I slept in a little late this fine Labor Day morning; up around 7:50. Coffee, paper, feed the dogs and then bum about the house for a bit. At some point I looked at the clock.
9:11
I wonder if I’ll always cringe? It’s imperceptible certainly, but most definitely there’s a little race to my pulse when I see those numbers on a digital clock, on a license plate or even an address.
Where were you that day?
I had a trainee in town who’d flown in the night before. The plan was for me to pick him up around 6:30, make the three hour drive to the yet-to-open restaurant and let him see how training for a new store opening runs.
Sometime around 6:30 I picked up him and we headed north on I-35. We’d met earlier in the month and knew each other well enough to have things to talk about on our drive. That meant the radio was set to background noise level – loud enough to hear it was on, but not loud enough to make anything out.
We’d driven a little over two hours before our first pit stop. We’d had no cell phone reception for a good part of the way. I pumped the gas while Ben went inside. He came out and said, “A plane crashed into the World Trade Center in New York.”
Huh?
I don’t remember much about our conversation the rest of the drive, but I know the radio took center stage. Don’t know when we learned of the second plane, the Tower’s collapse and the rest. A little over an hour later we arrived at the training store in, of all places, Oklahoma City.
The fellow in charge of the whole thing pulled us all into a meeting and shared a prudent thought.
“It was only a little over six years ago these folks dealt with their own day like today, so I’d ask you to keep that in mind as you go about your training this morning and this whole week.”
I wish I had a large catalog of details to rummage through but I don’t. I know we listened to employees share their thoughts of their own experiences regarding the Murrah Building bombing and of how they felt on this September Tuesday morning. We watched the news, saw the price of gas jump to over $6 a gallon at some stations around town, learned of people sitting in living rooms with shades drawn, guns cocked and of other folks walking the streets with guns cocked.
I wish I had individual stories from all the folks I talked to that day, or some memories of my own reactions to the news as it unfolded. But for some reason, I don’t.
Some day, God willing, I'll be the old guy who was alive when this thing happened. Unfortunately I won't be able to share much. Strange how some historic days gift you with fine and plentiful details while others waft through the years, sort of muddled and murky. Strange how I can’t seem to remember much about a day I won’t ever forget.
