Where I was...September 11, 2001

It is one of those pivotal, change-your-life moments in history that is our generation’s “Where were you when Kennedy was shot?” recollection points. Your mind will call up this file with uncomfortable ease forever. Perhaps you even remember what you did that morning when the world was still arguably innocent. Perhaps you remember what you were wearing.

I took an early morning walk, got dressed in a black skirt and trench-length brown sweater. By the end of the day, I would have added a red-white-blue ribbon to my ensemble. I still have the ribbon.

I worked for Greyhound Bus Lines as a speechwriter then. The impact on our company was enormous. In the four days following the attacks, demand for Greyhound services increased by 50 percent or more in some locations. If you took a picture in a typical bus station that day, you would have seen minimum-wage earners in blue jeans standing next to six-figure tailored suits. All standing next to one another, often wrapped around the outside of the bus terminal. Black, white, Asian, Mexican, everyone. Everyone was patient. Everyone helped the other. It’s true . You would think it might be chaos. It wasn’t. I have pictures of this very line. Everyone, I remember thinking, was feeling the same thing. I just want to get home.

I remember wishing I, too, could drive a bus. (Or, drive one better. I did attend a day of bus driving school once.)

Our employees responded with the pride and commitment to serving America that was and is so deeply ingrained in the company’s history and culture. This was evidenced by the way all the drivers on vacation called into HQ and asked where they could report. By our CEO who, stranded himself, drove fourteen hours from Wisconsin to Dallas, only to work through those four days straight, like most of us. By the family members who kept bringing food to the weary of us who worked day and night. So many examples of compassion and assistance too great to list.

For twenty-four hours, I did nothing but post new bulletins on our employee web site. Write new messages for our CEO to deliver over our employee messaging system. Field media calls about our response to the nation. Trash the existing irrelevant employee newsletter and start over. And then, I wrote some more.

By Sept. 13, I remember a new poster had been designed and was on its way to the printer. A Greyhound dog with an American flag in his mouth with the title: We are proud to serve America.

I was.

The thing was, I was glad I didn’t work for Hostess Cup Cakes that day. Nothing against Hostess Cup Cakes. They’re yummy. But I was proud that I was a spoke in a wheel that was helping people get home and be with those they loved, even if it was merely words for a great American company.

And that’s where I was. And in spirit, that’s where I am today. Proud to be an artist who can still use words to make a difference.

Karen Harrington
Author, Janeology, Spring 2008