The Morning After
9-11-01.

By Robert A. George, editorial writer for the New York Post.
September 12, 2001 11:00 a.m.

friend called at 5:30 A.M. This is someone who knows that I'm never likely to be getting up at that hour. Yet, he was a D.C. friend who tried to get a hold of me to find out if I was OK.

After only sleeping for about three-and-a-half hours, it took a few seconds to register. Why was he calling me? Why wouldn't I be all right?

Oh, God. That's right.

After being inundated with the images all day, waking up to the unbelievable reality is still — unbelievable.

I live in Brooklyn, off of Flatbush Avenue — the main artery running from the Manhattan Bridge, which is the principal entrance point into Lower Manhattan for many New Yorkers. My building is just a couple miles from the bridge, so the World Trade Center can be seen from my apartment. Or at least it could.

Today, I look outside my window and see a dull lazy cloud of white smoke lingering on the other side of the river. As unnerving as that may be, it is nothing compared to the pitch-black column of smoke that filled the sky yesterday morning for about 90 minutes. That column disappeared when the twin towers collapsed, replaced by a mountain of sulfur, dust, and debris. The acridity remained in the air for hours later. It subsided for a brief time, only to restart again as World Trade Center No. 7 — a shorter 47-storey building — which had burned for hours finally went down. Ironically, that was the home to the city's thought-to-be-impregnable Crisis Control Center.

One thing we learned: The Internet infrastructure was what it was cracked up to be. Cell phones were useless in the New York area for hours. Trying to call into the D.C. area — even from landlines — got you, "All circuits are busy." But, e-mail worked, enabling us to connect with and hear from loved ones. Of course, it also, sadly, permitted bad news to come through too. A CNN producer alerted me shortly after 1 P.M. that Barbara Olson was on the plane that hit the Pentagon.

Suddenly, the events of the day that were so geographically close became emotionally close. While trying to track down a New York friend, I had to pass along the news about Barbara to a former colleague of hers.

September 11, 2001 is now forever the demarcation line. How odd it was picking up any morning edition of any newspaper yesterday after 9 A.M. Barely a few hours old, they were completely, totally obsolete when the second plane hit the second tower. That was the one — the second — that completely changed our reality. One allowed us, for a brief moment to think some, awful, horrible accident had happened. But, that second one — jetting from the right on TV screens nationwide — hitting the other tower? No, that defied any possible rationalization

It's all Before 9-11-01 and After 9-11-01 now.

Lockboxes? Social Security surpluses? What do those words mean now? And, meaning no disrespect to a California doctor and his wife, there are now hundreds if not thousands of families also wondering where there loved ones are — and they have no immoral congressman to help the media remain focused on their pain.

Before 9-11-01. After 9-11-01

We wake to a new day every day. But this day, we wake to a new world.

And it is a very scary one.