A 9/11 Memory ... by gimleteye

A Keys newspaper asked writers for their memories of 9/11, a decade ago. Here is my recollection:

On Sept 11th I had a mid-morning meeting in South Dade, a forty five minute drive from Coral Gables. For six years, I had been leading a pitched battle to stop the Homestead Air Force Base from being converted to a major commercial airport at the edges of two national parks and a national marine sanctuary. My involvement continued years of advocacy attempting to protect natural resources in the Keys. The meeting on September 11th was another ventilating session on what should be built, now that the Air Force had recommended against the multi billion dollar airport plan. The school fish would all be there, and so would I. That morning, my wife and I had watched the unfolding tragedy in New York City with dread. She was in tears as I pulled out of our driveway. We had lived in New York City. I had been in the World Trade Towers many times. Our eldest son, a photographer in the East Village, had left a cellphone message with sirens screaming: he was heading downtown to the World Trade Center with his cameras. We couldn't return his call, of course. The circuits were jammed. Had he made his call before the first tower fell? Had he managed to get through the police cordons, because isn't that what I would have done if I were 21? I listened to the radio on the way to Homestead. No one knew anything. At some point I turned the radio off. Now I can't recall whether I watched the first tower fall on television before leaving the house or not. My mind still loops on the images: we know the World Trade Towers will fall, and they are always falling. The government center in South Dade was closing when I arrived. I went up to the meeting room anyway. A long horseshoe table in the conference room was set up with pads of paper and pencils and plastic pitchers of drinking water beaded with sweat from the ice. The chairs were empty. Down a hallway in one of the county offices, a small group of military and civilians clustered around a TV. More planes were down. The towers kept falling. I didn't talk with anyone, and I didn't stay long. It turns out: that was the last public meeting on the Homestead Air Force Base I attended. Eventually that afternoon on 9/11, my son called. He was on a rooftop with friends watching the rising inferno. I asked if the police had stopped him from a closer view. No, he said, it was the people covered with dust running the other way who made him turn back.