Sept. 11: 911 Emergency

I was 24 years old the first time I called 911. I'd come home from a day's work, only to find that thieves had broken into my apartment and stolen my computer, printer, and answering machine. I went to my next door neighbour's house and called 911. A report was filed and about a week later, my stuff was found in a pawn shop about a block away from the apartment.

So hooray for the police.

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Later, the police told me that they suspected a person in my building was involved in the robbery, which was likely carried out by a youth street gang. 

They should have been publicly flogged. 

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Of course, I am aware that today* is the 22nd anniversary of the attacks on the twin towers in New York City. Like anyone old enough to remember, I can recall exactly where I was when I heard the news. I was a general assignment reporter at the Stettler Independent. I was my usual jovial self when I walked into the office that morning and, when no one else was being jocular, asked why the mood in the paper was so morose.

"You mean you haven't heard?" my fellow reporter, Steve Raivio, asked, and then he proceeded to tell me about what had happened that morning in New York City. 

What I remember most about 9/11 is not the image of the smoking building, the exploding airplanes, or the footage of the collapsing skyscrapers. It is something Steve said to me later that day: "I'm not a religious man but I admit that I said a prayer for New York this morning."

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I read a story once about a woman who was slated to have an abortion on Sept. 11, 2001. After the events of that day, she changed her mind - opting to foster life instead of abort it. I don't know who that woman was but I'm sure she exists. I'm sure she is not alone either and I am sure that 9/11 wasn't the only tragedy to inspire such a change of heart.

But in a way, I feel bad for their offspring. What an existential dilemma it must be, going your entire life knowing that you might not be alive had not thousands of other people died so tragically.

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Kurt Vonnegut, who I mentioned in yesterday's note, once quipped that he was the only person to profit from the Dresden firebombings in World War II. That's because his novel, Slaughterhouse Five, used the firebombing as its impetus. It is Vonnegut's best known work, likely the one that made him so popular. It ends with these words: Poo tee weet. 

That bit of onomatopoeia was Vonnegut's best attempt to quote a bird, who was singing from a tree branch after a slaughter had taken place. Birds, like most animals, are indifferent to the inhumanities we inflict upon each other. About the only animals that do care are dogs.

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I don't know how many times I've called 911 over the years. I called once when a carbon monoxide alarm was going off in Ash's apartment. The entire fire department showed up, determined that no carbon monoxide was present, and advised her to change the batteries in said alarm. Once I called to report a drunk driver on the 401 Highway. Someone in a grey minivan sped past me, doing easily 200 kmph (the speed limit is 110.) About 10 minutes down the road, I was elated to see the police had pulled that minivan over.

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Despite all the stickers on stop signs in Cornwall, I don't believe 9/11 was an inside job. I don't believe that the buildings collapsed due to planted demolition devices that were set off after the airplanes struck the towers. Popular Mechanics has done a competent job explaining how an airplane crash could result in the buildings' demise. Also, I just don't believe that such a high intelligence operation could take place without anyone blowing the whistle. If so many people were working in concert to make those buildings fall at a time when there would be thousands of innocent civilians killed, someone would have spoken up.

I would have.

I would have called 911.

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* Well not really today. The Sept 11 note is being written on Sept 19 because, after I lost my job, I was not in the mood to continue this project. But I think you catch my drift.