“Suddenly, there was nothing but silence. I sensed that something was wrong when the attendees formed small groups and began talking in hushed tones. I saw them looking furtively in our direction…
”Have you heard? An aircraft has crashed into one of the towers at the World Trade Center.””
We flew on the company plane to Yanbu, the site of our next forum, located on the Red Sea. As usual, we arrived on Friday, the day before the forum was to begin. The date was September 7, 2001. Our hosts met us at the airport and transported us to our living quarters. We did a quick inventory of the materials, checked out the facility where the meetings were to be held and had dinner at the dining hall. Ronnie had brought Ishmail to help facilitate some of the small group meetings. I had befriended Ishmail long before, and we got along well together. We made plans to meet for breakfast early and begin the program.
As we surveyed the room the next morning, Ronnie, Charlie, and I noticed that there was an unusual number of participants with beards, traditional thobes, and ghutras. Everyone was supposed to wear western attire, which is required in the field for safety reasons. It was not unusual for participants to show up on the first day in the traditional dress, but they usually conformed the rest of the week. We also noticed that the group spent breaks together. At prayer times, they left early and came back late. On the other hand, they were courteous, polite, and participated in all the activities and discussions. Their general demeanor was that of clerics: serious, sober, and focused….
On Tuesday, September 11, at around 5:00 p.m., we were preparing for the executives to arrive for the evening festivities. Tension was high; we were making the typical last-minute adjustments to the program, finalizing the guest list, and directing the staff. It was chaotic. Suddenly, there was nothing but silence. I sensed that something was wrong when the attendees formed small groups and began talking in hushed tones. I saw them looking furtively in our direction. One of the managers ran across the room and pulled us aside.
“Have you heard? An aircraft has crashed into one of the towers at the World Trade Center.”
“What do you mean?” Ronnie asked.
We didn’t move; we just stood there, trying to comprehend what we had just heard.
“Say again?”
“An airplane flew into the middle of one of the towers at the World Trade Center in New York City. Come see on the TV!”
We raced to a lounge area, which was crowded with people huddled around a TV. We watched and listened as events continued to unfold. Everyone was stunned…
As more information was revealed, the irony of the situation dawned on me. Ronnie, Charlie, and I were the only Americans in a foreign country whose citizens had attacked the United States. We were surrounded by individuals whose friends or families might have been involved in the attack…
To say that the situation was awkward would be an understatement. I looked closely at some of the faces to try to discern what emotions they might have been experiencing. Not a lot of help there…Charlie kept a close watch on me. He knew something that no one else in the room knew: my son Scott was a flight attendant for American Airlines and was based out of New York City…