Terrorism and tennis shoes

If you've been to New York City, you know that Idaho is far away - in more ways than just distance. New Yorkers are just different from us. In my experience, the stereotype IS somewhat true: They're louder, they talk faster, and unless they have some business with you they pretty much ignore you. They're a bit surprised by eye contact on the street, and a little suspicious of outright friendliness by a stranger. Maybe because there are just so many of them, they need to create their own private space by not seeing the masses around them. They can't possibly interact with everyone, so they've given up reaching out to anyone. But I saw some of that change for awhile 10 years ago, on Sept. 11.

If the attack on the World Trade Center had happened one hour later, I would have been in a meeting just down the block. I'm sure I would have survived, but I thank God today that He spared me from that trauma. Instead, I was in a meeting in mid-town about 40 blocks north. Suddenly, we could see a commotion in the main trading room of the firm where Hecla Mining Company's president, Phil Baker, and I were holding a meeting. The news of the first plane hitting was on the television and as we watched, the second plane slammed into the building.

At that point, not knowing the devastation still to come, our first thought was 'What on earth do we do next?' The meeting came to an abrupt halt. I had been scheduled to fly to Washington, D.C., later that day and I had already checked out of my hotel. I was pretty sure I wasn't going anywhere on a plane that day, so I needed a new place to stay. I called our travel agent to make a reservation. Phil and I separated - he went south to meet with his wife, and I went north to collect my bag from my hotel. We didn't see or communicate with each other for the next seven hours.

My first face-to-face, close-up experience with the tragedy was soon after in the Hilton Times Square elevator, where I went to pick up my luggage and unsuccessfully attempted to check back in. A bedraggled businessman with dark, staring eyes rode up the elevator with me to the lobby. He had no jacket or briefcase, his white dress shirt was dirty and askew, his dark pants and dark hair dusted gray with concrete debris. I asked if he was all right and he told me, "I escaped through the basement of the Millennium Hilton next to the World Trade Center. I didn't know what else to do. I came here to see if this Hilton could help me find my colleagues." He had already walked the 45-plus blocks to Times Square in the time since the Trade Center buildings collapsed and damaged the Millennium. He was obviously in shock. I don't know what happened to him - I hope they were able to help him.

I started checking at the seven hotels the travel agent booked for me. I criss-crossed the city by foot - there was no cell service, you couldn't catch a cab, you couldn't even have bought a car - everyone was rushing out of the city as fast as they could and cabs weren't stopping for anyone. No hotel was taking anyone new - most of them required you to show a card key before they would even let you into the lobby because they were flooded by people who couldn't get out of the city.

So I'm walking on 35th Street, to 42nd, down to 29th, up to 51st, back down 5th Avenue, and on and on. When I cross the north/south streets and look toward the Financial District, I can easily see the destruction - it looks like a big thunderhead cloud of dust. And for the first time in my traveling history I had decided not to pack tennis shoes, and my high heels just weren't up to the task ahead of me. The only open store I found had no tennis shoes, but I did buy a pair of flat slip-ons - which immediately began to rub my feet raw. I promised myself I would never again travel without tennis shoes! Last spring, I was in Europe on a business trip when I got stuck in Paris because of the volcano in Iceland. And guess what? I had no tennis shoes. God so gently and patiently reminds us again and again of our life lessons when we forget, doesn't he?

I figure I walked about seven miles that day 10 years ago in Manhattan, dragging my suitcase. I passed through Times Square and by Grand Central Station several times in my search for a hotel, trudging along on blistered and bleeding feet. As I passed these well-known tourist attractions, I realized they could well be the next terrorist target. In those moments, I received the tiniest taste of what it would be like to live somewhere that is daily subjected to terrorist activities. And I prayed - not so much for myself - but for all those traumatized people in war-torn countries that live minute-to-minute knowing the next air strike or suicide bomber could make it their last minute. And I thanked God for the peace and safety he gives us in our nation.

Along the way, I rested on concrete walls or steps with others. People were on the streets, trying to get home, trying to get out. And an interesting thing started happening to these New Yorkers. They started talking to each other, to perfect strangers. They shared their stories about how they escaped or where they needed to go. They talked about their friends or family members that worked in the towers and cried because they didn't know if they were OK. They were kind to each other.

Some hours later, Phil and I miraculously happened to both be calling the Hecla office 2,500 miles away in Coeur d'Alene at exactly the same time from pay phones. They didn't dare try to conference our phones together for fear of losing our lines, so they physically held the two telephones together so we could talk to each other and make a plan for meeting up. We were miles apart, so I limped a couple more miles to meet him, but there was nowhere to go, with all the restaurants and stores and hotels barricaded.

By the time Grand Central Station re-opened that night, the streets were bare. We walked right down the middle of eerily and completely empty and silent streets to the train station. On the train out of the city, I sat by a young man who started talking to me. "I work in the Twin Towers," he said. "I was a little late to work today, and as I came up the stairs out of the subway, I saw my building burning. And then I saw people jumping out of the windows and falling forever, all the way down. I don't know who they were. I turned around and ran back down and caught the subway to a different part of the city. I don't know what's happened to any of my people at work."

Four days later, on Friday, we were able to rent a Jeep and drove non-stop home from Connecticut to Idaho. We arrived Sunday afternoon.

Two months later, I returned to New York and ground zero. I can't really describe the stench of devastation that lingered, but I sharply remember the traffic - almost no one was honking their horns in impatience, and people were noticeably kinder to each other on the streets.

I find that I'm weeping while I write this. Even though I didn't personally know anyone killed or injured in the 9/11 attack, I still feel the great sadness our country suffered from that trauma. It is the oneness of the human spirit through God's grace that makes us able to grieve together and be kind to one another, even though we are strangers.

Here are some thoughts I'd pass along to you from my experience on 9/11:

• Pray fervently and unceasingly that God continues to provide our country with peace and safety within our borders, sparing us from daily exposure to fear and terrorism.

• Remember to love your neighbor NOW... don't wait until catastrophe strikes; and

• ALWAYS take your tennis shoes.

Vicki Veltkamp Larson is a former vice president of investor & public relations for Hecla Mining Company, and currently founder and president of Positively PR.