9-11-01
- Thread starter Chef
- Start date
This ain't the thread for broad exposition on this topic, but will only note
that I never saw so much public weeping on one day as I saw 11/22/63.
On the other hand, I've seldom been exposed to as much public
pissed-off-edness at Middle Eastern scum as I heard the evening of
9/11/01.
that I never saw so much public weeping on one day as I saw 11/22/63.
On the other hand, I've seldom been exposed to as much public
pissed-off-edness at Middle Eastern scum as I heard the evening of
9/11/01.
Blitz
Active Member
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- 5,558
Quick, go to:
www.foxnews.com
My co-worker pointed out something wrong with the front page photo of a child placing a rose.
Caption says:
''... honors her father, who was in the WTC ..."
The child looks to be 3-years-old and has a pacifier around her neck.
Is there anyway this child was conceived 9-11-01 ?
www.foxnews.com
My co-worker pointed out something wrong with the front page photo of a child placing a rose.
Caption says:
''... honors her father, who was in the WTC ..."
The child looks to be 3-years-old and has a pacifier around her neck.
Is there anyway this child was conceived 9-11-01 ?
Medial Collateral
Member
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- Sep 29, 2005
- Messages
- 94
And you're suprised, considering the immediate, raw, visceral reaction to such treachery?
Perspective comes with time. At that point, with people nationwide watching thousands of their fellow Americans dies, it's the last thing on the list. You can't expect rational, objective thoughts at such a point.
Nowadays, however. you can see that not all Muslims are bad, just as you can see not all Christians are bad for the few wackos who bombed abortion clinics (and the occassional Olympic park).
Nobody's immediate reaction can be wrong, in my opionion. It's when time has revealed the evidence, the various motives and such, that such single-minded stances can be question.
Perspective comes with time. At that point, with people nationwide watching thousands of their fellow Americans dies, it's the last thing on the list. You can't expect rational, objective thoughts at such a point.
Nowadays, however. you can see that not all Muslims are bad, just as you can see not all Christians are bad for the few wackos who bombed abortion clinics (and the occassional Olympic park).
Nobody's immediate reaction can be wrong, in my opionion. It's when time has revealed the evidence, the various motives and such, that such single-minded stances can be question.
Medial Collateral
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- 94
Frozen sperm is a possibility?
P
proudpittsburgher
Guest
I work for a PM now, as I did on that day, so I was in the newsroom, just wrapping up our first edition. Turns out it was one of about 5 or 6 that day, as opposed to our normal 2 editions. We were watching the coverage from the first airplane on one of the TVs in the newsroom, when the second hit.
I remember many things about the great work we did that day in our coverage, for a small-town PM, but I distinctly remember two things that were said during that early time period that have stuck with me.
One, was our grizzled news columnist who walked away after the second plane hit saying, "I told you, it's a terrorist." He didn't say it smugly, almost sad that his initial fears were correct.
The other was our managing editor who walked up to me as I was scrambling to redesign and said, rather nervously and excitedly, "This is why we are in this business!" Now, I realize I probably took it the wrong way, or maybe not. He walked away before I could say anything, but I remember shaking my head thinking that maybe I'm in the wrong business, because I never want to experience that kind of news again. And I am definately not in this business for that. Did it get the adrenaline flowing in me? Of course it did. It also brought out the best in me, from a design perspective, but I would be glad to never get that opportunity again.
I remember many things about the great work we did that day in our coverage, for a small-town PM, but I distinctly remember two things that were said during that early time period that have stuck with me.
One, was our grizzled news columnist who walked away after the second plane hit saying, "I told you, it's a terrorist." He didn't say it smugly, almost sad that his initial fears were correct.
The other was our managing editor who walked up to me as I was scrambling to redesign and said, rather nervously and excitedly, "This is why we are in this business!" Now, I realize I probably took it the wrong way, or maybe not. He walked away before I could say anything, but I remember shaking my head thinking that maybe I'm in the wrong business, because I never want to experience that kind of news again. And I am definately not in this business for that. Did it get the adrenaline flowing in me? Of course it did. It also brought out the best in me, from a design perspective, but I would be glad to never get that opportunity again.
KP
Active Member
Angola! said:
Have to keep moving to make sure everyone passes those state-mandated standardized tests that were becoming the rage. Real-life teaching be damned.
Big Circus
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- 11,734
First off, I only got to page 2 before I was inspired to post, so if I go over any ground that's already been covered, apologies.
I was in school at the time and, oddly enough, was sleeping in that day. My roommate woke me up and said a plane had hit the Twin Towers. I woke up only a little, watched about 2 minutes of video, filed it away as some jackass in a Cessna and went back to sleep. When I woke up, I found out that obviously wasn't the case.
One thing I remember vividly was just all the minutae of what was going on. It felt like you had to break things down to the smallest details, just to sort of have something to hold on to, to ground yourself. My school had a football game scheduled for Thursday that was going to be one of the first nationally-televised events after the attacks. Obviously, it was ultimately cancelled, but that was a big topic of conversation, both in the sports department of my student paper and among my friends. People were wondering if they would hit again, and if a college game on ESPN could possibly be a target.
I was in school at the time and, oddly enough, was sleeping in that day. My roommate woke me up and said a plane had hit the Twin Towers. I woke up only a little, watched about 2 minutes of video, filed it away as some jackass in a Cessna and went back to sleep. When I woke up, I found out that obviously wasn't the case.
One thing I remember vividly was just all the minutae of what was going on. It felt like you had to break things down to the smallest details, just to sort of have something to hold on to, to ground yourself. My school had a football game scheduled for Thursday that was going to be one of the first nationally-televised events after the attacks. Obviously, it was ultimately cancelled, but that was a big topic of conversation, both in the sports department of my student paper and among my friends. People were wondering if they would hit again, and if a college game on ESPN could possibly be a target.
Medial Collateral said:
Have no desire to slander Middle Easterners, as a group.
Will be happy to slander the scum who were Middle Easterners, or
from any other corner of the globe, who were involved in the engineering of 9/11.
Clear? Good? Good.
forever_town
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- Feb 7, 2007
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- 13,307
Ben_Hecht said:
That's one of the reasons Rudy Giuliani's speech during the RNC angered me. It sounded to me like Giuliani was more than willing to pin 9/11 on ALL Muslims, not just the extremists.
If you're a terrorist, there'll be hell to pay. I'll leave it at that.
doubledown68
Active Member
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- Dec 2, 2004
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- 6,098
I was less than a week into my first "real" job post-college. I worked mostly mornings, and was listening to some local talk-radio goober when a caller said a plane hit the WTC.
By the time I got to work, the second plane had hit, and everyone was figuring out this wasn't an accident.
What I'll remember most is the archaic wire system the paper had. Don't remember what it was called, just that everything was written in a program other than Word. Every time something slugged as an alert came across the wire, the computers would beep so people would know about it.
Of course, every machine in the newsroom was on that day. Each alert swept across the newsroom like a wave. You'd watch something happen, then minutes later, another wave of beeps.
By the time I got to work, the second plane had hit, and everyone was figuring out this wasn't an accident.
What I'll remember most is the archaic wire system the paper had. Don't remember what it was called, just that everything was written in a program other than Word. Every time something slugged as an alert came across the wire, the computers would beep so people would know about it.
Of course, every machine in the newsroom was on that day. Each alert swept across the newsroom like a wave. You'd watch something happen, then minutes later, another wave of beeps.
Huggy said:
As somebody who suffered extensive third-degree burns, I'd do the same thing if faced with their situation.
dixiehack
Well-Known Member
Gomer said:
That afternoon, I had to go out to the high school football practice for the mid-week update story. It felt like the stupidest thing I could be doing, and feeling didn't improve when the coach opined that he expected Friday's game to go on as scheduled because "50 million Chinese don't give a damn if we play."
Come Friday morning, the GHSA decided it gave a damn and pushed that week's schedule back to the end of the year.
my annual reprise:
i was in denver, morning after the broncos-giants opener on mnf. phone rings before my wake-up call. my buddy in denver telling me i won't be getting on any flight to n.y. for a few hours, that i should turn on "the today show."
only one plane had hit to that point. still speculation on what was happening. many phone calls with the other n.y. writers in the hotel booked on flights home.
on the phone with one of 'em when the second plane hits. holy mother of god. call mrs. shockey at home to make sure she and the three little are okay and the first tower goes down.
"we know a bunch of people who work in the towers," she cries.
by the end of the day, the count in our town is over 30, including the father of one of the eldest shockey son's best friends; his soccer coach, and several others we'd come to know later through other friends and children's buds.
stuck in denver. some began driving home right away. two other n.y. reporters and i held out hope the airports would open in a day or two.
by thursday morning, we began the drive home together.... eeriest moment was when we were driving through jersey, approaching the george washington bridge after midnight saturday morning. the smoke still lingered over the skyline, and i remember thinking the picture looked like one of my boys after they'd lost their top two teeth.
never had home felt so good. loooong group hugs for several days. individual hugs before bedtime every day since, when we're under the same roof.
i was in denver, morning after the broncos-giants opener on mnf. phone rings before my wake-up call. my buddy in denver telling me i won't be getting on any flight to n.y. for a few hours, that i should turn on "the today show."
only one plane had hit to that point. still speculation on what was happening. many phone calls with the other n.y. writers in the hotel booked on flights home.
on the phone with one of 'em when the second plane hits. holy mother of god. call mrs. shockey at home to make sure she and the three little are okay and the first tower goes down.
"we know a bunch of people who work in the towers," she cries.
by the end of the day, the count in our town is over 30, including the father of one of the eldest shockey son's best friends; his soccer coach, and several others we'd come to know later through other friends and children's buds.
stuck in denver. some began driving home right away. two other n.y. reporters and i held out hope the airports would open in a day or two.
by thursday morning, we began the drive home together.... eeriest moment was when we were driving through jersey, approaching the george washington bridge after midnight saturday morning. the smoke still lingered over the skyline, and i remember thinking the picture looked like one of my boys after they'd lost their top two teeth.
never had home felt so good. loooong group hugs for several days. individual hugs before bedtime every day since, when we're under the same roof.
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Someone earlier mentioned how all the TV stations went to news/CNN, all the radio stations went to news feeds.
I was in an area where one sports radio station went on with its regular 10 a.m. show -- Chris Thomas in Tampa, on WDAE. He was a well-known TV/radio host and respected, and he did a very even-keeled (given the situation, obviously) two hours with recaps and emotions and callers and the whole deal.
When he died of cancer a couple years later, the station played that entire show as tribute.
I was in an area where one sports radio station went on with its regular 10 a.m. show -- Chris Thomas in Tampa, on WDAE. He was a well-known TV/radio host and respected, and he did a very even-keeled (given the situation, obviously) two hours with recaps and emotions and callers and the whole deal.
When he died of cancer a couple years later, the station played that entire show as tribute.
writing irish
Active Member
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- Mar 1, 2006
- Messages
- 7,119
Far between sundown's finish and midnight's broken toll
We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing.
As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds
Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing.
Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight.
Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight.
And for each an every underdog soldier in the night
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
In the city's melted furnace, unexpectedly we watched
With faces hidden while the walls were tightening.
As the echo of the wedding bells before the blowin rain
Dissolved into the bells of the lightning.
Tolling for the rebel, tolling for the rake,
Tolling for the luckless, the abandoned and forsaked.
Tolling for the outcast, burning constantly at stake
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail
The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder.
That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze
Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder.
Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind.
Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind.
And the un-pawned painter behind beyond his rightful time
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Through the wild cathedral evening the rain unraveled tales
For the disrobed faceless forms of no position.
Tolling for the tongues with no place to bring their thoughts
All down in taken-for-granted situations.
Tolling for the deaf an blind, tolling for the mute.
Tolling for the mistreated, mateless mother, the mistitled prostitute.
For the misdemeanor outlaw, chased and cheated by pursuit
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Even though a clouds white curtain in a far-off corner flashed
And the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting.
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting.
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail,
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale.
And for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Starry-eyed and laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended.
As we listened one last time an we watched with one last look
Spellbound an swallowed til the tolling ended.
Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones and worse.
An for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing.
As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds
Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing.
Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight.
Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight.
And for each an every underdog soldier in the night
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
In the city's melted furnace, unexpectedly we watched
With faces hidden while the walls were tightening.
As the echo of the wedding bells before the blowin rain
Dissolved into the bells of the lightning.
Tolling for the rebel, tolling for the rake,
Tolling for the luckless, the abandoned and forsaked.
Tolling for the outcast, burning constantly at stake
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail
The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder.
That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze
Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder.
Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind.
Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind.
And the un-pawned painter behind beyond his rightful time
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Through the wild cathedral evening the rain unraveled tales
For the disrobed faceless forms of no position.
Tolling for the tongues with no place to bring their thoughts
All down in taken-for-granted situations.
Tolling for the deaf an blind, tolling for the mute.
Tolling for the mistreated, mateless mother, the mistitled prostitute.
For the misdemeanor outlaw, chased and cheated by pursuit
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Even though a clouds white curtain in a far-off corner flashed
And the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting.
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting.
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail,
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale.
And for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
And we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
Starry-eyed and laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended.
As we listened one last time an we watched with one last look
Spellbound an swallowed til the tolling ended.
Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones and worse.
An for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
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