My mother called, of course. She would call to tell me about the weather where I lived, nearly 2,000 miles from her, and I would patiently (I hope) remind her that I was both the editor of the local newspaper and a man with windows and, as such, generally au courant on the weather. On that infamous day, as she watched the bloody events unfold in Manhattan and in Washington, she called to make sure that I was safe and to inquire how close I had been to the terrible scene.
