Michael Jackson Saved My Life, A 9/11 Story
Preface
If you were old enough to remember 2001, you know “where you were,” when you heard about the events unfolding on September 11th. Everybody has a story, a memory. Some stories more tragic than others. Memories of seeing a coworker that morning and never seeing them again, or families never having their loved ones return home.
This year is the 20th anniversary of 9/11, and the number documentaries, fictional movies and coverage from the general media has been larger than usual. This is especially true given our recent withdrawal from Afghanistan. It has been 20 years, but it feels like last week.
Sometimes it feels more like yesterday that my father and I woke up in Manhattan on Tuesday 9/11/2001.
While watching on of the documentaries, within minutes I’ve found fighting to find my breath. The footage of the planes hitting the building was causing me to gasp. I shuddered and burst into tears as if the clown from IT had jumped out from behind the couch.
I’m realizing I haven’t unpacked a lot of the trauma I’ve incurred from that day. For 20 years I’ve focused on waking up on this day with a sense of overwhelming gratitude for my life. I’ve tried to be thankful while praying for the loved ones of the almost 3000 people that never came home that day. Re-watching the footage this week took me back to a day in my life that I experienced such a deep and lasting sense of fear.
As Americans we don’t like to share these sentiments because we want to be a strong country. A country that won’t live in fear of terror, but I did. Sometimes I still do. People often share during moments before thinking they may die that they see “their life flash before their eyes.” I realize only now that for well over 24 hours, perhaps days, I truly thought my life may end at any moment. I lived in fear of being awake, of going to sleep, fear of most things.
I often tell the following story by starting with “Michael Jackson Saved My Life.” It’s not an untrue statement, and it makes for a good story. Before sharing, I’d like to recognize that it’s a clear to me now that I use this humor as a coping mechanism to depict put the most terrifying day of my life. With that…
How Michael Jackson Saved My Life on 9/11.
It was a beautiful weekend in New York during September 2001. Sunny and warm enough for short sleeves but cool enough to where you wouldn’t break a sweat. I was 15 years old, turning 16 in just a few days. It was my first visit to New York.
This was a huge week for me. I was finally, FINALLY going to see Michael Jackson Live in Madison Square Garden. If you could travel back in time and talk to my peers, they might very likely reference me as the largest Michael Jackson fan they have known in person. This might be in large part due to a Michael Jackson tattoo I have on might right ankle but where are we going with this anyway…
15-year-old Lauren had been saving for this moment for months. The one birthday ask of her father was that if she could save enough for a ticket, that he would take her to New York to see Michael Jackson perform. He agreed. That week my father and I met Carson Daily, I was on T.R.L., we bounced around New York seeing all the wonder she had to offer. Finally, on Monday Sept 10th, 2001, it was all coming to a head. I would finally get to see Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5 live, in person, at Madison Square Garden.
While difficult to remember due to the following events, I had an amazing night. Overwhelmed with joy. The reporter sitting next to me had to put in earplugs, and he left the show early because I was screaming so loudly. I remember the show ran long and late into the morning. There were countless segments and storylines. For Michael you wouldn’t expect less. My father and I walked home to our hotel from the Garden. I remember it being after 1am, and we were both exhausted. There was light rain and a few evening rumbles as we walked back. We made it before any storm and hit the bed, hard.
The next morning, we were going back to Atlanta. We had rented a car outside of New York and only had one more area we hadn’t seen before we would return the car and fly home. The financial district. We had been taking pictures of the World Trade Centers from the State of Liberty and Empire State Building the day before. My dad promised me we would visit before leaving the morning after the show.
That morning, I was so tired. I mumbled across the room early in the morning, “I don’t have the energy to go down to the financial area. I want to sleep in. Nothing can be better than what I saw last night” Later close to 9am there was booming rumble. Curtains in the room were closed. I rolled over in bed and proudly thought “thunder. Yes! I made the right choice, visibility would be junk from the towers.” I nodded back off.
The hotel phone rang. If you know how loud hotel phones can be, you know this was annoying. We assumed it was the lobby confirming our check-out time and when we would be pulling up the car. It rang again… and again… and again… we picked up. It was family.
“Are you ok?!”
“Yes of course why”
“Are you near a TV? Turn it on”
My father turned on the television. Footage of crash one (just minutes before) was already playing. I remember clearly, my father and I both thought it had been a small private plane like a Cessna. A tragic mistake. I didn’t see any rain, I opened the window. Bright blue sky. “We could have been there.” I thought. We proceeded to slowly pack up. Not a big rush. Mostly in awe of what was happening and thankful we had dodged that tragic accident.
Then it happened.
Plane 2 appears what felt like out of nowhere in the sky and take a sharp turn at the tower. This was louder. He looked at me and I’ll never forget the moment he said, “This isn’t an accident, we are going, NOW.” We called the lobby to pull around the car. On the way down the elevator, we looked at the bell hop who was calm and collected as ever. He had no idea. Neither did the lobby. Cell phones were still a luxury and were expensive to use or own.
We piled everything into the car and my father instinctively starts driving toward the Lincoln tunnel. Looking down the street, only a few blocks forward a tan wall of smoke tower like it was its own high rise in the middle of the street. Blocking the view of anything else.
To say traffic wasn’t moving was an understatement. While my father wasn’t verbally saying much, the panic was clear in his eyes. News radio was on in car as loud as it could be turned up. We get to the tunnel. Closed.
After plane two crashed, they began closure of all tunnels, subways, and bridges. This was a precautionary measure because they were easy targets where many could be injured if hit.
“They are containing the event,” we thought to ourselves. It was at this moment it became clear to me. My father believed that on this day, the goal for the terrorists was to take New York City off the map. I understood that we were now going to be a part of this targeted extinction event.
We drove to the Washington bridge. Closed. The panic was setting in. Between tears I tried to play my best live action journalist role. Snapping what pictures I could with my disposable Kodak camera. It wasn’t a terribly windy day, but the smoke was following one clear direction. If you were outside of that path, it was a clear site to the towers and what was unfolding.
At some point I remember thinking, “Why try anymore? We should just pull over. This is it. Let’s sit in the park and hug each other tight before we are taken. I don’t want to die trapped in traffic this rental car.”
Tower 1 collapses in front of my eyes. The reporters on the radio depicted the event with the same intensity as hearing a play by play for a winning touchdown at the super bowl. Except it wasn’t, it was a play by play of a complete catastrophe.
My tears intensified. Which building around us will be next? Will the planes come out of the sky targeting at the ground? We drove toward Harlem.
If you aren’t familiar with the Harlem area, there are a handful of smaller bridges that cross over the Harlem River. We drove the stretch. Though I can’t recall which one of those 4 or 5 we crossed, I know they put cones behind us as we passed over. We were one of the last cars off the island that morning. The scene that followed is something straight out of a zombie movie. One way car traffic away from New York, but the other side of the road wasn’t empty. The road was full. Every single fire truck, police car and ambulance for miles were going into the city. They were bumper to bumper as well. Emergency vehicles as long as the eye could see.
After we crossed, we made our way to New Jersey. We needed gas and we also had just learned we wouldn’t be flying home. We stopped at a large gas station where I walked inside to use the bathroom. I remember the scene vividly. There was a small sitting area for those who were eating, let’s say 2–3 tables and a small corner mounted TV. Nobody was sitting at those tables. There were 15–20 people in a small half circle around the TV. About 10 of those people were on their knees grasping their face in their hands while tears swelled from their eyes.
With a full tank of gas and a phone, we contacted the rental company and shared we wouldn’t be returning the car and planned to drive it one way to Atlanta. My father was determined to get us home, and he was not about to get on a plane. We were going Atlanta and we were driving, starting now. Screw your rules, your fees and anything else you have to say about it.
News radio still blaring, the Pentagon has now been a confirmed target. The path from New York to Atlanta happens to pass directly the through Washington D.C. area, so we prepared our route around. As a reminder, in 2001 this was not as simple as pulling up a google map route around the area. We had an Atlas of the US and prepared our directions. I would guide my father for the next 24 hours on the road.
The hit on the Pentagon was another blow. We had reconciled that our lives might have been a target if we had stayed trapped in Manhattan, but we escaped. We hadn’t realized the rest of the U.S. was a target. All I could think about now was the CDC. You might ask why a teenager would even consider a thought about the Center for Disease Control. While 9/11 trumped the news for most of the year, the giant anthrax mail scare of 2001 that had been a prominent story faded into the background.
We kept driving. We circled around D.C. No further attack reports. Was it over? Were we safe? On the road I felt a sense of calm. I thought, who would come for an interstate? I had seen Independence Day. The major cities were first and if we stayed away, we would be ok.
Early into Wednesday morning we arrived home. There wasn’t any welcome crew. My dad was single, and it was still just the two of us, but it felt better than being in the middle of the country. We had a basement, we had friends, we could be near family if it continued. I hit the bed, but I still cannot confirm if I slept that night, or for the following week.
A Reflection.
Looking back 20 years later, I often think about the people I met and photographed around the city that weekend. What about the police or firefighters I photographed…were they still alive? Could I share these last photos with their families if I found them somehow?
Each day for the last 20 days has been a reminder that life is fleeting. That I don’t deserve to be here, but I am. It inspires a daily mindset of gratitude.
I often think about Steve Job’s quote …
“Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. … And yet, death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it, and that is how it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life.”
I do not live in fear. However, as Job’s said, “If you wake up and you ask yourself you were to die today would you be happy with what you chose to do with your time? If the answer is no, you should make a change.” That is where I sit today and encourage others to try a similar reflection.
Thank you, God, for choosing me to continue.
Thank you, Dad, for your dedication to my safety.
Thank you, Michael, for a weekend that shaped my mindset and myself as a person.
Thank you.
