I still feel an intense anger at the injustice inflicted on innocents. It is followed immediately by frustration -- frustration that I'm too old now to put on my green suit and grab my gun and go after those sonsofbitches and frustration that there is no leadership in Washington with a vision concerning fixing anything related to this. I get to be a bit of a hawk when somebody insults my country.
I have one absolutely wonderful memory of those days I'll share, however. Remember when, suddenly, American flags were in short supply?
On September 11, 2001 I was in Little Rock, Arkansas on the consulting assignment from hell. My company had made a bad acquisition and several co-workers and I were forced to do the wrong thing for a client because of it. We were supposed to make a really stupid and off the mark presentation in a few days and the next move involved joining up with some idiots in Atlanta to finalize a meaningless slide show. Making my mood worse was what happened in New York City. Now, we had to get to Atlanta on a fool's errand and there were no planes in the air. Driving would be the only option.
When I called the Hertz counter at the Little Rock airport to see if I could convert my existing rental to a one-way and leave the car in Atlanta I got my first pleasant surprise. They had a Lincoln that they needed to get to Atlanta and I could have it for free if I'd just get it there for them. The whole "normal" movement of their cars was interrupted and they were searching for ways to get cars to hub airports for the surge they knew would come after air traffic was resumed. They said the tank would be full and we didn't have to fill it up when we turned it in. It also had a CD player -- a luxury in those days.
My co-worker and I struck out for Atlanta in the Lincoln. We had cell phones and a stack of CD's. We didn't talk much, we just drove, not really knowing what to feel or what to do. We missed our families and wanted to be home, not on the highway.
Somewhere between Little Rock and Atlanta one afternoon, a day or two after 9/11/01, events conspired to make a memory.
I had a Ray Charles CD in the Lincoln's stereo system. We'd been driving without conversation for the most part. My co-worker was staring blankly out the windshield as I drove us onward through the countryside. Traffic was heavy but courteous. We were all still in shock.
As we were coming around a curve and approaching a long hill the CD player moved to the last cut on the Ray Charles CD -- his wonderful rendering of "America". That song gets me and given the circumstances of the time I was choking up a bit. I looked over at my co-worker and she was wiping at tears. I couldn't cry because I was driving so I stifled my emotions, swallowed hard, sniffled, and goosed the Lincoln up the hill. There was an overpass above the highway ahead, near the top, where some country road crossed the Interstate.
As we neared that overpass I could see that cars coming the other direction were flashing their lights. Getting even nearer we could hear horns honking. The CD was playing the last intense verse and Ray was in fine voice. I was about to crack and have to pull over. That's when we saw what was causing the commotion . . .
A grizzled old man wearing bib overalls was standing on top of that overpass. He was grinning from ear to ear and heartily waving a huge American flag he'd most likely borrowed from his church or a school. "God shed his grace on thee . . ." sang Ray as we drove under that fellow. I leaned on the horn and flashed the lights, too, as we watched him fade in the Lincoln's mirrors. Suddenly what had been a boring road trip toward a useless job had become one of my life's peak moments thanks to Hertz, Ray Charles, and a kindly old man who knew everybody on that highway needed some reassurance that there was something bigger than all of us -- that in spite of toil and strife there was purpose. "From sea to shining sea . . ."
Every year on September 11th I do two things. I exchange e-mails with my co-worker and unwitting partner in that experience just to see if maybe we made it all up. We didn't, she assures me. Then, I listen to Alan Jackson's song "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning". I think a lot about that old man on that overpass. I wish I could have gotten out of the car and shaken his hand.
Epilog: When we got to Atlanta I gratefully filled the tank on that Lincoln and then turned it into the agent who was completely understanding when I gave him a manly hug. That's the way it was then. The greatest evil I've experienced in my life was at the heart of driving some incredible love and unity. You couldn't buy a flag anywhere -- they were all sold out. But, you could borrow one!
Hub
