Note: this is an edited version of a previous Facebook post.
In 1994 we got rid of our TV and unplugged from commercial television for good. No more CNN, Seinfeld, or MTV (back when there was actual “M” in MTV). So, in 2001 we were getting our news from newspapers, radio, and sometimes the internet, which we didn’t even have at home yet. On September 11, 2001, my day started later than usual, so with only a few commitments in the afternoon, we got up late and decided to have lunch at one of our favorite sandwich shops.
At the counter, we placed our order and began to notice everyone seemed subdued. Something was “off.” People were talking quietly and the audio on the now-ubiquitous-restaurant-TV was turned up. Tom Clancy was being interviewed about terrorism and counter intelligence. “How serious could this be if they were interviewing a novelist” we thought “and why was everyone so interested?”
The person making our sandwiches looked a little surprised when we asked what was going on. He said “the Twin Towers have been knocked down.” “Knocked down? What do you mean ‘knocked down?’” He glanced up at the TV then returned to making our lunch saying something about “airplanes.” We were still incredulous but reality began to sink in as we played catchup with the events of the morning. After that day, we could never bring ourselves to go back there.
After hearing the Pentagon had also been hit, things got more serious for us. A niece and nephew, both in the Air Force, were recently assigned to the Pentagon, so we tried to reach out to family members on our cool flip phone (why would anyone ever need more than one cell phone per family?). Lines were jammed everywhere and It took a while to get through but we finally learned they were safe and sound, and not even at the Pentagon thanks to a much-needed day off.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. I went to the Music Building to teach a few lessons and Liesa went home to work in the garden. It was an incredibly beautiful early fall day. I spent some time talking to students and colleagues and learned that the Hawkeye Marching Band momentarily halted their rehearsal to watch Air Force One fly overhead to bring President Bush back to Washington from Offutt Airforce Base in Nebraska. It was the only plane in the sky that afternoon and it was remarkable how noticeably and strangely quiet the firmaments were.
The day was also unusual because Bela Fleck and The Flecktones were in town for a concert. I had invited their percussionist, my friend Roy “Futureman” Wooten over for a visit to Iowa Percussion before the concert. Futureman and I, along with Kirby Shelsted and late Nashville percussion luminary, Tom Roady, had played a few gigs together as a group called Digi-jam, and I was excited to have him in town. He had gotten us tickets to the show but there was a lot of discussion about whether to cancel or not. It was finally decided the concert would go on as planned. It made me proud that The University of Iowa would not allow terrorism to define us on that day.
The show opened with Bela reading a short statement prepared by the university followed by a moment of silence. It was real—sincere—heavy silence that was gently broken by Bela playing America the Beautiful. As he continued, each band member entered the stage and joined in on an unforgettable group improvisation on the tune. They ended with a brief pause and a short breath before launching into an energetic performance of Aaron Copland’s Hoedown, that no one there will ever forget. The musicians were inspired and the audience was held spellbound for 90 minutes.
At the end of the show, we went backstage to say hello to Futureman, thank him for the concert, and wish them a safe trip home. It was now late on a Tuesday in Iowa City and the end of a really confusing day, but Roy wanted to go out. He didn’t want to go back to the bus and just be alone with his thoughts, so we decided to hang out a little longer before their bus departed a few hours later. He wanted to know if there was any live music in town. Futureman is always interested in hearing and supporting other artists.
What could possibly be happening on a Tuesday in our sleepy little town—especially today? But there was something: a duo called Mates of State was playing at a low dive known as Gabes. I had only been there a couple of other times and I felt like the average age doubled whenever I walked in, but we decided to go.
We each paid our five-dollar cover and headed upstairs to the music room. The place looked deserted as we joined a handful of others to hear their last brief set before they called it a night. The small audience then shuffled out, but Roy waited and made a point of meeting them. He asked about their music and their work and was genuinely interested in learning about them. He thanked them for their music, bought a CD, and we headed back to the band bus.
I’m not sure they were really aware of who he was or that he was a multi-GRAMMY award winning musician who was genuinely interested in meeting them. We were just three nice (if somewhat eccentric looking) people who came out to their gig, paid fifteen bucks for 20-minutes of music, and bought a CD. At least they might’ve gotten enough from us to pay for breakfast.
9/11 was a powerful day—one I hope we never forget or have to repeat. It changed our country but it also showed me that the USA won’t be bullied and we won’t be terrorized. A few months later Liesa and I made our first visit to China. It was also our first air travel after 9/11. We were not without second thoughts as we boarded the plane but we were determined not to be made fearful to travel.
September the 11th, 2001 was over by the time we said goodbye to the guys in the band and headed home. It had been a long and emotional day that was made a little better by music, friendship, family, and simple human kindness.
Things we could use a lot more of these days.
Paradisum from Trinity Requiem by Robert Moran
If you want to know more about Trinity Requiem:
Bela Fleck and the Flecktones performing Hoedown
Dan Moore, Tom Roady, and Futureman live jam