Where Were You? My New Orleans Flight Was in 48 Hours

On Thursday September 13, 2001 I was flying to New Orleans.

Alan Jackson's question "Where were you" will ring loudly in my ears for the rest of my life. But I do not just remember September 11, 2001. I remember the days and weeks that followed. The confusion, the fear, and the courage of Americans across our nation.

The idea of not cancelling a flight to New Orleans on September 13, 2001 was the best decision ever. That was my plan anyway. Clearly, things (sort of) changed after, sitting in my office on a Tuesday morning, I watched planes crash into buildings.

My verbiage may sound harsh- because it was. Harsh, shocking, surreal... all of it.

Back then I was 30 years old, working in a (for Lansing) tall building directly across the street from the Michigan State Capitol and the most worrisome thought I had was making sure my friend Kris from two offices down had the most amazing birthday celebration after work.

And of course, I was headed to New Orleans on Thursday- with a friend from Germany studying at Michigan State.

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View from my window seat, 2016.

POV: You are 30 and a massive historic tragedy unfolds in front of you.

Would my thought process, and actions, have been different at 50? Maybe. But I'm grateful for my tenacity and the gift it gave me. My September 2001 experience is what I want in 2026; sans the tragedy -- it goes without saying.

But 30-year-old me was confident and tenacious- in a different way than nearly-56-year-old me.

I watched on the TV in our office in stunned silence... then I headed down the hall to see Kris- we watched together. Then people started calling each other. My boss' son-in-law was in New York City. I remember hearing he was walking on a bridge out of the city.

The hours between 9:30am and into the night are a blur. I have a vague memory of sitting at the bar with Kris thinking we were fighting for freedom in a strange and tangled way: we were OUT. We were in public.

And I knew then, in the darkness of night on September 11, 2001: I was getting on the plane to New Orleans two days later.

2018 night view from the window seat.

New Orleans, September 2001.

I don't have pictures (not digitized at least!) but what I saw is imprinted on my brain. Maybe at some point, I'll hunt them down and share with you, updating this blog post.

But I remember what I experienced. At home and on the way to New Orleans. In New Orleans.

First off: we didn't just jump on a plane on the 13th. Back then, I used a travel agent (yes, pre-everything booking app life). She kept calling (yes, we had cell phones in 2001) and telling us to go to Grand Rapids to catch a flight because Lansing was cancelled; then turn around and go back to Lansing, then Detroit. I honestly don't recall where we left from!

Flights cancelled. People who'd been sleeping at the airport, stranded since Tuesday... we were re-routed multiple times. Ultimately, got on a late-night flight to New Orleans from Atlanta on a near-empty plane.

And I'm so grateful.

I'll share one memory of our time in New Orleans.

At a bar with a stage. A giant (in my memory!) American flag being waved and the ENTIRE bar full of people singing along to Bruce Springsteen's 'Born in the USA' with tears in our eyes. BELTING it out.

That memory alone is branded on my brain. It overtakes the planes... the fires... the rubble.

It was true unity.

• A love for nation over party.
• A passion for the liberty we have.
• A defiant scream that we will enjoy our lives and not take freedom for granted.

I have no idea who was with me (besides Yvonne the German engineering student on a Visa). But we were all there together. Pushing through the darkness.

I am an American, just like Patrick Henry.

I do not get political on this blog. Well, it's necessary to discuss political philosophy and events in terms of the history of our United States-- but I do not share opinions. All writing comes with a sprinkle of bias- based on research, experience, all of it.

But I do my best to share history through the lens of someone learning it, fascinated by the people, places, objects, art... all the things.

That said, I'll close with words I've shared previously on this blog in a post-election message. Those from Patrick Henry. Because, as on 9-11-2001, my hope is we can come together and remember what our shared history and the freedom the military has and continues to fight for, means.

Closing words from history.

Often-quoted excerpt from Patrick Henry's speech to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia, 1774. It is a line I've heard for several years here in Colonial Williamsburg, quoted by the talented historian portraying Patrick Henry, Richard Schumann:

The distinctions between Virginians, Pennsylvanians, New Yorkers, and New Englanders are no more. I am not a Virginian but an American.

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There is a huge practical disclaimer to the content on this blog, which is my way of sharing my excitement and basically journaling online.

1) I am not an academically trained historian. I will let you know I’m relaying the information as I understand and interpret it through my diligent research. The employees of Colonial Williamsburg base their presentations, work, and responses on historical documents and mainly primary sources.

2) I will update for accuracy as history is constant learning. If you have a question about accuracy, please ask me! I will get the answer from the best source I can find.

3) Photo credit to me, Daphne Reznik, for all photos in this post, unless otherwise credited! All photos are personal photos taken in public access locations or with specific permission.