Eleven years ago, at this hour on this day (and very sunny here, like today), I was about to board a train to New York, heading for my office in the East Village, in New York, at Editor & Publisher magazine. A few minutes later, as my train sped south, an airliner flew almost directly overhead over the Hudson on its way to find and smash into one of the World Trade Center towers. Before the train reached Grand Central, a conductor announced that first one plane, then another, had hit the WTC. I looked down the river and saw the smoke, recalling that one of my friends, who I had talked to the night before, worked on a very high floor in one of the towers.
The rest of my story from that day (and the losses since) which I wrote one year ago.