My Memories of 9-11...
In the spring of 2001, I was unemployed, frustrated, and feeling depressed about the situation. I had become a casualty of a weak economy. That April, while reading the Chicago Sun-Times, I came across a want-ad for flight attendants at American Eagle Airlines (the regional subsidiary of American Airlines). After initially laughing at the thought of becoming a flight attendant, I figured what more do I really have to lose. So, I applied. After making it through an initial interview scheduled at an airport hotel near O’Hare International Airport (ORD) and then spending a day at a office building near the Dallas-Ft. Worth International Airport being interviewed some more, I was selected to go through flight attendant training.
Roger @ Ground Zero in 2007
By late July, I was an American Eagle flight attendant sitting reserve. This meant I was simply waiting in a ready room waiting for a flight not staffed by a flight attendant at O'Hare International Airport (ORD). It was there that a senior flight attendant informed me that I could be flying daily if I simply called scheduling and made it known that I was an eager flight attendant willing to fly anywhere. She told me that scheduling would take advantage of me. The next day, I called scheduling.
After that, I rarely sat at an airport. I was always on the go. My destinations varied, I worked flights to Indianapolis, Green Bay, Jacksonville, Oakland, San Diego, Des Moines, Knoxville even Oklahoma City. This is how I discovered America by air. I experienced this country in a way I never imagined. The first time I worked a flight to Worcester, MA, I was taught by the passengers how to pronounce the name of that city with a "proper" New England accent. During a flight from Los Angeles to San Diego, I was sternly informed by a frequent flier that the New York/Boston to Washington, DC flights were not the only shutlle flights in the U.S. I discovered that the best Chinese food could actually be found in San Angelo, Texas and that the best view of the Pacific Ocean could be found in San Luis Obispo.
On September 11th, 2001, I slept in, tired from four very long days of flying. On 9-11, I never knew about the terrorist hijackings of U.S. commercial airliners until just before 11 a.m. Central time, a good deal after the first attack on the World Trade Center in New York City had occurred. On that Tuesday, I was alive -- and that in and of itself was something for which to be thankful.
Had I worked my original schedule, I would have been on American Airlines Flight 11 that morning. I would have been flying to the West Coast to complete my schedule for that week. But a phone call on Monday, September 10th changed all that.
September 10th, 2001, found me starting my day with a quick flight from Portland, ME into American Eagle's hub in Boston. From there, I flew south with my crew on a round-trip flight to Raleigh, NC. I returned to Boston prepared to continue my flight schedule, going back to Portland. There, I would overnight and return to Boston the next day, Tuesday, to take an American Airline flight to Los Angeles. Later, in Los Angeles, I would close out my schedule before returning home to Chicago. The flight scheduled for me to take to LA was American Airlines Flight 11.
However, as I was preparing to return to Portland, my cell phone rang and an American Eagle scheduler, by the name of Steve, was on the line with a simple question, "Did I still want to go to Los Angeles?” I have to admit, when first asked the question I was a bit confused. When scheduling called, they always told me where I was going. Never before had I had a choice in the matter. I was starting to wonder if I had done something wrong. But then Steve added that he wanted me to consider an alternate flight schedule.
Now, I enjoyed it when American Eagle sent me to the West Coast as my sister Andrea and her family lived in Huntington Beach, CA. I always called her prior to my flights to LA to schedule time for me to visit. On that day, Steve, told me that if I wished, he would send me immediately back to Chicago; let me finish off my schedule there and have me take Tuesday, September 11th off. This new schedule would have me back at work with only one day off, but I would be heading down to Miami to start a run of Caribbean flights on Thursday.
I must admit while I love my family, having the chance to travel throughout the Caribbean Islands and even overnight there was very appealing. So, after calling my sister and giving her the bad news and discovering that she was a bit burned out from seeing me so often recently, I called back and jumped at the Caribbean run – thus, turning down my need to fly on American Airlines Flight 11.
Back in Chicago, my wife picked me up late that Monday night at O’Hare and I fell asleep on the ride home. So, when I woke-up later than usual on Tuesday, I was stunned to see that my voicemail was full. I immediately thought that I had been so tired that I had slept through Tuesday and it was actually Wednesday and I had missed my assigned call time at ORD. However, listening to the messages simply confused me further.
Almost all the messages were to my wife asking, "Is Roger OK?" OK from what? I asked myself, "What's going on?" Finally, when I turned on the television and began watching the news coverage did I understand. But even with all the messages I failed to put two and two together. I simply thought the calls from friends and family wanted to know whether I was flying today. It would be later that week, after suffering an aborted take-off in Evansville, IN that I would put everything together.
The Saturday after 9/11 found me working the first flight out that morning. It was a full flight and people were eager to get their lives back on track, especially in regard to traveling by air. But as the flight was taking off, my captain discovered that a key instrument on the plane's control panel was showing a number not conducive for flying. So, he aborted our take-off.
Now, on any other day, at any other time, an abortive take-off due to a faulty gauge reading would have had very little impact on the passengers. But this was no ordinary day; this was only the second day of commercial flying after 9/11. So, you can imagine the panic-stricken faces on all those who were in my aircraft that day. After making the emergency stop and going back to the terminal in Evansville, you can also imagine the comments that I got from passengers. Such as, "I am never flying again..." or "Who's the 'bleep' (add your favorite four-letter word) flying this plane?"
While I sat in the crew lounge in Evansville waiting for the plane to be repaired, I went through my recent airline paperwork. It was only then and there that the reality of my travel plans hit me like an anvil and I saw the flight number on my previous week’s schedule. I was numb and I never truly appreciated my good fortune. All I did was sit there -- not just for a few minutes, but at least an hour -- staring at a piece of paper that outlined a path not taken, a fate avoided.
It was also on that day that I began to disassociate myself from 9/11. For the next few years, I did not allow myself to talk about my personal feelings about the events that occurred. I could talk to people about my close call, but I did so in a cold, calculated fashion. I never felt lucky, blessed, or even happy about what happened. What occurred simply happened. But all that changed in 2007.
In 2007, 9/11 fell on the same day (a Tuesday) that it did in 2001. That year, I decided to take that Tuesday off and spend it volunteering for Travelers Aid at Washington National Airport. While I was still avoiding my personal feelings, I knew the importance of the day and realized that spending it volunteering, especially at an airport, as a passenger advocate -- something I had begun doing in 2003 -- was a very appropriate way to commemorate 9-11.
Mid-day, I found myself walking through an empty section of the airport known as the Historic Terminal. This area was the place where airlines like American, TWA, and United had flown out when the airport first opened in the 1930s. I sat down in a seat facing the airport’s runway, and at that moment, I finally cried.
I cried because I felt fortunate to have lived. I cried because I questioned if I should have lived. I cried as I thought of all the people who did die on 9/11. I cried simply because it had taken me so long to feel anything. I also found myself wondering why I lived when so many others had died. I wondered what the flight attendants on Flight 11 were thinking as the hijacking took place and just before they died crashing into the World Trade Center? I also wondered if any other American Eagle flight attendant had been "deadheading" on that flight? I also realized at that moment, that I never wanted to know that answer. I wondered why I was given a choice on whether I would be on Flight 11 when others were not. I wondered, if I was living a life worthy of having been saved.
But in this year, the tenth year after 9/11, I believe I have finally made peace with the choice I was allowed to make. Today, on most Friday nights, you will find me at Reagan Washington National Airport volunteering as a Travelers Aid mobile guide. I have been doing this same shift since 2003. Consider it my way of giving back, by helping others I believe I am saying “thank-you” for my good fortune.
9-11-2011