I had been traveling back and forth between NYC and San Francisco for the summer and had planned my September trip for the 11th, from Newark to San Francisco International Airport. I had been taking the same United Air flights and was getting to know the flight crew.
I ended up having to change plans and shift my trip a week earlier. I was to land in Newark at 11 p.m. on Sept. 10. But I ended up in Los Angles, where there was an earthquake that Sunday. Flights got backed up so I didn’t land in Newark until 5 a.m. on Sept. 11, 2001.
After transferring back into Chelsea I crawled into bed at 7:30 a.m.
At 9 a.m. the world changed.
For two weeks I couldn’t leave Manhattan Island. I gained and lost friendships. There were constant threats to us on the island. Life forever changed for me on that day.
— Ed Hamilton Rosales, Vancouver
It was a beautiful fall day, one of the loveliest fall days in the entire six years I had lived in the Washington, D.C., area. I planned to go to the office first, complete a few brief meetings, and then head to Dulles International Airport to catch a flight to Cincinnati. I was in a meeting when a co-worker rushed into my office, breathless, and exclaimed that a plane had just crashed into one of the World Trade towers in New York. I was surprised and concerned, of course, but continued my meeting. It seemed only moments later that my co-worker rushed into my office again, tears in her eyes, crying, that another plane had crashed into a second tower at the World Trade Center. We knew that it was no accident, that a terrorist attack was underway. I don’t remember the exact moment we learned that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon, but when we did hear the news, the person I had been meeting with burst into sobs. She said her husband, a CIA employee, had meetings at the Pentagon that morning. She immediately tried reaching him via her cellphone. Her call didn’t go through. She left my office still sobbing.