November 22, 1963; July 21, 1969; July 31, 1997; and September 11, 2011. Do you remember where you were the day you first heard the news? That JFK was assassinated?That Neil Armstrong took his first steps on the moon? That Princess Diana died in a fiery car crash? That suicide bombers boarded planes, filled with unsuspecting passengers, and forever changed both the New York skyline and the North American psyche?

Early that morning, I pulled my coat a little tighter and cursed the first frost of the season as I attacked the windshield of my 1994 Ford Escort with a scraper I found buried in my trunk. The engine whined as I turned it over and I ignored the squeaky clutch as I navigated through the still dark streets. With the Top 40 station of the Rocky Mountains blaring through my speakers, I gulped my coffee and cursed my split shift. What hotelier came up with the idea of making people work from 8am – 12pm and then having to come back to work again from 4-8pm? In that moment, I thought my crummy work schedule would be the day’s biggest problem.

Then, the song ended and the DJ’s voice came on – high pitched, breathy, and confused – I heard words like “planes”, “twin towers”, “oh my god”, and “this can’t be real”. I twisted the dial to the right, hoping I had misheard her.

Moments later, a piece of the September 11th nightmare played out right in front of me. Even in a sleepy mountain town in Canada, the terror found us. A throng of American guests gathered around the Concierge Desk of the Banff Springs Hotel and a wall of sound hit me as people sobbed hysterically, yelled at each other in their panic for information, and asked me questions I couldn’t answer.  Questions like, “Why can’t I get through to anyone on the phone?”; “How many people have died?” and hardest of all, “Why did this happen?” Continue reading →