First period Honors Physics with Mr. Cretella. Senior year.

It started as a rumor from one classmate. My good friend Luke said that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. We thought it was someone in a little propeller plane who veered off course. We were troubled, and the class was uneasy. But we didn’t know what was going on.

My high school principal then came over the air and announced that teachers should not turn on the televisions.

Second period Honors Pre-Calculus with Mr. King.

Screw that.

He turns the television on, and as soon as the news channel came into focus we watched the second Twin Tower come crashing down, live.

It was hard to watch. We were all fixated and dazed. “We’re at war,” someone murmured. Some cried.

I went to my car at lunch and put on 880-AM WCBS and listened. I’d never heard a newscaster sound so somber, so sad, before. But then again, I wasn’t alive when John F. Kennedy or Martin Luther King were killed. With that in mind, I became instantly aware that what was happening on September 11 was the biggest, most terrible thing to happen in my life so far.

It was Generation Y’s first tragedy.

That night, my father, who’s a fire fighter in East Haven, Conn., went to New York with his crew. I was scared that he was going but proud at the same time that he was one of the people who was being called to service.

What do you remember from 8 years ago? Where were you? Share your story in the comments section.

About The Author

John Guilfoil is the editor-in-chief of Blast: Boston's Online Magazine and the Blast Magazine Network. He can be reached at [email protected]. Tweet @johnguilfoil.

2 Responses

  1. kristina

    I was in my Trig class and it was one of the few rooms with tvs. We watched until the bell rang. By time I got to my next class, teachers were ordered to turn off all tvs. So we all sat in silence and disbelief walking around all day, most of us left early.

  2. Trina Francesconi

    I was 18 years old, and worked for a giftware importer on Cape Cod. That morning I remember driving my rusty 1988 white Chevy Blazer from the corporate offices to the distribution warehouse the next town over to pick up samples for a customer, and the news came over the radio that the first tower had been hit. My first thought was that it was some drunken pilot again, as recently there had been a ton of media coverage about inebriated pilots. Then I actually remember becoming annoyed when all the stations wouldn’t stop reporting on it and put some music back on the radio (hey, I was 18)! It wasn’t until I got to the warehouse and was walking up the front step past a bunch of employees taking their morning break that someone ran out of the entrance saying we were being attacked. I think I’ll always remember that whole morning clear as day, it’s so firmly imprinted in my mind.


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