On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in Boston for a one day marketing trip meeting with professional money managers. I was with a salesman who had arranged the trip and set up our appointments for the day. We walked into Wellington Management’s office at 8:50 am for a 9 am meeting and knew something terrible had just happened. A small auditorium next to the reception lobby was filled with staff watching the television, and the receptionist told us a plane had just crashed into one of the World Trade Center Towers. We didn’t know at that point that it was a terrorist attack, but we knew all of our meetings were canceled.

Back at the hotel we saw the towers fall, watching the television in a crowded bar along with other horrified guests whose plans for the day were no longer important. Thankfully, the salesman I was with had the foresight to reserve two rental cars for the next morning, his going to Richmond and mine to Nashville. I called my wife and was scolded for not having called sooner to let her know I was okay. After a somber lunch with the salesman, I spent the afternoon alone sitting on a bench in the Boston Commons park. I remember thinking how strange it was that there was no airplane traffic except for the occasional fighter jet flying over.

I drove to Harrisburg the next day and spent the night with my parents. The next day I made the 12 hour trip to Nashville, and I remember most of the overpasses had American flags draped over the sides. When I arrived at home and hugged my wife I broke down sobbing uncontrollably, and I am tearing up now reliving that memory. I know it wasn’t a rational response by me to the horrific events that day, but it took several months before I could get on a plane again.