In September of 2001 I was working for a Christian book publisher in Tulsa as editorial director of a brand new imprint. We were all very busy with our first list—our first books published under the new name. There were 350 employees total working for this publisher, and many would gather on the ground floor of our building for a time of prayer each morning. Then we would all disperse to our various floors and offices to make magic—or at least to put verbs and nouns together trying to make some semblance of sense.
The morning of September 11 we had just finished with morning prayer and I was jammed into an elevator that took me to my floor—the 48th floor. The tower I worked in had (and still has) 60 stories with a great view of Tulsa from just about any window. As I was getting off of the elevator my boss said, “I just heard there was some kind of explosion at the World Trade Center in New York.” Again? I thought. In February of 1993, six terrorists ignited a truck bomb in the parking garage of the WTC, killing seven. Did something like this happen again?
I turned on a radio I kept on my desk. It was set on a music station, but this morning they were carrying network news. That’s when I knew something serious had occurred. Others on my floor gathered into my office to hear the news anchor talk about the first plane that had flown into one tower of the WTC. When he exclaimed that a second plane had just hit the other main tower I jumped from my chair, took the elevator down to the ground, ran to my car and drove across the street to a store that rhymes with TallMart where I bought a small color TV. I was tearing it out of its box as I ran back down the hall to my office. Everyone was still gathered around my radio (and really didn’t even know I had left), but cleared away from my conference table where I plopped the TV and turned it on. I chose ABC and Peter Jennings.








