On September 11^th, I slept late into the morning, because I would teach all afternoon and evening at Kirkwood College.

As I was walking downstairs, the boom box on our voice mail was broadcasting my wife, Jennifer’s voice. She was telling me that the World Trade Center and Pentagon had been attacked. As I arrived at the phone, her signal was gone. The telephone rang again, a friend of my son Jason was calling from Iowa City. ‘Was he okay?’ I didn’t know.

Jason is our youngest, who lives in the East Village in lower Manhattan. He is a web designer / builder and a rave artist. He is employed at a digital workshop in “Silicon Alley” and his company is located in Union Square about 18 blocks from the World Trade Center.

When he went to work and turned the corner of 25^th street and 3^rd avenue, he noticed that there was a dark gray cloud that covered the southern horizon. When he got to work, his fellow employees were not sure if at first if there was an accident or terrorism that had occurred. Then the pentagon was attacked and both trade centers imploded. He could see all this from his 6^th story window and all of the workers including my son ran downstairs and outside.

Jason headed for “Alphabet City” because it is a low profile residential area and does not represent capitalism’s riches or power. One of the main rumors on the street at first was that more planes were on the way with nuclear and/or chemical warfare on their carriers.

Arabic stores were quickly boarded up. He went into a hardware store and bought a dust mask and from there moved quickly from building to building hoping not to get killed.

As things began to settle, F-16’s were flying overhead. Movies theaters were open for free with features running 24/7. He soon was with friends, but could not get back to his apartment until very late. On that first day, the dust was drifting towards Brooklyn and numerous people crossed the bridge in a trance-like shock.

Signs emerged calling for the killing of Arabs and other placards became visible with the call for peace. Tibetan monks set up a memorial in Times Square. At times, the sun would burst through the flying dust. At Washington Square, individuals were singing folk songs, Beach Boys and Beatle songs and related. On the third day, it rained and in a sense of irony, the dust turned to mud.

One friend saw the Twin Towers tumble up close from her office at Goldman Sachs. When the first plane hit the north tower, she ran to the stairs, broke her high heals, and in bare feet ran on pure adrenalin down 20 floors, to Battery Park, and onto F.D.R. highway.

With the avalanche of events, the economy headed south and Kirkwood offered retirement to those who had been at the school the longest. Within a short time, there was a ceremony for those who would be leaving and President Norm Nielsen gave a very thoughtful speech. And with that rite of passage, 47 of us vanished into private life.

As I was walking to my last class, I thought about the first class that I ever taught and how terrified that I was at that time. Now, I was serene. Once inside the classroom, I wrote on the board GOOD BYE: 1966-2001. Folks clapped their hands, and it was over. I was on a new journey.

School starts soon. Another generation of students and teachers cycle onward. Hopefully, they will see more peaceful and prosperous times.

The vibe of course is still blowin’ in the wind.