I had just moved to San Francisco from New York after graduating college. I had driven my beat-up '92 Jeep Cherokee across the United States for a fourth time, this time taking the southern route from Chicago down past the Grand Canyon and through the Arizona desert into Berdoo and Los Angeles. I found a flat in San Francisco and moved-in on August 1st. The night before the towers fell, I was up late partying with the Dickey Betts band. I knew the keyboardist, Matt Ziner, and he invited me onto the tour-bus after the show. I remember Dickey offering me beer and champagne and then saying, "Okay, folks, we're off to L.A., if you're coming with us stay on the bus. If ya ain't, get the hell off!" I laughed and went home.
I remember being so happy and tremendously excited with life a few weeks before. My fourth trip traversing these beautiful and wild United States of ours yet again re-affirmed for me what America truly is. From the dense forests of the Northeast to the majestic peaks of the Rockies, from the swamps of Florida to the arid deserts of Sonora, from the vast blue stretches of the Great Lakes to the endless rows of cornfields in the heartland, from the grassy rangelands of Wyoming to the dusty tumbleweeds of El Paso--this is one great big beautiful fucking country. THIS IS THE PLACE GOD CREATED FOR MAN AND WOMAN TO LIVE FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! Free of tyranny, free of oppression, free from the iron fist of dictators. This is the land of endless possibilities--a land of promise, of hope, of beauty and of freedom. It's our land by birth. It's humankind's last chance to make good on what our creator intended for us--to live in peace and in freedom to pursue happiness.
I awoke that morning to a ringing telephone (I didn't get a cellphone till 2005 or 2006--I hated the goddamn things at first, and I guess I still do) and a throbbing head. Thanks for the cheap champers, Dickey. The phone must've rang for 5 minutes before I rolled out of bed groaning. It was an old buddy from New York, breathlessly stammering something very urgent and very troubling. My brain was too foggy to comprehend. Turn on television...airplanes...towers burning...people jumping...black clouds of smoke...IS YOUR BROTHER OKAY!!!!!!!!!! Yes, my brother worked for Goldman Sachs at the time. He had just started there that summer and was frequently going in and out of the Trade Centers every day. Suddenly it occurred to me. Something truly horrible and awful was happening, something this country had never known. I looked outside onto a busy street in San Francisco. There were no cars to be seen!!!!!!!! What the hell is going on? It should be rush-hour here. I didn't have a television because I was broke and everything was going to rent and food. Ahhh, I loved those days. But I had a radio. I turned it on. NO MUSIC on any station!!!! Holy Jesus. Something really, truly, awful is happening in New York. Every radio station was a news feed with reporters talking in muted and incredulous tones. A commercial airliner crashed into North Tower!!! Huge plumes of black smoke fill Wall St. Debris wafting through the air...people screaming...then another plane hits the south tower!!!! Complete and utter radio silence for at least a minute. I will never forget the sound of the impact coming from a reporter's microphone somewhere in that horrible turmoil. I heard it through the radio 3000 miles away from home with the same clarity as a fastball hitting a catcher's mitt. Then the reporter, a woman working for New York CBS radio, reporting very close to those towers, was screaming, screaming, screaming. Horror, fear, terror, incomprehension. Through that reporter's mike I could hear a chorus of screams of horror. Another plane has hit World Trade Center. This is no accident.
I spoke to my brother. He was on Water St. in his boss's office looking out from the 31st floor of his building with a direct view at the two towers. His office had advised everybody to remain calm and stay inside. I told him that reports from the ground were not good and that the safety zone was Canal St. and people were evacuating up the West Side highway. I paused to comprehend what I had just said. It still made no sense. It didn't seem possible. It was truly surreal in every sense of that word. I told him to ignore the advice of his office and leave immediately. Get to the West Side highway immediately. I told him I didn't know much about the details, but something truly awful and horrible was happening there. I still to this day do not remember how I contacted him. But I told him to get the hell out of there immediately. As he was walking towards the West Side Highway, he later told me, he heard the worst sound he's ever heard in his life. The air around him was being sucked away, a concussive sucking sound that turned into thunder and roaring and rushing and crashing and ripping and wrenching. An awful, ungodly, unearthly sound. He turned to see what it was. But all he could see was a massive cloud of soot and dust flooding the street. And he ran, screaming and crying and praying to God for life and not death.
He was one of the lucky ones that day. And on this day, in the deepest mood of reverence and grace, I thank God for sparing his life and pray for those who lost theirs, like my next-door neighbor's wife and two children who no longer have a father. I'm sorry if this piece brings up all the emotions of that day again, but this is the memory that will forever live in my heart. God Bless America. Death and destruction to her enemies.
P.S. That freedom I spoke of above comes at a price, and it ain't cheap. And that price is paid for by our servicemen and women. Thanks for your service.