I remember many things that day, but these are the vignettes that remain.
A clear blue sky and crisp cool air. A perfect fall day, though it was still summer.
Hearing the news of the first plane crashing into the North Tower World Trade Center (over AOL Instant Messager).
Seeing the second plane strike the South Tower live on the news and knowing we were under attack.
The panicked, near hysterical call with my wife, trying to make sure that she and my children were safe.
Standing on the 13th floor deck of my old office with co-workers, watching the towers burn. Asking one another how the firefighters might put out the fires.
The towers falling.
Walking through the eerily quiet city late that afternoon, stopping in the middle of Fifth Ave to look downtown. All I could see, from roughly 14th st down, was a giant cloud of dust.
Passing by St. Francisi of Assisi church on 31st St and seeing a small cadre of Firefighters from the ladder company across the street walk slowly up the stairs and into the church, heads bowed.
A fire truck on the same block, covered in dust. I noticed that the front of the truck was partially crushed.
Coming home on the train, riding in utter silence.
In the days and weeks following the attacks, I remember a solidarity like I’ve never felt before or since. We were one nation, one people, with a single purpose, leaning on each other for support.