tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20668173.post115736300002486625..comments2023-09-10T07:12:25.438-06:00Comments on Greg Solano Blog: A Week of Memorial to the Victims of 9-11Greg Solanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09333496888444848509noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20668173.post-1157379047727538682006-09-04T08:10:00.000-06:002006-09-04T08:10:00.000-06:00I remember that morning -- how beautiful it was ou...I remember that morning -- how beautiful it was out. Cool and sunny, with a glorious pink and orange sunrise. I remember wondering, when all the horror began, how something so evil could happen on such a beautiful day.<BR/><BR/>I was sitting at my desk adding menu items to the nutritional wizard of burgerking.com when the first report came over the radio. The DJ thought the first report was a bad joke. I opened my browser and tried to pull up CNN, but their servers were already overloaded. Early radio reports were indicating that it was a small private plane -- then a freight carrier. The DJs were talking like it was an accident.<BR/><BR/>My creative director came straight to my desk from the parking area, grabbed me, took me to his office, and turned on his TV. We stodd there and watched the second plane hit and we knew these were commercial jets and that this was no accident.<BR/><BR/>I remember turning my back to the TV. All I could think about was all the people. All those people who were suffering and dying right in front of our eyes.<BR/><BR/>Most of my team was in NYC for meetings that day, and my boss and I started trying to get them on their cells. We couldn't get through.<BR/><BR/>Our CEO told us all to go home.<BR/><BR/>I stayed a few hours longer -- I just couldn't leave without knowing my team was safe.<BR/><BR/>Our offices were located in Kansas City's old downtown airport. The runways were right outside my window -- one of the things I most loved about my job was sitting at my desk watching jets arrive and depart. There were no planes that day. Looking back, one of my strongest memories is the dead silence of that airport and its airspace. It was always such a noisy place; that day, we could hear each other breathing.<BR/><BR/>I don't remember being afraid at all. I just remember being unbearably sad. Broken-hearted. For all those people -- workers in the towers and cops and firemen and passengers on the planes -- and for their families. To know they were watching their loved ones die, over and over and over on the TV. It was just too much to bear, really.<BR/><BR/>MildChildAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com