I remember where I was

The 25th anniversary of 9/11 is almost upon us. It’s hard to believe that a quarter century has passed since this brazen and deadly terrorist attack on American soil. The intervening years have failed to diminish the mind-numbing statistics that haunt this infamous date.

On that day, 19 terrorists planned and subsequently hijacked four airliners. They then flew one into each of the Twin Towers at the World Trade Center in New York City. The third plane crashed into the Pentagon, the headquarters of the United States Department of Defense, in Arlington County, Virginia. The fourth plane crashed in a rural Pennsylvania field during a passenger revolt.

A total of 2996 lost their lives that day, including the 19 murder-suicide hijackers. Countless more died prematurely in the years that followed from exposure to the toxic dust that engulfed lower Manhattan after the Twin Towers fell. The New York skyline was forever changed in an instant, along with aviation security. The death and destruction which occurred that day, in the heart of the world’s financial capital, was simply beyond comprehension.

Much like the generation before me who recall where they were when Kennedy was assassinated, my generation can recall where they were when news broke that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Centre. I was in Hong Kong at the time.  I’d flown in from Tokyo a few days earlier, on 8 September, after spending three weeks on secondment training and supporting the executive team in Japan. Tokyo has become the company’s most problematic APAC office, so I'd been seconded to help with its reformation.

APAC’s Regional Director flew in from Sydney late in the afternoon and joined me for a debrief over dinner in Hong Kong. We returned to our hotel around 8:30pm. At the time, we were staying at Bishop Lei International House, an unassuming three-star establishment in Mid-Levels on Hong Kong Island. Its rooms were tiny, barely fitting a bed and side table, and its amenities were rather limited. For example, the only English-language channel on television was CNN. As a result, I'd often watch it after dinner, which I did that day.

At 8:49pm, minutes after turning on the TV, CNN cut live to scenes of smoke pouring from the World Trade Centre's North Tower. American Airlines Flight 11 had struck the building just three minutes earlier, at 8:46 am local time. Along with millions of others, I watched live as a second plane struck the South Tower soon after. I still remember seeing United Airlines Flight 175's fuzzy silhouette come into view as the news anchors debated the scene. I thought to myself, the camera angle made the plane look unusually close to the unfolding tragedy. I then watched each tower fall and continued watching through the night until 7 World Trade Centre collapsed at 5:20am Hong Kong Time.

I recall vividly how hypnotic the news coverage was. The scenes being broadcast live simply beggared belief. There was also a palpable fear that high-profile buildings were being targeted globally. At the time, my company’s Hong Kong office was based in the Bank of China building. Its distinctive diagonal facade made it one of the city’s most iconic towers. If terrorists were targeting high-profile buildings worldwide, then this was an obvious target. Should I stay away from the office?

At one point, emotionally overwhelmed, I tried calling my parents to tell them I loved them. However, they were on a tour bus in Portugal, without international roaming access. They remained unaware of the news unfolding in the USA until they reached their hotel that evening. Real-time online messaging was still years away. When the planes crashed into the World Trade Centre, it was a full six years before the first iPhone. There was no Facebook; no Twitter or Instagram. 

As you can imagine, very little work was done in the office the following day. Instead, we sat around recalling the events of the previous night, reflecting on the profound shock and utter disbelief we all felt. Newspapers delivered to the office were also a stark reminder of everything we’d witnessed. Hong Kong’s tabloid newspapers printed graphic images on their front page. This included photos of people clinging to pillars near the ugly gash American Airlines Flight 11 had carved through the North Tower, and of people falling to their deaths. It was interesting insight into cultural differences. 

Over the years I’ve become used to Chinese media publishing graphic images Australian media outlets would consider gratuitous in nature. That said, much to my surprise, the Australian Financial Review's front page on September 12 led with "The Falling Man", a confronting image of a jumper.

On 13 September I caught an evening flight back to Sydney. As fate would have it, I was flying Ansett Australia. While my Boeing 747 flew south, Australia’s second-largest airline collapsed into liquidation. All flights were cancelled shortly after 10:00 pm, and its aircraft were grounded. My plane, already in the air, was one of the last to land the following morning. If memory serves me well, the last plane, an overnight flight from Perth, landed shortly after us. I recall sitting in the aircraft’s front cabin, which was almost completely empty. It was clear then that 9/11 was already taking its toll on the aviation industry as people deferred or cancelled their travel plans.

Months later, I was in New York on business. I recall visiting Ground Zero and seeing the hole in the ground filled with debris where the towers once stood. Skyscrapers in the surrounding neighbourhood still bore the scars of the day. This included broken windows, damaged facades and boarded-up street-floor tenancies. It was hard to comprehend that the South Tower, and its 108-floor outdoor observation deck I’d once enjoyed, was gone. That's a retrospective post for another time. A decade later, I took Mum and Dad to visit the 9/11 memorial, just months before Dad passed away.

I read recently that Madeline Amy Sweeney, a flight attendant on Flight 11, was born just two months after me. She was murdered at the age of 35. As I reflect on my life and last year’s 60th birthday celebration, her death resonates deeply. I have so many wonderful memories from the last 25 years, while Amy was cruelly denied the same experience. This really brings home the tragic human toll of that fateful day. Likewise, my memories of Hong Kong will be forever linked with those of 9/11.

One final note. I've illustrated this post with photos I took during my second visit to the Big Apple in 1998. A friend, Ian, and I decided on the spur of the moment to take advantage of a discount fare and spend a week in Manhattan. I'll share more about this trip in another post. While in New York, we visited the Observation Deck on the South Tower. As you can see, the view from 420 metres above street level was truly spectacular.

Convertible dreams

I once owned a Saab Convertible. It was an impulse purchase I made in October 2004 after receiving an unexpected bonus cheque. At the time, Garry was shopping for a new car. He’d seen a car dealer advertising a new Saab sedan demonstrator model for sale. While visiting the dealer’s showroom, I noticed a 2001 second-hand convertible for sale in the yard. On a whim, I decided to take it for a test drive.

I’d always wanted a convertible. The 2001 model in the yard was a Saab’s first-generation convertible. An owner who’d bought Saab’s recently launched second-generation model had traded it in. After a test drive and a brief negotiation, I decided to buy it. For the next 12 months, I proudly drove around Sydney in my fancy convertible. It came with heated seats, aircon and powerful heaters that delivered a warm stream of air, perfect for driving with the roof down in winter.

However, there were some aspects of the car that I didn’t enjoy. The first-generation chassis wasn’t as rigid as it could have been, especially for a vehicle lacking the inherent stiffness of an enclosed passenger cabin. As a result, the car would shimmer subtly if you drove over an uneven surface or hit a pothole. The sensation was a little disconcerting. Saab fixed this issue on its second-generation model.

The car was also built on a standard sedan footprint. This meant that it had a relatively spacious rear seat. Mitchell, Garry’s nephew, recalls Garry and I driving up to Rouse Hill to show his family my new toy. We took him and his brother Adam for a drive to McDonald's – with the roof down, of course! Two decades later, Mitch still remembers sitting in the back seat, driving through the neighbourhood.

However, while the rear seat was spacious, the car had an unusually long body for a two-seat vehicle. I hated parking it. The rear end always seemed much further away than anticipated (and this was before rear reversing cameras were a thing). Hence, it was no surprise when I eventually hit a pillar while backing into a car space at work one day. Up to that point, I’d come perilously close to hitting parked cars more than once while completing a three-point turn.

Given my love-hate relationship with the car, it was a relatively easy decision to sell it a year later when Garry and I agreed to relocate to London. I ultimately sold the car to a private broker in September 2005 and used the proceeds to fund the sabbatical we enjoyed en route to the United Kingdom. Selling it was another expensive life lesson. Second-hand convertibles lose value faster than regular vehicles, so the final price was less than expected. With less than a month before relocating to the UK, I accepted the best offer price I could secure in the time remaining.

The broker was also a little dodgy. He quoted one price, then after viewing the car, tried to lowball it using some flimsy excuse. I stood my ground, reaffirming that his original price was the only offer on the table. The broker was also operating the business from a spare bedroom at the Horizon apartment tower in Darlinghurst. At the time, this was one of Sydney’s premier high-rise apartment buildings. It’s not exactly the place you’d expect to find a couple of employees in an apartment, sitting at simple desks, buying and selling vehicles.

He offered to write me a cheque, or if I waited, he’d go to the bank and raise a bank cheque. I elected to wait while he went to the bank. As I recall, I lost thousands on the price I’d paid 12 months earlier. However, I was able to reconcile the hefty write-down while standing in front of the pyramids in Cairo a few months later. I doubt I’ll ever own a convertible again.