How Sept. 11 changed this woman

On Sept. 11, 2001, and in the weeks that followed, a lot of us at the Southeast Missourian operated on a kind of journalism autopilot.

It's a defense mechanism that kicks in when something inconceivably horrible happens, but instead of getting time to digest and grieve it, journalists must report it. We listen as other people mourn.

So when planes crashed into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the ground, we didn't wonder for a moment what to do. We knew. We spread out across Cape Girardeau and the surrounding area and talked to people with connections to New York and Washington. We went to the churches and schools. We told our readers how they could help and cope.

I've never been prouder of my profession and the people in this newsroom.

Later, I had a lot more time to think. New York City suddenly didn't seem so far away.

I imagine lots of people feel the same way. And I thought they'd probably want to share their thoughts with the newspaper for our special Sept. 11 section. After all, we received countless letters and e-mails from readers just after the terrorist attacks.

For a couple of weeks, we ran something on the front page occasionally asking folks for 300-word essays on how Sept. 11 changed them. The first front-page invitation to participate ran Aug. 16. The deadline for essays is Friday.

As of 10 p.m. Tuesday, we had nine essays.

I grew up in Southeast Missouri and realize a lot of folks around here don't share their feelings with just anyone.

And school has started for some families and is about to start for others, and that doesn't leave a lot of spare time.

I keep telling myself those are the reasons why we have nine essays on the most shocking attack in American history.

Now that my autopilot clicked off months ago and I've spent countless hours staring at a picture of the collapsing World Trade Center, let me tell you how Sept. 11 changed me.

I hate it -- HATE IT -- that we'll never again read a newspaper story about gas released in a Japanese subway or a suicide bomber in Israel and smugly think those are events contained to other, less secure countries.

For the first time, I feel unsafe here. Not so much in Cape Girardeau, because I can't imagine what international terrorists would want with a town of less than 40,000 people. (Maybe that's naive.) But I'll never step on an airplane again without casting a suspicious eye on my fellow travelers. We've ceased to be brothers-in-arms, all just trying to endure a cramped flight and bad food the best we can. Any of us could be nuts with shoe bombs.

On Sept. 11, I woke up a little before 8 a.m., groggily stumbled outside to get the Southeast Missourian, flipped through it and then casually turned on CNN Headline News. Back then, I didn't turn on the television every morning. Sometimes I listened to music on the radio.

The first plane had just hit the World Trade Center. I told myself it was a terrible accident. Then the second plane hit.

Now, I get up every morning, leave my bedroom and immediately turn on CNN Headline News, half expecting to see another terrorist attack. I do this on Saturdays and Sundays, too, often just a brief glance to confirm all of America's skyscrapers were left standing overnight.

I feel guilty every day now. Shouldn't the war be making me suffer somehow? Should it be this easy when there are American men and women living in barren Afghanistan, trying to battle a enemy that hides in caves?

It was cathartic to tell you all that. Try it.

It's not too late to e-mail your 300-word essay to news@ semissourian.com.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.