I am still posting about baseball on other platforms but the one that I posted today is about more than baseball and I have future plans for this WordPress site to represent writing beyond baseball.
Appropriately, on Friday September 11th, the Mets and Yankees will honor New York City’s response to the horrific events of 9/11/01 at a game played in Yankee Stadium. If you talk with people from the New York City area that lived through those days after, baseball became part of the beginning of a healing process.
I can’t help but associate 9/11/01 with baseball because I started that day thinking that I’d end it with a trip to see a baseball game. Five years ago, I put my thoughts down and have shared those thoughts with a few people. Today I share them with you.
There are many more important stories about ‘what were you doing on September 11, 2001’. So, if you’re looking for poignancy and a heartwarming story, you won’t find it here. I’ve told my little story to people many times over the years and maybe because that I have a very vivid memory of what transpired for me on 9/11 and the days afterward. I was born in New York City although I’ve lived in Connecticut for a very long time, and I always have identified more with New York City than any place in Connecticut. I always say that I just live there.
On Tuesday September 11, 2001, I was scheduled to fly out of Hartford early the next morning on my way to Columbus, Ohio. It’s odd in that I almost never fly out of Hartford preferring LaGuardia, JFK or Newark. The night before I drove near Hartford and stayed in a motel near the airport about 70 miles from where I lived at the time.
There was rain that evening and once I settled into my room for the night, I flipped on Monday Night Football, where the New York Giants were playing in Denver vs. the Broncos. While I am die-hard NY Jet fan, I watched MNF because that what was available. I remember watching Bronco receiver Ed McCaffrey (father of 49ers star Christian McCaffrey), break his leg during the game.
The reason I was on my way to Columbus was to meet some long-time business friends/associates who were to pick me up at the airport and drive us all 3 hours to Firestone Country Club in Akron where we were to play the course as a guest of a paper company. Being invited to Firestone was a secondary purpose (in my eyes), for the trip. Since I am a huge New York Met fan, the guys I worked with had arranged for us all to first go play golf at Firestone and then drive down to PNC park to watch the Mets play the Pittsburgh Pirates. It was the inaugural season for that stadium, and I was excited to see my favorite team play in the then brand-new ballpark.
Yeah, I know, tough duty to face but I felt up to the task. At 8:45 AM on September 11th, I landed in Columbus without incident (it was not until days later that I realized that some of the hijackers took a plane earlier the same morning from Hartford – that gave me cold chills and still does).
When I met the guys who were picking me up, they asked if I had heard about the plane crash in NYC. I said I had not and on the three-hour drive to Akron we listened to Howard Stern (of all people!) and his studio team report on the events. I was never much of a Howard Stern fan prior but that morning I gained respect for Howard as his even-tempered and rational reporting was both riveting and, well, impressive. He and his team showed a compassion and understanding in the most trying of situations. Being on the air at the time must have been difficult and even scary.
We arrived at Firestone on a crisply beautiful late summer morning. Before we went out to play in a scramble format, we watched a small television that showed the towers collapsing to the ground. We heard rumors of planes being diverted to San Francisco, (untrue), military in the area, and that there were other bombings/crashes in other parts of the U.S. Cell phone service was down so I could not call my family to let them know I landed safely and was somehow still on my way to play golf – and then to travel to a baseball game that would never be played. I knew they would want to know I was ok but for three hours until I arrived in Akron, I could only hope that cell service would be restored. It never was that day. Finally at the club I was able to get through to let my wife and family know I was ok. We did not yet know how long air travel would be shut down in the U.S. (which turned out to be two to three days), and my ability to travel home was to be considerably impacted.
We had planned after the game to drive from Pittsburgh to Wheeling, WV, where we were to play another round at a notable course in the area. In looking back, it seems like an excessive amount of driving for one day.
While I really enjoy golf and have played at some famously nice courses – and Firestone Country Club easily qualifies here, I remember very little about the round of golf that day. Mostly that it was sunny but almost nothing else. It was as if I was in a fog and just doing what we planned to do in the absence of knowing what else to do!
We learned that the Mets-Pirates game along with the entire MLB schedule, was postponed. For a while I had the paper ticket for this game but sadly, I am uncertain as to where it is right now – I may or may not still have it someplace.
As planned, despite the game cancellation, we drove to Wheeling, WV where we stayed at a hotel and watched Rudy Giuliani at his best (the same could be said for George W. Bush), doing an admirable job to keeping order amongst the chaos in the country. We all were wondering, were there more attacks to come? If so, where might they be? We watched West Virginians on a long line to buy gas as if there was to be an immediate shortage. I remember watching more than one pickup truck driving around with a guy in the back holding a rifle. Nobody knew what was going to happen or how to prepare for whatever that might be. The night of 9/11 was one of the scariest I’ve ever experienced in terms of what might happen to our country. The threat somehow seemed imminent.
The next morning, we played another oddly quiet round at a well-regarded golf course in Wheeling. Seemingly we were the only three on the golf course which was not surprising considering the circumstances. I already knew that there was no way I could fly back to the metropolitan NYC area since planes were grounded. My only option was to arrange a rental car but there were none available in West Virginia (apparently). I was able to rent one at the Columbus, Ohio airport for the next day. We spent the night in West Virginia and then drove the two hours west (away from New York City), to Columbus to pick up the car.
The drive from Columbus to Connecticut took about 10 hours altogether. Route 80 through Pennsylvania was deserted and often I was the only car within sight. The George Washington Bridge had been closed for two days (this was Thursday the 13th that I was driving east). I listened to the radio reports and learned that the bridge was opening and since that was the shortest route for me to reach home, I decided to make a go for it and hope it would be open by the time I was there. I also really wanted to see what I could see from the bridge toward downtown. Call it morbid curiosity but the urge was very strong.
As I approached NYC Interstate 80 East in New Jersey, the first thing I noticed that was different was a smell. A horrible and awful smell. Lodi, New Jersey is about 12 miles from Manhattan as the crow flies. Or as the smell travels. The horrible smell of death and destruction was in the air from Lodi all the way to Greenwich, CT which is more than 44 miles on the road. That haunting odor is also something I will never forget.
Twenty-five years later, I am no longer in touch any longer with the guys with whom I played golf and spent two days with, during what was an unforgettable time in our lives. It bothers me that I can’t ask them about their thoughts and reflections of those days – in part to see if they are like my own. Mostly I remember that unlike too many others, I was able to safely return home to my family, something for which I will be eternally grateful.
Ten days later, on September 21st, the Mets and Atlanta Braves played the first sporting event in New York City after the 9/11 attacks. Mike Piazza famously hit a go-ahead two-run home run in the eighth inning that gave the Mets the winning margin in a magical and unforgettable way.
I’ve felt for a while that the magical night of September 21, 2001, capped off a 10-day stretch of Americans being united in a way I had never seen nor experienced prior. It did not last and it’s not felt that way since, but I remind myself that 9/11 was awful and it should not take a catastrophe to unite a nation.
My baseball-related articles that can be accessed on Medium.com and Substack.com.
The Way I See It - Mark Kolier 