THURSDAY, Sept. 12, 2002 (HealthDayNews) -- Yesterday was a beautiful day for flying. Clear blue skies with a trace of clouds gracing a perfect autumn morning.
I arrived at London's Heathrow Airport just after 10 a.m. U.K. time on Sept. 11, 2002. Nothing indicated this day was different from any other, except the crowds at this normally bustling hub were sparse and the British Airways video monitor read "Desk Closed." The airline had canceled flights due to low volume. There was no police presence that I could see, no soldiers with machine guns, no National Guard or the British equivalent.
I had not consciously chosen to fly on 9/11; the date was simply the most convenient to return to New York City from a conference I was attending in the U.K. I have to admit, though, that as the day approached, I experienced some misgivings. I had an especially chatty cabbie in London two days earlier, who asked me when I was returning to the States.
"On Wednesday," I said, purposely leaving out the date.
Dead silence. Then he asked, "Did you get to choose the dates?"
I felt comforted by the sound of planes flying overhead when I woke up yesterday morning.
But even before I reached Heathrow, there were strong reminders that this was the first anniversary of a tragic day.
The Independent newspaper had a huge headline: "September 11" above a photo of the Manhattan skyline. And the man next to me on the tube was reading a full-page ad in a local newspaper taken out by a Chelsea fire crew. "We share your anguish," it began. A folded-up newspaper on the ground showed only a photo of the smoldering Twin Towers.
At Heathrow, security did seem to be tight. But maybe it was easy to give every passenger extra scrutiny when there were so few travelers and so many staff. I was selected for a random bag check before checking in. A very polite, very apologetic young man escorted me to a side area, asked a series of questions, then carefully unpacked my bag while four formidable men looked on. I found out later the four observers were trainees. I apologized profusely when the young man got some of my hair gel on his finger (a concealed weapon in a side pocket!). I asked him if it was slow today and he replied, "Yes. Very. Four flights have already been canceled." It was not yet 10:30 a.m.
From there, I went to the check-in counter, then through security and on to the departure lounge, where three TV monitors played live feed from New York. It was 6:01 am in the Big Apple. The bulk of the passengers so far seemed to be the Cork City Emergency Fire Brigade, all of whom were wearing navy blue polo shirts with either "Boston" or "New York" stitched on the sleeve. I was told they were flying to the States to take part in a memorial service.
The long corridor to Gate 22 was completely deserted. If I hadn't been enjoying this uncustomary solitude, I would have thought it was eerie. At one hour before the flight, I was the first passenger at the gate. The staff to traveler ratio was about 8-to-1.
Only here did it hit me that the passengers on the doomed flights exactly one year ago had followed a virtually identical path from ticket counter through security and then to the no man's land of the gate. We would be much luckier.
The plane, a 767 that could accommodate 228 people, had all of 31 people in coach and a handful of travelers in business and first class. A flight attendant told me later that more people had been scheduled on the flight, but they kept canceling. I watched the crews' faces as they filed through the lounge area to the plane. They didn't look unduly concerned. One of the pilots wore a very loud tie: the Twin Towers rising out of a star-spangled background.
There were only one or two more reminders that we were flying on the first anniversary of 9/11. When we were airborne, the captain came on the intercom to say: "As you know, today is the first anniversary of a tragic day in the history of the United States, and we ask that you take a moment to reflect on that day and on the lives that were lost." Then he wished us a delightful flight.
About 50 minutes before landing at Newark Airport, the pilot again came on to tell us that because of heightened security, the FAA was requiring all passengers on flights in and out of New York, Washington and Baltimore to stay seated for 30 minutes before landing and after take-off. "This is very important," he stressed. "Anyone who doesn't sit down will be considered a threat, and we will take appropriate action."
And that was it. Except for being forced into a holding pattern in the sky while President Bush landed at JFK, and an extraordinarily turbulent approach to the landing, Newark Airport was emptier than I have ever seen it or hope to see it again. The huge customs hall was completely vacant and customs officials were leafing through magazines as they waited for business.
All in all, it was a good day to fly. How often can you cross the Atlantic and have your pick of seats to spread out on and go through the customs in less than 10 minutes?
The price for this luxury, I'm afraid, is simply too high.
