"I was home that day (playing hooky from my job in the city, but my husband went into work as usual -actually a little earlier, to his job on the 94th floor of the north tower. I was in the grocery store at 8:43 thinking about buying eggs so I could make him chocolate chip cookies when the clerk ran down the aisle yelling the news. I remember walking in slow motion towards the checkout counter because I didn't want to dramatically drop the eggs. I walked to my car, got in, and raced home like a maniac, screaming and trying to dial him on his cell phone. I came hone [sic], logged onto AOL and tried to send him a message. I turned on the television, saw the first tower on fire and knelt in front of the screen trying to count the floors. Then I saw the second plane hit the second tower. My sister rushed over from her job, we turned off the television but stayed online. But I knew; I'd counted the floors and seen the black smoke." Nikki Stern, 9/11 Widow, Activist, Author, Open Salon Blogger, Friend
The yearly commemoration of 9/11 has become a national obsession. It's important to remember the victims and their families, to honor the brave men and women who fought to save lives, too many of whom lost theirs in the process. 9/11 was, and still is a national nightmare.
We must find a better way to wake up.
The giant hole at Ground Zero is a perfect metaphor for the torn fabric of America's strength, supremacy, stability. For the erosion of our values and the near destruction of our political system. For the emptiness of our national soul.
Survivors and families, at least those I know, are ambivelant if not outright opposed to the inevitably overblown 10th Anniversary hooplah this year. They, like so many of us, want action, not platitudes. They don't need endless video loops shining bigger spotlights on their loss. Their grief, while shared, is personal. Their memories are private.
Except for the memories they've shared with family, friends, and with virtual friends online. Nikki Stern's quote above is the comment she left on a 9/11 Open Salon blog post I wrote in 2009, My 9/11 Anniversary, The View From Here. It's how we met. It's how this online blogging community learned Nikki was a 9/11 widow.
In that post I chronicled my experiences and asked others to tell us theirs. Nikki responded with haunting, brutal details on how she first learned of her enormous loss. It took my breath away. It still does.
I lived through 9/11 in a unique way. Not in the towers. Not on the ground. Not waiting in fear like Nikki, frantically kneeling at the TV, counting the floors. An image so chilling I will never forget it. Never.
The horror of 9/11 came to me online, in person ... through the voices of victims, their families and friends. And later, the heartbroken yet hopeful voices of survivors.
I talked directly to hundreds of people in the Towers on 9/11 --and in nearby buildings-- live, as it was happening, through IM's, chat rooms, emails and message boards on AOL. Because I worked there. Ironically directing the business of online community. Never did it mean so much.
"Why are people here asking if I'm okay? What's going on? We're having a fire drill here and your [sic] all going crazy."
On this 10th Anniversary, I want to remember the voices of the victims and survivors who spoke to each other and us on AOL. I want to keep the focus on people, where it belongs. Many of those voices can be heard in my 2009 post, including Nikki's. I've added others here. Ones I didn't share then. And there are some I will never share.
Connecting Through America Online
AOL is a bit of an anachronism these days, but when the Internet was just beginning --and still evolving 10 years ago-- AOL was the gold standard for online communication. Most of you probably used AOL at one time or another.
Nikki and millions of others instinctively tried to connect through AOL on that horrific, chaotic day. And in the days that followed.
"I came hone [sic], logged onto AOL and tried to send him a message. My sister rushed over from her job, we turned off the television but stayed online." Nikki Stern
Some found each other. Sadly, most did not. But many got through on AOL, to me, and others. I want to believe those brief brushing of cyber fingers, even with strangers, made a difference.
Personal Interaction
"My son keeps calling me, I can see its his number but I can't hear him. I sent him email, maybe he'll get that. Are the IMs working? I tried them too."
I assured her all AOL's forms of communication were functioning. I said maybe he had no electricity, or wasn't at his desk. I checked to see if he was online, told her he wasn't, that maybe he was already in a stairway toward safety with no cell phone reception. I wrote down his name and phone number and a message from her.
"Do you have children? Tell him I have to hear his voice. How much his father and I love him. Please. I have to know hes ok. Thank you for helping."
Sitting at my keyboard, tears ran down my face as they were surely covering hers. In the midst of the most unimaginable pain and fear, a mother reached out to a total stranger. And politely thanked me.
I was never able to deliver her message. I sent her an email of condolence, but she never responded. That's okay. As a mother, I just hope and pray she heard his voice before he perished.
More Voices
"I still can't reach my wife. They're sending us to the roof now, I might get better reception. Tell her I'll try to call from there. That I love her. And the girls."
Can you imagine the sense of helplessness and rage I felt, knowing that man was doomed, along with so many others? I tried to direct them down if I could, but I was unable to tell them the huge odds stacked against them.
"Are they coming for us? Do you know? The fire department, are they coming? Should we go up or down? People are arguing."
So many didn't know their certain destiny. Some were frantically calling for help. And I couldn't help them. Nobody could help them.
I want to believe I provided a little comfort. A sense of human contact. A virtual hand to hold, shoulder to lean on. And a bridge to home. I tried to respond calmly. Wanted simply to be there for them.
"Can you tell me what's going on? My husband works in the other tower and I can't reach him. So much smoke, is there a fire there?"
And, oh, this hurts my heart still, I took down many phone numbers, addresses, messages for loved ones. And I contacted every single one.
Delivering the messages, reading aloud their loved one's last words might be the hardest thing I've ever done. And yet, such an honor. Because I can't imagine anything more important than offering even a little solace to those about to die so horribly, and to those left behind.
My Voice
Social Networking was called "Community" back then, but it's still the same, just tricked out in newer, faster technology, more apps and pages and games, less old fashioned personal contact.
I'm proud of my role in the creation of AOL's groundbreaking online community -- human interaction at its most basic and sophisticated and necessary levels. I'm even prouder of the role we were privileged to play in giving even the smallest comfort to victims and families on 9/11/2001.
We remember their losses on 9/11, and our terrible personal and collective fear. But we should remind ourselves and each other of our own small acts of heroism back then, our renewed patriotism, our hopes and dreams for a safer future. Which is still unrealized Ten. Years. Later.
Nikki Stern, her late husband and thousands of fellow victims, survivors and ordinary heroes deserve no less. It's time we grabbed control of the story and sent a message to our leaders. Hey! Stop playing games with our lives! Get to work and get it right!
I have no other way to communicate that than to tell my story, to let the dead --and those left behind-- speak for us as reminders of how much must be done so that America too can say, Never Again.
"Dan, wherever you have gone, please wait for me there. Tonight I swear it feels I am not long behind you. I love you." AOL Message Board post, 9/15/01
***
"My wife and I would like to thank the police officer or fireman who picked up our daughter who had fallen and kept her moving away from the first tower as it came down.
You may have saved her life.
I know you saved ours.
You are our hero, whoever you are." AOL Message Board post, 9/17/01
***
"Before last Tuesday, we were living in a bubble that someone crashed a jet carrier into and burst. Now is this time for us to unite. Now is the time for race, religion, political party, ethnicity, and any other boundaries to be put away!
We are Americans and we should be standing up for our country. And our country should be standing up for us." AOL Message Board post, 9/21/01
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Max Rivlin-Nadler
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Comments
♥R
BTW, I have Nikki's excellent book. It's a treasure.
And so are you, Sally. xo
Monkey, you are more than welcome.
Matt, the button works now I think. More important, you have Nikki's book.
Joan, all the more reason to see Nikki again, right? Treasure to treasure.
Chicken Maaan, you're my hero.
Rebecca, yes, many of us agree. If only I had a clue what we could do about it.
patricia, thank you, amazing is high praise, especially from you.
It's good to know that Nikki found a way to stay away from the hoopala.