On an infamous morning like 9/11, the one five years ago, you don’t know what terror the afternoon will see. Evening finally came, and whether or not you had constant access to television during the day, you sure kept your eyes on the tube that night. To make sense of it? Yes, but more, so you and loved ones could use that information to plan — for the worst.
It was a Tuesday. What would Wednesday bring?
I was a newspaper’s editorial pages editor then. Though paid to analyze and predict, you learn at the start you’re no more accurate than any other well-informed person. This week could be no different.
Wednesday comes and goes. How will the rest of the week fare? Friday is the deadline for my Sunday column. What would happen next week?
That Tuesday morning, I was to drive 50 miles south to Fort Smith to take my then-80-year-old mom to our old family home from the hospital. I left after my wife and I saw both towers fall on TV. Mom had hers on in her room at St. Edward Mercy Medical Center; nurses and aides would watch a moment of TV as they worked in each patient room.
We stopped at a Wal-Mart Neighborhood Market for medicine and a few groceries. A quietness inside was palpable, except for more cell phone use than usual, the callers with fear in their eyes and voices lowered.
I left Mom at the house. I’d be needed at the newsroom for odds and ends of duties through the night, as the executive editor wanted to write that editorial. I’d write my column at the end of the week. Analyze, predict? No. Write what I had seen, in the middle of the country, that Tuesday. -30-
