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Every year since 2001, I have always taken note of the weather on September 11. It was on that morning back then, as I walked to my car before the early morning drive to work in northern New Jersey, I remember how the day dawned. The sky was sparklingly clear–deep blue and not a cloud to be seen. But as a pilot, I also noted that the wind was virtually dead calm–a very unusual combination, at least here in the Northeast. I clearly remember thinking, “What a beautiful, smooth day to fly!”
As I drove northbound, I heard over the radio that a plane had struck one of the towers of the World Trade Center. After the initial shock, it struck me as odd since I had already made note of how calm the winds were. As a journalist, I started mentally chalking up the questions I would want answered as to what might have happened.
Like most people who heard the news early that day, I first assumed it was a light airplane that had somehow gone astray. I had flown the Hudson River corridor several times and the tops of the towers were about level with the required low altitude for navigating over the river. But actually hitting one accidentally seemed highly unlikely, especially on such a calm day. The idea of a light-airplane pilot committing suicide did cross my mind.
