My wife and I were never more relieved to get home from a vacation.  We drove straight from O’Hare to our dog sitter’s, thanked her profusely for taking care of Mike an extra six days, and proceeded to rush home.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors heard our sighs of relief as Lori and I plopped ourselves on the couch in the living room.  We were grateful we had been together the whole time during the tragedy of 9-11 and its immediate aftermath.

We had been stranded in Las Vegas over 9-11.  If you’re thinking that might have been the best place to be at a time of disaster and uncertainty, you’d be right to some extent.  There were lots of ways to distract ourselves.  But Las Vegas feels different when you want to leave it but can’t.  And the Las Vegas of 9-11 was not the same as what we were used to.

By the afternoon of 9-11, when it was apparent what had really happened, casinos along the Strip began shutting down their electronic billboards or replacing the images with that of an American flag.  We walked out onto Las Vegas Boulevard that afternoon, and there was Old Glory on one billboard after another, as far as the eye could see, in both directions.   That was a neat sight.

We learned that all major shows and entertainment were canceled indefinitely.  Some casinos took the unprecedented step of halting any gambling for awhile that day.  At the Mirage, where we were staying, the mood on the gaming floor was completely subdued.   Piped-in music, as ubiquitous in Las Vegas casinos as secondhand smoke, had been turned off entirely.  There was very little action at the table games, and the usual din of the slot machines was gone.  Dealers, pit bosses and cocktail waitresses were mostly standing around in shock.  Everyone in the casino, from the employees to the gamblers, was caught in the same haze of uncertainty.  I noticed people were sitting down at the tables not as much to gamble but to be able chat with the dealers and other players.  There was great comfort in knowing you weren’t alone in the anxiety you were feeling.

Since all commercial flights were grounded, there was a mad rush for transportation out of Las Vegas.  All rental cars in Las Vegas were gone within a couple days.  Greyhound and Amtrak announced on the local news that they had no tickets left, and they couldn’t even offer a guess as to when they would have any more.  Lori and I weren’t scheduled to fly home until Thursday, the 13^th.  Surely, we thought, planes would be in the air again by then.  We were wrong.

It wasn’t until the following Tuesday, the 18^th, that United resumed their normal flight schedule and we were able to leave.  Thankfully the Mirage, like most other hotels in town, came up with a special room rate (most of them called it their “God Bless America” rate) that allowed us—and thousands of other stranded tourists—to add extra days to our stay without having to pay the regular rate.   

My first day back at the station was Wednesday, the 19^th.  Between the elation and the relief of finally being back, that day flew by.  I hardly remember it.  The one thing I do remember is sitting in my boss’ office that day when he announced that Richard Elliot was going through with his concert at the Chicago Theatre that Friday night, the 21^st.  And, when he came out on stage that night, Richard said what was going through the minds of all of us:  “I think this is what we all need.”  I would have to say that our collective healing process began at that moment.