In the Spotlight: At the end of a tough news day, tears flowed
I was the first to arrive in the newsroom at the Greenwich Time, a daily newspaper in Greenwich, Conn., a half-hour's drive up I-95 from New York City
My computer just booted up and I was going through emails when I heard a couple of public works guys chatting on the police scanner.
They seemed to talk about some news report of an airplane that crashed into a building.
I didn't pay much mind, thinking it could have been any building, anywhere.
It was about 8:50 a.m.
Some 10 minutes later one of the guys shouted, "Another plane just hit the other tower!"
And that's when things clicked.
I checked my computer for any news alerts. The Associated Press had one that simply stated: "NEW YORK - Plane crashes into World Trade Center, according to television reports." (I actually cut, pasted and saved that one-line alert.)
I ran across the room and switched on the TV, and was stunned to see black smoke billowing from each of the Twin Towers from what already was reported to have been a suspected terrorist attack.
Reporters and editors didn't trickle in as usual. They bolted through the doors to join me in front of the TV, trying to comprehend what was happening.
We discussed how we were going to report on this horrific event.
It was obvious there would be many casualties, and they would include local residents.
Greenwich is a bedroom community for New York's financial district. The town probably has the densest concentration of Fortune 500 executives, investment bankers, bond traders and the like in the nation.
We reporters and photographers were eager to race to the scene, but the editors decided against sending anyone, and for good reason. Metro-North had already halted train service to Grand Central Station and authorities ordered all bridges and tunnels closed.
The prospect of getting to the WTC just to phone in a story was about nil.
The game plan changed. The AP and major New York dailies would handle the larger story, while we would remain strictly local, tracking down residents who were at the WTC and could provide firsthand accounts of the attack.
While we feverishly worked the phones, someone shrieked and we stopped to see why.
I turned and saw the slow-motion image of the WTC's South Tower pancaking.
The newsroom went silent. I don't think another call was made or another word typed for the next half-hour.
And that's when the North Tower collapsed.
It took a while for the shock to wear off enough for us to return to reporting mode, and by the end of the day we'd put together a package of stories. Mine was about how more than 50 local residents who worked at the World Trade Center were listed as missing -- a designation that wouldn't be lifted for quite a while because so many victims were never recovered or accounted for.
Memorial services eventually were held, and for a while it seemed like I and fellow reporters were covering services daily. Some families were actually able to hold funerals after loved ones' remains were identified.
But back to September 11, 2001:
I drove home that night to my apartment, across state lines in a New York suburb.
It was late and dark. I didn't want to turn on the TV.
I sat in silence and hugged my dog, an embrace that got tighter as I buried my face into Kelly's black fur.
Then came uncontrollable sobs. I couldn't stop. I hadn't cried so long and hard since my parents died.
I was no longer in reporting mode, and the realization had set in that thousands of people just like me had set out for work that stunningly clear day under a deep blue sky.
But never again would they return home to their husbands and wives, their children -- even just to hug a faithful dog.
• Joe Johnson is now the Athens Banner-Herald's police and courts reporter
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