The Dry Salvages: An Auto-Ethnography of September 11

Abstract

I begin the day quietly. Shortly before 9 A.M. I step out of the shower and am getting ready to go vote for a new mayor when my son, Andrew calls. “Are you watching the news? A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center!” I cannot grasp what it is he is saying to me. “What are you talking about? That can’t be true.” I turn on the TV to see the North Tower in flames. Moments later there is another plane, bearing down and picking up speed before it plunges into the South Tower. I quickly get dressed and rush downstairs. Before me are blue skies, a nearly perfect fall day, a small, yet unseemly mercy on this day of horror. To the south, a cloud of thick, black smoke billows up in the sky. Back in my apartment, dazed and frightened, I settle into a chair in front of the TV. At 9:55, I watch in absolute horror as the South Tower collapses. “Oh my God! No! It’s falling down! Please, please, please don’t let it fall down. Please, don’t fall down.” The footage is repeated over and over again, and each time the annihilation seems equally surreal and unfathomable. A half hour later, the North Tower gives way, and in what seems like slow motion, caves in on itself and crumples. It takes less than a minute. No special effects of any cinematic,