By John Dobberstein, Editor
Like most of you, I definitely remember where I was on Sept. 11, 2001. At the time, I was a reporter for the Daily Southtown, a suburban newspaper in Chicago. I was just getting my feet under me covering news in a huge market, and no day was ever the same.
Since I worked a 10-6 shift, I was not at work yet when the North Tower was hit. I woke up that morning, turned on the TV and saw footage of smoke pouring out of the North Tower. I showered, came back in and the South Tower had been hit by a commercial airliner. I suspected the worst immediately— this can’t be a coincidence.
MORE COVERAGE: [Podcast] https://basentinel.com/broken-arrow-remembers-9-11-podcast-with-police-fire-chaplain-scott-keele/
Then came the reports of an explosion at the Pentagon and I knew then our nation was under attack, and this day would not be like any other. As I was gearing up to leave, the phone in my apartment rang: it was our newsroom’s top editor. “Get downtown now!” he barked.
I boarded the elevated train to downtown Chicago (known to locals as The Loop) and sat amid very subdued, concerned passengers. After 15 minutes I walked off the train, down a large staircase and into chaos. It was rush-hour in reverse: employees were being sent home, so The Loop was filled with forlorn, bewildered motorists and pedestrians.
One worker was sitting on a large planter in front of one of the federal buildings in a state of disbelief. “How can you stop the enemy when they live within?” she said to me. I agreed but had no answers.
I spent the entire day in the shadow of the 103-story Sears Tower with other media, trying to get information about potential threats to Chicago. The ground stop of commercial aviation that morning likely saved thousands of lives.
At about 5 p.m., a colleague called and sent me up to O’Hare International Airport to cover a security briefing, which ended up not happening. I had never stepped foot in that airport before, and my first visit was memorable: no planes in the sky, no agents, no passengers. The concourses were empty. One of the busiest airports in the world was shut down.
I drove back to my apartment an hour later, sat down on my couch and turned on ABC, anxious to get an update on what occurred since I’d spent much of the day away from televisions. It was the first chance I had to process anything that happened that day.
It was then I saw the breadth of destruction and loss of life that occurred, as explained in a measured, empathetic tone by anchor Peter Jennings. Lower Manhattan was unrecognizable and thousands of innocent lives had been lost. I felt a pain in my soul that took a long time to resolve.
My day ended watching Congressional members gathered on the steps of the U.S. Capitol to sing “God Bless America.” It was a rare moment of bipartisanship.
Several days later, I covered a funeral for an Air Force member who was killed in the Pentagon attack and saw firsthand the pain this tragedy had on the affected families.
For me, selfishly, life continued. But I’ve never completely lost sight of that day and all the innocent lives the Al-Qaeda hijackers took for no valid reason.
Our country isn’t perfect all the time, to be sure. But freedom isn’t free, and that’s a lesson we must never forget.
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