By Babette Herrmann, Gallup Sun Publisher
Each year as September approaches, those of us old enough to remember 9/11 reflect on the horrors inflicted on American soil.
For years, my routine was simple: I would recall where I was, process the memory privately, and move on. No social media posts. No writing. Just silent reflection.
That fateful Tuesday morning, I hit snooze on my alarm clock, set to NPR, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. A friend’s urgent phone call jolted me awake instead.
Shortly after watching both towers collapse on live television, my editor called me into the newsroom on my day off. Overwhelmed by the unfolding disaster, leadership didn’t know what else to do except assign everyone an op-ed or local angle. The day was defined by shock, sadness, and a heavy feeling of impending doom.
Some called 9/11 a loss of innocence. To me, it was a harbinger of things to come: endless wars in the Middle East, a permanent fear of flying, and a collective weight of national grief. Even those who didn’t lose immediate family suffered a profound loss.
Journalists are wired to run toward disasters, not away from them. Three weeks after the attacks—shortly after air traffic resumed following a three-day national shutdown—I attended a journalism conference. I expected a standard professional workshop. Instead, I walked into a raw, deeply emotional gathering of reporters from across the country.
Journalists excel at vivid storytelling, and these eyewitnesses transported the room straight back to Ground Zero. One story in particular has stayed with me for 25 years.
In a small breakout room, a survivor spoke. On the morning of September 11, he had been attending a conference at the Marriott World Trade Center. He described the terrifying moment the building shook and swayed. Unaware of the true scale of the disaster, event organizers instructed attendees to evacuate through the building’s glass atrium, assuming everyone would return shortly.
As they filed out, conditions deteriorated rapidly. The atrium began to crack and crumble. Panicked, some evacuees tried to turn back into the hotel. The speaker kept moving, desperate to put distance between himself and the towers, all while the horrifying sound of falling debris and bodies echoed around him.
Years later, I tracked down that speaker to thank him. His courage in sharing that trauma reshaped how I approached my own craft and understood the solemn duty of witness-bearing.
As we mark 25 years since that morning, I still see history through a clear divide: life before September 11, and life after. For this Gen X journalist, it remains the defining moment of a lifetime.
