There are some days in our lives we remember forever. Who in my generation does not remember where they were when they heard that John F. Kennedy had been assassinated? For those younger than me, we will always remember where we were on Sept. 11, 2001, when the two planes hit the World Trade Center.
I was mayor of Cordova 10 years ago working as an innkeeper. Cordova may have been an isolated fishing town, but we were just as close to New York City as everyone else in America. And we felt just as affected. Within a matter of an hour the skies of America closed. Transportation across the country froze. No one knew what was going to happen next.
In Cordova we were truly isolated. Isolated meant no transportation. Visitors who were in remote fishing sites could not get back to town. Guests in my hotel were not able to leave. Anxiety was high, but patriotism was deeper.
I called for a town gathering. The fire truck pulled up with the American flag on top. Together, as a community, we sang: "God Bless America." Spontaneously we hugged one another. Americans pull together on a moment's notice. It was like a red flag had been waved at a bull. Pettiness was put aside. America stood united.
Because there was still one plane in the skies over Alaska, a Japan Airlines flight, we were required to activate our community disaster plan. We did. Cordova is part of the Prince William Sound, and there was fear for the oil terminal in Valdez. That jet was later diverted to Whitehorse, which is a story unto itself.
The Cordova community disaster plan, could be, is as far as I am concerned, one of the best in the nation. Fire Chief Dewey Whetsell trained all new mayors. His philosophy is "Drill, drill, drill." The job of a mayor during a disaster is that of "Public Information Officer." We get the facts out, and stay out of the way of the professionals. Let them do their work.
In the days and weeks that followed, I did not hear one word of complaint. As Americans and Alaskans, we knew we were in this together.
Like every other mother in America, I was concerned for our children. My son was in South America and I was worried for his safety. I desperately wanted to know that he would make it out of South America. There was much confusion about when flights would resume. I didn't know if Americans were being targeted. There was just so much unknown.
As far away as Washington, D.C., is from Cordova, thankfully, the phones still worked fine.
Sen. Stevens was on the phone nearly every day. He assured me that flights out of South America would eventually resume. They did! My son was 30 years old at the time, but mothers are always mothers.
Life changed on 9/11. The people in Cordova were one with all Americans. We were concerned about firefighters we had never met, policemen we would never meet and families that would have an empty place at the dinner table for their rest of their lives.
But we did what we could. Cordova fishermen did what fishermen do. They fished. They fished for the firefighters of New York; they wanted to ship fish to New York to help feed those who needed to eat. That didn't work because there weren't any flights. Cordova District Fisherman United (CDFU) got the fish to Anchorage, where Anchorage firefighters sold the fish, in parking lots. The money was sent to victims' funds.
I believe you become an "Alaskan" not by the years that you have spent here, but through the disasters you have endured. The earthquake of 1964, the oil spill of 1989 and now 9/11. Alaskans are, the some of the best of the best, and those from Cordova (modestly speaking) are especially blessed. Sometimes it takes a disaster to make you proud to be an Alaskan.
Margy Johnson served 3 terms as mayor of Cordova and owned and operated the Reluctant Fisherman Inn. She served ten years on the Prince William Sound Regional Citizens Council and is former president of the Cordova Chamber of Commerce and past chairperson of the Alaska State Chamber of Commerce.
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