On September 11, 2001, I was barely into my second month as a new student affairs professional. I was just getting ready for work (one of the benefits of working in the same building as where you lived) when my coworker called me to tell me that one of the twin towers had just been hit by an airplane. Like me, she had grown up outside of NYC and we shared our shock at one of our landmarks being struck in, what we thought at the time, was a terrible accident. As we talked, we quieted in disbelief as we watched the second tower hit live on television. We both knew without saying anything that this was no accident. We quickly hung up with each other so we could call our families. I was fortunate to reach my mother right away, as so many in the NYC metropolitan area would be flooding the phone lines at the same time. I was the first to tell her about the 2^nd tower being struck, and she responded by crying. Her first motherly concern was that we were now at war and her immediate concern was that I would be drafted. That was when it finally hit me that we were witnessing and end to any feeling of invulnerability we might have had. Life would be changed forever. She looked out her window along with her coworkers and could see the smoke rising by the skyline.

I frantically started calling and e-mailing friends to make sure everyone I knew was accounted for. As the phone lines jammed, and my e-mails were sent, I decided to quickly finish getting ready for the work day and called my boss to see what we did now. They didn’t cover this scenario in graduate school. My supervisor’s first concern was for me and the well-being of my family. He asked if I felt up to going to the office, and I said I was, feeling that there was nothing I could really do sitting in my apartment glued to the television. So my coworker and I went to our office, propped open the doors and waited. For the next few hours, students streamed in. Many of our students were from the NY and DC areas and were dealing with their own sense of shock. Some wanted to use our phones, wondering if they might have better luck on our office phone lines than their cell phones. The rumors started to buzz, as our campus was bike ride away from Camp David. As we heard about the fourth plane going down not far from us in Pennsylvania, some looked to the skies wondering if any planes would pass over us. We would see countless military planes above, only adding to the nervousness that all felt.

As the day went on, most classes were unofficially cancelled, as many of our professors were not able to reach us that day. This meant it was time for me to do my job, as Assistant Director of Activities. It was time to find ways to help students channel their energy, to help them find some comfort, and to help them process what was happening around us. Deep down, I wanted nothing more than to pack my bags and head home to be with my family and friends who were all in the shadows of the smoke rising from the ashes above Manhattan. But I had an obligation to the students who were just as scared as I was.

Over the next 24 hours, we would have an impromptu candlelight vigil outside on the quad, then, the next day, we would hold a service in our chapel, one attended by virtually our entire campus community. At one point in the service, the celebrant asked for those who lost a friend or family member the day before to share the name – and for the next 15 minutes, scores of students, faculty, and staff would do so. Eventually, we would return to our regularly scheduled programming, and our school year picked up where it left off. Ten years later, that day still seems fresh in my mind. As I prepare my campus to commemorate the day, I find myself replaying those moments, as I’m sure so many others are as well. September 11, 2001 is a day I will never forget…

How did your campus react? What will you never forget?

Chris Conzen is the Director of Campus Activities at Suffolk County Community College.

September 11 has always been a private day of remembrance for me, partly because my personal circumstances are so different today than they were ten years ago.  I had a much different experience than many of my current colleagues that day, but I haven’t talked about it or shared much.  I’ve seen many colleagues making inquiries about ceremonies or programs to mark the tenth anniversary, but I wasn’t sure that I wanted to share my own experience.  Earlier this week, though, I read Justin Rudisille’s post on the ACUI Commons, offered a comment of my own, and found myself thinking about it the rest of the day.  So here I sit, sharing my thoughts from a different lifetime, partly for myself, partly for anyone who reads this, but mostly just to share.  You won’t hear stories from me about a campus community coming together, but you may know what it is like to have been closer to being a part of it than one would ever want.

The events of 9/11 happened before I started graduate school for higher education and student affairs work. While my station in life was much different ten years ago, the two milestones have always been intimately connected. After graduating from college on a Naval ROTC scholarship, I served five years in the Navy, and three years as a civilian government contractor in Northern Virginia, just outside of Washington, DC. When I separated from the Navy after completing my scholarship obligation, the tug towards student affairs was always in the back of my mind, but the promise of a decent-paying job in a familiar area (I grew up in Northern VA not too far from where I eventually worked) outshone the weighty decision to go back to school for a higher degree, and a higher calling.  Eventually, as you must know by now, the ‘allure’ of Student Affairs was too great, so I began the process of taking GREs, researching programs, and charting my new path.  That was during the fall of 2001.

I provide all of this background simply to say that on that particularly non-descript Tuesday I found myself in a familiar routine, starting my day on the 7^th floor of our office building in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia.  A creature of habit, I was most likely eating brown sugar and cinnamon pop-tarts with a cup of tea (even the Navy failed to make me a coffee drinker!), catching up on news or other items on a platform other than Twitter or Facebook.  Our client, a division of the Navy headquartered in the Pentagon, had cancelled a briefing scheduled to take place that morning; otherwise I might have been in a different place, on the road towards the Pentagon or perhaps already in the parking lot heading into the building. Moments away from heading down to our classified lab, which would have secluded me from news sources, my coworker in the cube next to me let out an exclamation as her mom relayed the news on the phone.  We spent the rest of the day, with the rest of America, glued to news reports and TV screens, unable to fully comprehend what was happening.

While most people can recount in painful detail where they were when the news of the World Trade Center Towers was announced, for me the news I cannot escape was the announcement of the attack on the Pentagon 45 minutes after.  My work partner was still driving back when American Airlines Flight 77 hit the Pentagon, a scene he watched and felt from the highway not even a half mile from the point of impact. Had he been running on time, as opposed to his notoriously late arrivals, he would have been inside the building already.  Our staff and clients in the Pentagon were located mere feet from the point of impact, a fact that shocked me again when we were let back into the building weeks later and saw the devastation.

I left work that day and returned to my apartment; looking back I am sure my plan was to complete a few practice exams for the GRE.  Knowing that would not be possible, I retreated to my girlfriend’s apartment, where we watched the news until we simply could not take in any more of the grief and destruction.

Just over a month later, the Army 10-Miler road race, a usual tune-up for the Marine Corps Marathon, was cancelled due to lingering security concerns (the race traditionally starts and finishes on the grounds of the Pentagon).  Two weeks later, the Marine Corps Marathon did take place, under heavy surveillance, including helicopters and snipers, and our course was rerouted to avoid what was still a tragic scene on the far side of the building.  As a running purist, I do not wear shirts from races in which I do not compete, however I still run in my 2001 Army 10-Miler shirt, because of what it represents.

I learned soon after the attacks that a friend from my undergraduate days at Boston College was among those in the Towers that day.  I recently learned about the heroism of another Boston College alumnus, Welles Crowther, who helped save as many as a dozen lives immediately following the attack.  As each year passes, there may always be a new piece of information that connects me, and maybe many of you, to the circumstances of September 11.  Each piece draws me back to the person I was ten years ago, and the unbelievable set of circumstances that conspired to allow me to have this story to tell.

On one of my trips to Ohio during my application process that eventually guided me to my current work, I detoured through Pennsylvania, drawn to an often-forgotten site where the fourth plane went down, its only casualties the 40 passengers aboard United Flight 93.  My pilgrimage to Ground Zero is also tied to my Higher Education path, as I was able to visit during an Alternative Spring Break trip in 2003.  While not on our trip itinerary for the week, I was compelled to go there myself, to see first-hand what seemed so surreal not even two years before.  My work in Student Affairs has thus been quite separate, but quite a part of, September 11, 2001.  Undoubtedly, the two will remain intertwined for years to come.  And I may still choose to reflect on my own, from the very different place I found myself that morning.

Jeff Pelletier is the Assistant Director of the Ohio Union at The Ohio State University. 

September 11, 2001 was a beautiful day in the middle of the country with skies so blue it hurt your eyes. A student stopped by our office suite early that morning and mentioned a plane crash in New York City. We pulled out a small television we kept in the office to see what news we could find. As it turned out, that 4-inch Sony was the only TV in our building that day. Many of my colleagues spent hours gathered around my desk as we attempted to make sense of what was occurring.

I watched Katie Couric speaking with NBC Pentagon correspondent, Jim Miklaszewski, when he paused and then said a large explosion had just rocked the Pentagon. It was 9:37 EDT. Karen Kincaid died in that crash of American Airlines Flight 77. She graduated from my high school a few years before me. Everyone who met Karen said she was the nicest person they ever knew.

My husband worked on campus and we were in constant phone contact sharing online information. U.S. news sites were bogged down with web traffic, so we found most of our information from the BBC website. I called my parents in Colorado. It was still early there, so my dad was a bit foggy when answering the phone. It took a bit to convince him to turn on the television. When I reached my sister, she shared that my brother-in-law was currently on a flight to Denver. It was several hours before we could confirm his arrival. His return flight became a fight for the last available rental car and a long drive home.

I kept busy checking on students on internship or exchange along the east coast. One student was interning with a firm just 25 blocks from the World Trade Center and had been at a meeting only 6 blocks away at the time of attacks. Another student, like Valerie, was enrolled at William Paterson with a clear view of the Twin Towers as they collapsed.  A third, enrolled at another campus in New Jersey, canceled exchange, packed her car and returned home within a day.

Although not much work was completed, we remained at the office through the day. Around 4:00 p.m., word began circulating that there was a gasoline shortage in town. My husband and I decided to head out a bit early to pick up our 2 ½ year old daughter from her childcare, just a mile west of campus. As we approached the main thoroughfare though town, traffic was at a stand still in all directions. Cars filled every intersection. We backtracked and cut through parking lots, seeking an open street. After several blocks of thwarted attempts, my panic level was reaching epic proportions. We could not cross the highway.

I had worked all day to make certain my students were present and accounted for. It never occurred to me that I would not be able to get to my own child a mile away.  And there it was, that work/life balance that so frequently challenges us in student affairs, smacking me in the face. Yet this time, it was accompanied by fear like I had never felt. A fear so strong I can feel it now; the fear that I could not protect my child.

Of course we eventually navigated around town, and within a few days, life returned to something resembling normal in our university community. But we knew that every other person in the country was to trying to make sense of it, just like we were.

Debra Sanborn is director of the Hixson Opportunity Awards and National Student Exchange at Iowa State University.

On September 11, 2001, I was a freshman at William Paterson University in Wayne, NJ I lived in a dorm called “The Towers” and I was on the “F South” wing on the top floor. While the building was traditional cinderblock, linoleum tile, the view from the end of our hallway made up for what the building lacked aesthetically: a breathtaking view of the New York City skyline. On a bright sunny day, you could see the Empire State Building and the Twin Towers.

I was getting ready to go to my 9:05AM Music Appreciation class on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Just like any other day, as I left for class, I would look out the window and enjoy the view. That day, I saw anything but the normal skyline. Instead, I saw a black cloud of smoke where the bright blue sky usually filled in the space over the gorgeous architecture of NYC. I then saw a tiny object fly in front of the second Tower. It smashed right into the side of the building – and with that, I went numb. I ran back into my room and turned on the TV and saw the news flashes all over the screen. I tried to call out to my mom, who was in neighboring Newark, NJ at a seminar at the hospital. I then tried to call out to LA, where my brother was living at the time, fearful that whoever was responsible would be going to LA next. The phones were clogged and my friends on the hall had no idea what to do…

Then I remember my RA Christine. She was the most calm of all of us and she went into full on crisis management mode. She wanted to first make sure we were all accounted for and then called the Hall Director for further instruction.  The Hall Director told us to remain calm and to stay put, so that we could all be together. We all went into the common room to watch the news and grieve together.

The university cancelled all classes for that day and advised us not to go anywhere. A lot of faculty who commuted from NYC to William Paterson were stuck in the city and couldn’t get to campus. They were very concerned for their faculty and staff because on that day, bridges, trains, planes, tunnels, and cars were not allowed in and out of NYC. We didn’t know which faculty and staff members were safe and which were not.

Suddenly, counselors were making their way into the dorm, and offered their services to us. We cried, we were confused and we didn’t know why this was happening. The counselors helped as much as they could, and they suggested we take our energy and focus on what good we have in our lives during a time of hate. Our campus held a candlelight vigil for those who were lost, including many members of our faculty and parents/relatives/friends of people at the University.

I am grateful for the wonderful job the student affairs professionals did on that day. I had only been in college for about 2 weeks at that time, but everyone was very supportive during a very dark period in history. I never got a chance to thank them, but I feel as if my place within the profession is better than a thank you card as they are a part of why I became a professional in this field – to help students no matter how big or small the issue.

Valerie Heruska is a Residence Hall Director at Boston University.

When I was a kid, my Dad would explain how to orient myself if I got lost in the city. “Just look up and find the Twin Towers,” he’d say. “Then you know that that’s south.”  The towers were visible from all parts of the city, including Queens, where I was born and raised.

My first job as a new professional (other than a year as a Traveling Educational Consultant for Theta Phi Alpha Fraternity between college and grad school) was at Capital University in Columbus as the Assistant Director of Student Activities and Orientation. Although I spent the year I traveled touring far-flung locations such as Platteville, Wisc., Wayne, Neb., and Dayton, Ohio, I wasn’t completely prepared for Midwest living. I was still a New Yorker, a city kid who pronounced the word “drawer” as “draw” referred to pizza as “pie,” and certainly didn’t give hugs. My worldview was different, and I often joked about it with my co-workers and students who were Ohio-born and bred.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was at a meeting with the other Student Activities and Orientation staff and Alumni Relations staff to discuss Homecoming. Our meeting ended around 8:45 am, and we returned to the Campus Center, just a few buildings away.  Our Campus Center typically played music throughout the building at that time of the morning; the second I walked through the doors and heard what sounded like talk radio, I knew something was wrong. While my colleagues were still chatting about the meeting, I was listening to the report. Then I heard it: “A plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City.” My body went cold. I said to my colleagues, “Did you hear that? Planes don’t just crash into the World Trade Center,” and I took off running down the hall.

All the members of my immediate family live in New York. My sister was in college at the time at SUNY StonyBrook; my mom was at work at an elementary school in Queens; and my dad was at work in his building at 100 Church Street, which was directly across from WTC 7, with a direct view of WTC 2. I started making phone calls and couldn’t get through to anyone I knew. I left a message for my Dad, and decided to head down to the lounge to see what was happening on the news.

A few short minutes after conferring with people who were watching the coverage, I was staring at the screen and realized the second plane hit at about the same time that Katie Couric and Matt Lauer did. I stared at the screen. I remember saying aloud that this was no accident, and then I went into full-on crisis mode.

I ran back to my office and started calling everyone I knew back in New York, to no avail. I finally, somehow, made it through to my mom, who had talked to my dad after the first plane had hit. At that point, he had been okay, but she hadn’t heard from him since.  She asked me to call her back.

I was trying to listen to the news, refresh cnn.com (which went to a completely white screen that said “AMERICA UNDER ATTACK” and a few links to what they knew at that time), and keep myself together.

The time between 9 and 10:30 am was a complete blur. It felt like many hours passed as I tried to find out where my Dad was, if my other family and friends were okay, and figure out exactly what was happening. A plane crashed into the Pentagon. The south tower collapsed. A plane went down in Shankesville, Penn. There were reports of other planes headed various places, crashing into things. I finally got in touch with someone – my cousin, Michael, answered the phone. I said to him that I couldn’t believe the first tower fell, and I’ll never forget the words I heard next: “Oh, Jen. It just got worse. The second tower just fell, too.” My Aunt Marianne got on the phone, and we cried and talked. For whatever reason, she was the only person I could reach that morning, and I was so grateful for the connection to my family that I kept her on the phone much longer than I should.

With no information on my Dad’s whereabouts, with my family hundreds of miles away in my beloved city which was under attack (by who?), with who-knows-how-many of my other family members and friends missing in lower Manhattan, my Student Affairs family kicked into high gear. The other staff members in our office, Don Miller, Tacci Smith, and Mike Patterson, somehow organized a prayer service (Capital is a Lutheran-affiliated institution) and made buttons to be handed out.  Tacci continuously checked on me.  My wonderful, vibrant Orientation Leaders came to give me hugs, to talk about what was happening, and to lend their support.

To this day, I have no idea what time the prayer service started or how I made it there.  I remember sitting there among the students for whom I was supposed to be a role model, an example of leadership, as I tried to telepathically communicate with my Dad and tell him to keep moving.  Several moments later, one of our Orientation Leaders/student workers, Rebecca Brode, came running in to tell me that my Mom had called the front desk to tell me that my Dad’s call finally came through and he was walking home to Queens from Manhattan.  The NY primary was being held that day, and luckily, he had ducked into a polling place when the towers fell. Pure relief flooded over me as I heard the excitement and saw the tears shining in Becca’s eyes. How could I not hug this bearer of beautiful news? My Student Affairs family had come through for me in such vibrant ways.

In the years since (thanks, facebook), I’ve reconnected with old friends from NY, some who had very close calls on that September morning. There are so many stories of people I know, and countless stories of people I don’t, who were in the buildings, near the buildings, or who lost loved ones that day.  The enduring stories of 9/11 of those of people taking care of each other. I’ll always be grateful to my Capital colleagues and students for both allowing me to grieve and providing me a sense of comfort when I needed it the most.

Jennifer Klosterman-Lando is Assistant Dean and Administrative Director of the College of Education and Human Ecology at The Ohio State University.

Throughout the day we’ll be sharing reflections from some of our community members about the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001. In their words, you will see how the events of that day influenced careers, relationships with students and colleagues, and personal perspectives. We encourage you to engage in the comments, sharing your own thoughts and reflections on this anniversary.

We also want to give thanks to each of the writers who shared their reflections with us. A special thank you to Chris Conzen who suggested this series of posts as a way of connecting our community and sharing stories.