September 17, 2002
O Canada / Like a Good Neighbor
At 9:40 am on September 11, 2001, the United States closed it's airspace to civilian traffic for the first time since the Wright brothers flew over Kitty Hawk. Now,... I've watched hours upon hours of crashing planes; black smoke; falling towers; avalanches of dust and debris; Ground Zero digging; NYFD funerals; bagpipes playing Amazing Grace; survivors recounting the events; altars of candles, photos, and missing posters; I've learned how the hijackers got control of the planes; why the towers collapsed; who was in the towers; who escaped; I know about Ladder Company 118 and Battalion 1; I've spoken with my friends from I/B/E/S in Tower 1; I've read the names of my friends from the 91st floor of Tower 2; I watched the Pentagon burn; I saw Afghanistan being bombed; the Pit finally cleaned out; I listened to every single name be read a year later; I've watched children scrawl God Bless America on the plywood surrounding the Pit; and seen more American Flags in the last year than in the 42 years preceding it. I've submersed myself in the events of 9/11 and their aftermath. I've pursued it with a compulsion that's worried me at times. Tears still come easily to me when I watch, and I kept wondering if I'll ever get a grip on it, get my arms around what happened, and find a context for it.Tonight I saw something new. At 9:40 am on September 11th, 2001, 252 planes inbound to the United States were forbidden to enter U.S. airspace, and under the supervision of fighter jets from the Canadian Air Force, were ordered to land at the nearest airport in Canada. Some 33,000 passengers found themselves stranded in northern areas of Canada for what would turn out to be four days. These people were kept on the runways, in the planes, some for almost 36 hours, before being permitted to leave the plane, take only their carry-on baggage, and enter the Canadian airport terminals. There were no hotel rooms or cars for most of them, these airports being mostly small, regional airports, now hosting an order of magnitude more people than they've ever had to cope with before.
For a few hours, the passengers clustered around airport televisions, seeing for the first time footage of the events of 9/11. Then suddenly, without fanfare, throughout Canada, busses and volunteers arrived, and the passengers were whisked off to hundreds of locations in large and small towns: to high schools, churches, community centers, and private homes. In each of these towns, people spontaneously mobilized, bringing food, beds, blankets, toothbrushes, clothing, books and newspapers, televisions, and descended on the stranded passengers. For four days, these people stopped their lives in their tracks, and dedicated themselves to taking care of others. People would see a volunteer at 2am when they fell asleep, and be served coffee at 7am by the same person. Some were whisked away to private houses to stay in guest rooms and have showers. People gave up their bedrooms and slept on their own couches to make room for the passengers. They brought their pets, their guitars, and their children to these places to help, entertain, and comfort 33,000 mostly Americans. Their natural compassion and empathy for our shock and grief was expressed in every possible way. Lifelong friendships were formed, and many many lessons were taught and learned about kindness and generosity.
I had heard about this story, but never understood the magnitude of the situation, nor the incredible selflessness and outpouring of compassion shown by thousands of ordinary Canadians suddenly thrust into fairly bizarre circumstances. I strongly recommend looking out for "Stranded Yanks: A Diary Between Friends" on Public Television. It shows a very unusual context for the events of that week, and meant a lot to me to see it.
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