Remembering Sept. 11, a Time of Sorrow and Coming Together

Late to work. I was always late to work, and on Sept. 11, 2001, my morning was no different. I was busy getting ready, rushing to put on my makeup in the bathroom while listening to the Today Show, which was on in my living room.

As I primped in the bathroom, suddenly they broke into the morning show and I stopped to see what was happening. The first plane had just flown into the north tower of the World Trade Center. The second plane would follow soon enough.

I was a reporter working in my first job at a small newspaper on the Western Slope of Colorado. The Montrose Daily Press was one of the few afternoon papers still around, and we were supposed to be in the newsroom at 7 a.m. I usually made it in a half hour late and then I’d start proofing the paper to get it ready for printing at 11 a.m.

As soon as I could understand what had happened, I fumbled the phone and called my boss Greg to ask him if he had the television on. I already knew the answer. No. They never had the television on in our newsroom. In a small town, who really needs to watch the news to know what is happening?

But, on Sept. 11 the television was where everyone was huddled. I told him to turn on the TV. I explained what had happened and then raced in to the newsroom.

While we were nearly on the other side of the world from New York City, it didn’t matter. People were frightened and traumatized no matter where they were, and Montrose, population of roughly 15,000, was no different.

Our small newsroom, which had three full-time reporters (cops, schools and city) and two editors, set to work making calls to city officials, schools, the police and fire departments. People were concerned about the water supply, about dams, about security at the airport.

Since we were an afternoon paper, our paper had yet to go to press. That day we were able to publish twice.

I was so busy working for most of the day, I didn’t have time to think or even have a chance to be emotional. Until I called my mother. She started to talk about all the firefighters who had died, of all the lives lost. That is when I lost it.

It didn’t matter that I wasn’t in New York City. Life as I knew it changed. I worried about my friends; I thought about all the lives lost and was horrified at the images I had seen on TV. I thought to myself, how bad must things be that you would throw yourself out a window as the better option?

The images were haunting.

While there was anger, fear and sorrow at the events of that day, through all the tragedy, I saw a side of people that I hadn’t expected would come from such a crisis.

People came together.

A service was quickly organized and held outside Montrose City Hall. Everyone was united, mourning and praying together. Though I was there to report the events of the day, I was a part of the community. I was there to bear witness to a significant moment in our nation’s history.

And, for the first time, on Sept. 11, I learned what it truly meant to be an American.