In my response to this week’s memoir prompt, It Happened When…, I talk about a grim event in the World’s history and how I found hope when others were seeing blood…

I have lived in and around the Dayton, Ohio area my entire life. Dayton, as you most likely know, lays claim to being the ‘Home of Powered Flight’ because this is where the Wright Brothers labored on their dream to fly under some power other than their own.

In my opinion, powered flight is one of the greatest displays of ultimate freedom. When we fly, we conquer one of nature’s greatest forces; gravity. But there is more, especially in this region, freedom than just conquering gravity. There are a great number of Airports (both small and large) in the area, we have Wright Patterson Air Force Base, and thousands of small aircraft enthusiasts who take off and land at their own, private airfields. On any given day, I can look outside and see behemoth C5A Galaxies, state of the art fighter aircraft, small private jets, ultra-lights, and more.

Freedom in full expression.

September 11, 2001 was a day that no American should ever forget. That event created a major impact in many ways because the attacks changed the way that not only Americans live, but almost every single person in the world lives as well.

I watched my fair share of the news coverage that fateful day; I mean, how could I not, because the small shop I was working in had half a dozen televisions and everyone was glued to them. Almost every step I took, I saw the carnage as it unfolded, as it was recorded, and as it was commentated on. That day, 9-11-01, was a grim day indeed as death tolls mounted; most of the dead, dying, and missing were those brave men and women firefighters and policemen who surged into ‘Ground Zero’ in an attempt to save the lives of others.

America is the freest, most compassionate, giving, and relaxed country on the face of the planet; in many ways this was our undoing on September 11, 2001, in spite of having the most advanced military machine in the world. Our relative liberal way of life allowed the ‘slow blade’ (for you Dune fans) to find its mark. My fears, or interests, were not about how we as a nation were going to retaliate; for me, the event was going to be a monumental test of our freedom; not just Americans, but the human race as a whole.

Almost immediately following the attacks, the American skies were declared to be a no fly zone. I would make many trips outside, either at work or away from work, and look to the haunted skies. For three days the heavens were a barren wasteland, even in the face of the crystal blue, almost cloudless skies. Not one jet roar, not one sputtering engine from ‘One Engine Chuck’ and his ailing DC-3 as he ran payroll for different companies between the oldest airport in the nation, Dayton Wright Brothers Airport, and Hook Field in Middletown, Ohio could be heard. They were eerie times indeed.

For me, the world felt surreal every time I stepped outside, and many of my co-workers and friends would comment and ask why it meant so much to me. I tried to explain, but I think all of my sermonizing about real freedoms and the beauty of not just flight, but the ability for each of us to fly if we so desire, fell on deaf ears. Flight was no big deal to these folks, it happened so often that it had almost become a gestalt.

Back in the late 1980’s, just after the Challenger tragedy, I read an editorial, written by some Sci-fi author, that talked about how NASA was trying , through various PR campaigns, to instill just that sentiment; the space agency was attempting to make everyone believe that space flight was so commonplace that we took it for granted. The editorial was a reminder that we should never take flight for granted, not because of the ever present danger of powered flight, but due to the glorious achievement and freedoms that were displayed because of it.

My sermons were self validated in that editorial; my lifelong feelings about flight and freedom were given a big thumbs up by that author.

So, on the third day, I was standing outside smoking a cigarette and looking at the empty sky , feeling like no matter what the future may bring, we had lost,  when I heard it. It was not the rumble of a military craft, or the roar of a private jet, but it was a small, privately owned two prop plane that had undoubtedly lifted off from Dayton Wright Brothers Airport. I let loose with a loud, I mean LOUD, Hell Yeah that brought two of my subordinates outside asking what heck was going on.

When I explained, there was a collective “oh”, and I knew that they still didn’t get it. They were more in tuned with all of the saber rattling and the military muscle flexing that was building in response to the attacks on our nation.

I, on the other hand, knew we had won.

© 2010 – 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Tags: alex crabtree, ewn, memoirs

This entry was posted on December 28, 2010 at 2:34 pm and is filed under Memoirs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.