Five Years On

As a 22-year-old, I can't think back to where I was when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor or when Kennedy was assassinated. What I do remember is exactly where I was and what I was doing the morning of Sept. 11, 2001.

Later that day, running laps during high-school gym class, my friends and I commented that we suddenly felt a part of history, not just students learning about it.

It's that mentality that struck me about the fifth anniversary's news coverage. Multiple news outlets seemed to incorporate an element of coverage that focused on personal stories.

I noticed it with my generation when I was reading my college newspaper, Penn State's The Daily Collegian. Erin James, editor in chief, wrote a column that shares her experience of that morning. Her column shows that Sept. 11 coverage also includes bottom-up news, detailing what the observer has experienced.

But I also noticed it in older generations. NBC's Brian Williams wrote his reflection on Sept. 11 in the article "We moved on too quickly," which gives his reaction to the attacks and his childhood memories of the Twin Towers. He, as with others, uses phrases such as "I will never forget" and "I will remember that day." Just Googling "I know where I was on Sept. 11" produces page after page of personal stories.

Everyday citizens shared their experiences on MSNBC's "How 9/11 changed our lives." So did Florida residents at St. Petersburg Times' itsyourtimes.com. Photojournalists at The New York Times narrated the stories behind their photos in "The Faces of 9/11."

I think it's coverage like this that draws in readers and creates a shared sense of community. News isn't just a one-way flow of abstract information. It's personal, and the media captured that.

Visiting Ocean City, Md., this past weekend, I found in the local newspaper -- The Daily Times -- a story about the efforts of a husband to honor the memory of his wife, who died at the Pentagon on Sept. 11, 2001.

Donn Marshall set up the Shelley A. Marshall Foundation because, the paper quoted him as saying, "Something good had to come of that day." The foundation has sponsored local reading programs, creative writing contests and a summer art workshop.

And to celebrate Shelley Marshall's fondness for unwinding at day's end with a cup of tea, the foundation hosts tea parties -- with real teacups -- for the residents of nursing homes. Thanks to the Web, the foundation has received donations of more than 500 teacups from around the world.

Certainly it appears that Donn Marshall and all of the foundation's supporters have helped something good come out of a terrible loss.

And so has Beth Ward, the local reporter who told this story. Good local journalism helps us keep alive the memories of people and events that help shape who we are. And sometimes, storytelling allows us to participate in the life of our communities in ways we otherwise might not have discovered.

Five years ago, I was in a computer lab at a local college, getting acquainted with seven Saudi journalists at the start of a two-day writing workshop.

We'd begun by trading professional and personal histories, sharing details about newsroom jobs and families. Khalid, a page designer, had two boys and two girls. Abdullah was pining for his wife and their month-old daughter. Saeed, a professor-turned-editor, beamed over his grandchildren.

Shortly after 10 a.m. we had taken a coffee break when one of them ran up, breathless. Something about an airplane hijacking. We headed to the student union.

On the big-screen TV, the World Trade Center looked like an immense burnt match. In silence, we watched the replays of the second jetliner crashing into Tower 2 and its collapse, and then gasped at the terrible live shots of Tower 1 dropping to earth in a mushroom cloud of smoke and debris.

"It's like a movie," one of the Saudis said.

Faheem, the managing editor, asked what I thought we should do. Softly, he asked if I thought he and his colleagues would be safe. I don't remember how I answered, but we agreed to meet the next morning.

Saeed and I headed for the classroom to lock up.

"This is not an attack against America," he told me. "This is a crime against humanity."

The Saudis left to phone their families. That night one of them shaved his moustache.

I returned to work, a journalistic homing pigeon in search of a computer, and wrote this story.