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THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
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FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 2001
Diary of a disaster Story by Audrey Korte Photo by Chris Reid
On Sept. 11, a woman heard the phone ring in her kitchen. She knew before she picked up the receiver that her life would never be the same. She only hoped that her life had just entered some stage of miracle, where she would learn that her husband was alive and outside of Tower 2. She knew the Twin Towers had been attacked, and she knew her husband worked on the 78th floor of Tower 2. She had just watched a plane fly into that tower on TV. She put the phone to her ear and heard her husband say, "They told us it was all right. They told us."
Her 3- and 5-year-olds came in and hugged their crying mother, a woman from my church. They saw Daddy's building on TV, but they didn't yet know that he was in it. He was calling from the 82nd floor because the floors below were melting from the intense heat of the explosion. He was trapped in Tower 2, and he knew there was no way out. He asked to talk to his babies one last time, and his wife put him on speakerphone. She held her 3-year-old in one arm and the 5-year-old in the other, and helplessly watched the flaming tower on TV. As Tower 2 collapsed, her husband said, "Daddy loves you."
Sept. 11, 2001. "What does that date mean to you?"
I asked a few people and got some weird looks. People obviously felt compelled to have an answer ready, some way to sum it all up. Most people told me stories of where they were when they found out about the hijacked planes and attacks in Washington, D.C., and New York.
One particularly confused girl looked at the newspaper sitting on a table nearby. "Terror!" was the headline, and behind the headline was a picture of the Twin Towers with smoke and flames pouring out of them. The girl looked at me and said in a whisper, "Terror."
"U.S.attacked!"
american tragedy
On my way to class that Tuesday morning, someone said to no one in particular, "New York is being attacked." I wonder if my dad has gone to New York that day. I scramble to get to my phone. "You have one new voicemail message." My fear rises until I hear, "Audrey, I'm OK."
My dad had not yet left for New York when the planes hit. I call him, shaking, and he begins to name the people we know who are missing. The phone lines are down and no one is reachable.
and no one is reachable.
"Well, what about...," I ask as I name everyone I can think of who works in New York, but the answer is always the same — unaccounted for.
but the answer is always the same — unaccounted for. I later learned that my high school teacher, Chris Carstanjen, was aboard the hijacked flight that crashed into Tower 2. I watch that plane crash into Tower 2 over and over again on TV. I know people on that flight, and I know people in that building ... It seems to have reached a level of horrendous that
As dust settles and reality hits, Kansas asks why
reality can't touch, a stage of awful that only the imagination could know.
"War at home"
That week was a blur of television and tears. I began to deal with the tragedy on a personal level, as it affected my family, friends and neighbors more with each passing hour. There were just so many people, and so many sad stories.
so many sad s. I felt like I should be in Connecticut, at home, but not because I could do any more to help there than in Kansas. Sixty-three people were missing from my area of Connecticut. I needed to go home and experience some of this on my own.
So after a week of trying unsuccessfully to "get over it" and "move on," as I was advised by some to do, I decided to return to Connecticut.
"Fear envelops the countrv"
But I don't know that I really "returned" to anything. The world I left two months ago seemed to be gone
forever. The airport was almost empty — LaGuardia airport!
There were only 20 people on my flight from Kansas City to New York City, and my bags were searched three times in the airport. On my flight, non-serrated knives came with breakfast. They were such a reminder of the week before that no one used them.
After a few days at home, my family went to Manhattan to see the destruction for ourselves. We walked downtown, past where the streets were blocked off to cars. Some people wore surgical masks. The smell was terrible, and the air was thick and warm.
"American tragedy"
As we neared the corner of Duane and Greenwich streets, I could hear singing. A barbershop quartet was performing all kinds of patriotic songs. Bystanders, including police
All the buildings and restaurants were closed. Police and firefighters were everywhere, and always in groups.
officers, joined in for "America the Beautiful."
We rounded the corner... there was Ground Zero. The site was still smoking. The fire hoses barely seemed to be doing anything. There were trucks hauling debris from the site. The workers on top of the pile looked so far away.
Seven stories of wreckage is almost unimaginable. It doesn't look so big on TV. I felt empty. No thought in my head, no tears in my eyes. Something in me had changed.
You could see a difference in the people of New York.
Every car had an American flag on it. One pick-up truck had two huge flags taped to both sides of the cab. They brushed the windshield of the cars behind him as he drove.
No one flipped middle fingers, swore, yelled at their kids or played loud music. No pedestrians banged on the hood of a car blocking a crosswalk
I saw the yellow ribbons and memorials everywhere. American flags,
"Good will prevail"
prayers and poems penned by children covered every building. Flowers, candles and pictures covered the sidewalks.
When I realized the effect one human life can have on the world, I recognized how much we had truly lost. These were not strangers I was crying for. These people are a number, a picture, a sad story, a striking headline, but if we don't see them as more than that, we have failed to mourn them.
them.
Was it "Terror" that sent people to blood banks by the thousands to donate blood? Was it "Angst!" that raised millions of dollars for relief funds? Was it "Fear" that provoked the airline industry to give tickets to victims' friends and family going home for funeral services? Was it "Evil!" that made us pray?
Sept. 11,2001."What does it mean to you?" It's so easy to let others decide.
Newspaper headlines and sappy songs can neatly package what has happened, so there no need to really think about it. We heard numbers of the deceased and missing, amounts of money lost and money raised. People were laid off in the airline industry and anthrax scares are developing. The military is on high alert, troops are sent away, bombs are dropped.
More gripping headlines, dramatic background music and shocking pictures. Another sad story. The President issues a statement, an analyst gives an opinion or prediction, and professors compare it to past events.
There are protests and speeches it seems everyone has something to say.
What do you have to say? What does it mean to you?
Korte is a Weston, Conn., junior in journalism, political science and international studies.
.