Where were you?

I was the morning show anchor at the CBS station in Charleston. After the show signed off at 7am, I was assigned to go downtown with my videographer to cover a press conference at the school board. I don’t remember why this interview was happening at nine in the morning, or what it was about.

All I remember is standing in a meeting room with a few people and a couple of cameras, when the pager attached to my waistband buzzed. It was a text message: call newsroom 911.

911 was the signal for breaking news. It meant stop what you’re doing and call right now.

I walked outside to make the call. Where was the phone? In the news truck? Was it my personal phone that I kept turned off most of the time? That memory is fuzzy- how I made that call.

My boss answered and said two planes had hit the World Trade Center. His voice was rushed and slightly elevated, which was the opposite of his usual calm demeanor.

“What kind of planes?” I asked, thinking he was talking about private planes and that this was an accident.

“Big ones!” he said, in a tone that was becoming impatient. My videographer and I were now being assigned to drive around downtown. Find people to talk to. Get reaction.

I was 26. Professional. Hard-working. I knew how to do my job. But looking back, I can see and appreciate how young I really was.

My videographer and I got in the car, still confused about why we were being assigned to this story. Then we turned on the radio. There was no music. The DJ was talking about the commercial planes that hit the Twin Towers.

Then all of a sudden, he announced that another plane had just crashed into the Pentagon. We looked at each other. Oh my God, we said to each other, or something to that effect.

That moment of realization is something I’ll never forget.

I vaguely remember walking into a restaurant, maybe a barbershop, trying to find anyone watching a television and ask them for interviews. I specifically remember how quiet downtown Charleston felt that morning.

And I won’t forget the moment I got back to the newsroom and saw the faces of my colleagues, the ones who’d seen it happen on live TV, because it’s a newsroom; TVs are everywhere, and all channels were tuned to the national morning shows.

And suddenly the world was a different place. For a brief moment, we were united in our anger, in our devastation, and in our identity as Americans.

25 years ago. Literally half my life ago. Still, it’s hard to believe that my children were born into a post-September 11th world. It’s something they learned about in school. We travel to New York a good bit. We’ve visited the memorial.

It’s a somber reminder that while I was alive when it happened and have my own experience of it, I wasn’t there.

25 years. It really wasn’t that long ago. Where were you?