I was apprehensive. I have never been so happy to see the sun when I arrived back in mid-town. I went back to my hotel room and took a shower, trying to rid my skin of the smell and itchiness left by the foul air in lower Manhattan. I could not get the taste out of my mouth, even though I brushed my teeth three times.
That day and the next, I heard personal stories from my association’s board and staff members who had witnessed the tragedy, lost loved ones or had close calls. Following our meeting, I hailed a cab to get back to the airport. My cab driver was an extremely gregarious young fellow from Pakistan who was anxious to share his story. He had come to this country in 1985 when only sixteen years old. On that fateful day of September 11, he and his passengers were stopped in traffic a block or two from the World Trade Center. He saw the airliner coming toward the building. He described the scene as hundreds of people fled the area, scrambling over his car. Many of them beat on his windows, wanting a ride from the area. He saw people jumping from the windows of the World Trade Center. He feared for his life, as traffic was blocked and he thought his car would be crushed. He did not work for three days afterwards and believes he will not be able to drive in that area again. He cannot sleep.
I asked him what his name was and he smiled sheepishly. “Oh,” he explained, “people do not believe me when I tell them.” “How do you spell it?”, I asked. "B-U-T-T”, he grinned, “and my friends call me Cute Butt.” I told him I was going to tell my employees about his experience and he begged, “Please tell everyone in Virginia to come to New York, we need them, our businesses are suffering and all of our people here, please tell them to come.”
When I arrived at the airport, I headed over to the Us Airways Shuttle concourse to check out their complimentary magazines and newspapers. There were a handful of people within view, and the person within a few feet of me was Senator Joseph Lieberman, Al Gore’s running mate. I did not speak to him, as I did not want to invade his privacy. I assume that he was showing his support for the opening of Reagan Airport that day as he was en route to Washington, DC. I picked up a complimentary copy of a small book entitled The Action Principles, Create a Life of Purpose, Passion, Prosperity and Peace by Bill FitzPatrick and headed back to my gate.
Aboard the plane, I glanced through the little book and came upon a page entitled “Face Fear.” At the bottom of the page were these words: “After facing fear, you will feel exhilarated. Without fear, there can be no courage. Fear provides the opportunity to be brave.” I am now home on the Eastern Shore, and I am glad that I took this trip.
Pam B October 5, 2001 7/7/23 post: I hope there are at least a few "blue skyers" out there who will join in these "Master Plan" discussions. This post is about our Bryan House since it's our corner landmark. I asked our own Hazel L. about an idea, since she was raised in that house, the 7th of 9 children. She was in favor. The idea: our country will have to import healthcare workers from other countries (legally, with hopefully accelerated procedures of the State Department). If we provided temporary housing to newcomers while they acclimate to their new country and surroundings, TVAB might become a sought-after destination. The Bryan House could be made into a dormitory, permitting these newcomers time to locate their own housing and roommates. Aldi's is close enough for walking or biking for those without cars. It could also be used as a place for our local staff to spend the night when bad weather prevents a safe drive home or coming to work the next day. Same "dormitory" possibility could be considered for a section of the Edgewood Building. Jennifer Y. 2/13/23 post: From DailyOm Newsletter: Aging Gracefully"When the time comes for us to let go of the creations of our middle lives, we are like a tree in autumn dropping leaves, as we release our past attachments and prepare for a new phase of growth. The children move on, and careers shift or end. The lines on our faces, the stretch marks, and the grey hairs are beautiful testaments to the fullness of our experience. In the winter of our lives, we become stripped down to our essence like a tree. We may become more radiant than ever at this stage, because our inner light shines brighter through our eyes as time passes. Beauty at this age comes from the very core of our being—our essence. This essence is a reminder that there is nothing to fear in growing older and that there is a kind of beauty that comes only after one has spent many years on earth." Sent in by Pam B. 2/21/22 post: Nothing submitted yet. However, go to Recommendations and read John F's account of his NC Zoo visit.